Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

The information available at the warehouse was limited—the place was trashed. The machine was scrap metal, with welding marks left where chunks were taken. Huge scrapes across the floor showed pieces pulled through the back door and tossed into the harbor; others were dragged out to the front into trucks. Random pieces were left behind. The control panel was half melted by what Tim thought would have been heavy-duty acid.  

Tim saw the tripwire only a few seconds before Damian set it off. The Joker’s trademark cackle started at the other end of the room, echoed by explosions. The three took off running, diving off the end of the shipping pier and into the polluted Gotham Bay. They came up coughing, Jason fighting to pull off his hamlet. Tim immediately turned on Damian, who started yelling back. Jason ignored both, signing deeply as the warehouse went up in smoke. 

Dick woke up with a splitting headache and an itching feeling of not right.  He was in the cave's medical bay, which isn’t strange on its own, but there were too many beds and several machines he didn’t recognize. Voices drifted from the main cave, two he recognized as Bruce and Alfred. A third brought forward a blurry image of a man in a red helmet. The two others were new. Dick slipped off the bed, swaying only for a moment. He wore a pair of unfamiliar sweatpants and a plain white shirt. He was missing his belt, instead gathering a few stray bits of medical equipment, including a roll of bandages, scissors, a handful of aspirin, and a tube of antibacterial cream.

One of the voices, the youngest, grew closer, the steps quiet but still noticeable in Dick’s hyper-aware state. Dick jumped from the tabletop of the cabinet and into the vent. He slipped in, ignoring the light layer of dust. It closed behind him in time for the door of the med-bay to open. 

There was a slight pause and a soft call of “Grayson,” which grew in panic before the boy took off running back to the main room. 

Dick ignored him, slipping through the vent, feeling for the small switch that – at least in his cave – should exist. The switch slid open a compartment a few feet further down. He scooped up his belt, a spare mask, and a pair of gloves. They were significantly dustier, clearly having sat there for a time. He draped the belt around his chest like a sash and slipped on the gloves and mask before continuing. It was two rights, about a story up and a left before he came to his intended exit. He slipped out into the familiar darkness of the Bat Cave, thrown momentarily at the change in decor, New souvenirs, as Wally would call it. An array of weapons, bright-colored guns, and elegant swards joined the giant penny and T-rex. There were a handful of additional vehicles, including multiple bat-mobiles and motorcycles.  The line of uniform display cases caught his eye; lined up were several hero suites, including multiple versions of the Robin costume – one stained with blood – a handful of Batman costumes, and a few suites that started achingly familiar to his father’s old costume. Dick forced himself to ignore it, getting, for the first time, a good view of the other people. Bruce looked older, hair dusted in gray around the temples. Alfred was off to one side, reassuringly unchanged compared to everything else. 

The man Bruce called “Red Hood” was there, mask gone and stripped of his leather jacket and weapons. Two other figures, one around Dick’s age, who he saw briefly earlier, and the second a few years older, both in a similar set of casual clothes as Dick. They all seemed tense and concerned, though some hid it better than others.  

“Shit,” Red Hood cried, “How did he get out.” He glared at the middle boy, “Replacement you said you locked him in.” 

Said boy scoffed, “He was. Demon Brat probably let him out.”

The smallest of the group hissed like an angry cat, “Unlike you imbeciles, I don’t make mistakes.” 

“Enough,” Bruce broke through, already skimming the shadows. Dick let out a slow breath when he moved past his position. “I often see the time 11:11 or 12:34 on clocks.” He yelled into the void of the cave. This gave all the occupants pause. 

“What’re you on old-“ Hood started, only to be silenced by Damian.  The man only looked slightly offended at the child when he stepped on his toe. 

“It’s a code.” The younger man said, trying to follow Bruce’s line of sight. Damian wouldn’t admit it, but it was something Dick brought up when he was Damian’s Batman. Something Damian brushed off at the time and the older man never brought up again.

“The paintbrush was angry at the color the artist chose to use,” Bruce called this time. 

Dick cocked his head, so maybe this was his world. “He dreamed of eating green apples with worms,” he threw his voice. The three unknowns whipped around to stare across the room; Bruce – much to Dick’s delight was still about ten feet off. 

“You bite up because of your lower jaw,” Bruce advised the darkness.

“What is happening?” The middle boy asked the others, his voice slightly manic. 

“He didn’t understand why the bird wanted to ride the bicycle,” Dick called back, this time voice normal. 

They all turned back in his direction but still skimmed over his location. 

“Harold felt confident that nobody would ever suspect his spy pigeon,” Alfred interrupted, leaving the three slack-jawed. 

“Okay, did we get hit with the explosion?” the middle teen asked, “Are we going crazy?” At the same time, Hood asked about Harrold, and the youngest asked if they could have spy pigeons.

Dick shifted, scaling the wall until perched behind the group again. He stuffed his belt down the leg of his sweatpants. The grapple was still quiet and smooth even after the apparent years of non-use; Dick landed behind the group. He was both delighted and slightly disappointed they didn’t seem to notice. “Dimension travel, time travel, body swap, or de-aging?” he asked. 

The middle boy squawked, and Hood pulled a gun. The youngest pulled a knife and moved on instinct at Dick. He reacted, twisting around the slightly smaller boy, getting the knife from his grasp. It was a quick movement, using the momentum and swinging them around to send the other boy stumbling back to the others. 

There was a short but very tense moment of silence, broken by Alfred's throat clearing. Dick relaxed significantly, as if on reflex, and tossed what seemed to be a genuine smile towards the butler. 

“De-aging,” Bruce says, ignoring what just happened even as the knife disappears on Dick’s person.  

“Magic or Science?” He pressed, rocking back on his heels. 

Bruce grunted. 

There was another pause then Dick snorted, “Use your words B.”   

This earned a loud laugh from Red Hood. 

“Who are they?” Dick asked, voice losing some of the playfulness, but the body still reading relaxed. 

“Damian Wayne, Tim Drake-Wayne, and Jason Todd-Wayne.” Bruce pointed to each one individually. 

Dick raised a signal eyebrow, indicating for him to elaborate.  The two stared at one another for a long moment before Jason broke it.  “Just rip off the Band-Aid,” He said, “we're your successors.” He trailed off with a pained hiss as Tim elbowed him in the side. “How does that hurt through Kevlar?” He mainly grumbled to himself. 

Dick made a non-committal hum, sizing each of them up again, then turning back to Bruce, “So you said de-aging,” he powered on. “How many years are we talking?”

Bruce took to the case talk like a lifeline, but the others were shocked. Jason was expecting outrage; from what he remembered from before his death, Dick burned hot and angry because Bruce made him Robin. He was expecting the same kind of reaction; he was expecting the same type of anger and maybe some tears. 

“From what we can tell, about a decade.” Bruce continued, “We couldn’t do much testing before you snuck out.” 

“How long-“

“About an hour.” Bruce interrupted. “Just long enough to return to the cave and set up in the med bay.” 

There was an accusation in there that Dick just shrugged it off.  He turned to wander back towards the middle of the cave, circling the table to perch on the arm of a chair. “Who-“

“Joker.”

Dick let out a long breath, “Any chance he’s gotten lazy in his old age?” he asked. “Leave any blueprints lying around.”

“Due to unforeseen circumstances, the scene and therefore any evidence was distorted,” Bruce admitted, pointedly not looking at the other three. 

Dick’s cackle echoed around the room, throwing his brothers even more off-kilter. “That’s what you say when it was destroyed, but don't want to admit how.” He turned to zero in on Tim, “You mentioned an explosion; what’d you do?” 

“Don’t look at me,” Tim said, pointing a hand towards Damian. "He hit a tripwire.”

“If you hadn’t distracted me-“ A small white thing, the size of an M&M, bounced off Damian’s forehead and skidded across the floor.  All eyes darted over to Dick, who was lining up another shot with a pill in hand.  “Grayson-“ Damian started, cutting off with a choking sound when the pill landed in his mouth. 

“What?” Dick shrugged, “You looked like you needed a chill pill.” 

Jason burst out laughing, bending at the waist with arms around his stomach, “Oh God, I think I like Kid Dick.” He gasped between breaths.  Tim laughed into his hand, inching away from Damian, not wanting to draw the kid’s anger. 

“Do you not like older me?” Dick asked, cocking his head curiously. Damian stood there sputtering, pill now in his hand. 

Jason’s laugh tapered off. “Let’s just say,” Jason took a few steps to sit at the table. “We’ve had our creative differences.”

“What is this?” Damian demanded, stalking across the room and placing the slightly dissolved pill on the tabletop. 

“I believe that is from the medicine cabinet. Am I right, Master Richard?” Alfred asked, using a tissue from his pocket to dispose of it and clean up the wet spot. 

“Alfie, you know me so well,” Dick said with a wide smile. 

The man hummed in agreement, holding out his silver serving tray. “Please return everything else you’ve procured.” 

Dick seemed to debate with himself before producing everything he took from the med-bay but keeping his belt hidden. Based on the look from both Alfred and Bruce the men were aware he was holding out, but neither man commented.

“So, nothing physical, but what about mask recordings?” Dick asked, glancing between the people around him, “Assuming your tech hasn’t gone backward, there should be a camera in the mask, and I assume older me looked around at least once.”

“That’s actually really smart,” Tim muttered to himself, moving towards the central computer to start pulling up the recordings himself. 

“You sound surprised,” Dick said, giving the other teen pause. His face had become curious and blank, leaving his three brothers a little on edge. 

“I mean –“ Tim sputtered, glancing at the other’s for help. 

Jason smirked back, raising an eyebrow in challenge. He leaned back in his chair, balancing on the back legs.  He refused to throw Tim a lifeline. Damian avoided eye contact with them all. 

Dick waved him off, turning to address the room at large again. “Once we figure out if it was magic or science,” he continued. “We can call in Zatara,” Bruce cringed; it was small but noticeable enough for Dick to add,  “or whoever you all keep as a contact for magic.”

Bruce nodded in agreement, “We could call in J’onn to check your mind-” Bruce began. 

“No,”  Dick interrupted, voice cold and whole body ridged. 

“Dick.”

“No.”

The two watched one another; Dick looked away first to tuck his shaking hands into the pocket of his sweats. “Last resort,” he conceded, voice smaller than before. 

“Okay,” Bruce agreed, then hesitated. “Was it recent?” He asked carefully. 

Dick glanced around at the others before looking at Bruce, “Recent enough.” He muttered, tension rising in his shoulders. The confidence shifted to something more defensive. 

 “What about a blood sample?” Tim offered into the silence. “See if there is anything left in your system to point us in the right direction,” he continued when all eyes snapped to him.  

Tim watched Dick pull himself together between two breaths, slightly amazed at watching the younger version of his brother: the easy posture and curious tilt of his head back in place. Tim briefly wondered what Cass would read from the younger version of their oldest brother.

“Good thinking, Tim.” Bruce agreed, causing the teen to preen slightly under the attention. “Dick, let’s go to medical and take a sample, now. I'll do it.”

Dick shook his head, “Thanks, but no thanks, B. I’ll give you a sample, but I’m taking it myself.” 

“What? " Jason snorted, kicking his legs out to rest on the tabletop, projecting an air of amusement. “One-handed?” 

Dick shrugged as if to say, not that hard, “Nothing I haven’t done before.”

“When the hell were you drawing your own blood?” the second Robin asked, somewhere between doubt and outrage. 

“Master Jason,” Alfred chastised, “Language.”

“Look, clearly, some things have changed over the last ten years,” Dick shot back, looking pointedly around the cave before turning back to Jason. “But I’m used to three less pairs of hands, technology a decade older, and chemical warfare that is probably old hat to you all but was fresh out of the lab. Point being, I had to learn how to make my own antitoxin.” 

“Okay, but you don’t have to now,” Jason pointed out, his face tight and unreadable. “why not let one of us do it?”

Dick visually bristled but didn’t respond. 

“He doesn’t trust us,” Damian said, his voice even and his face thoughtful. Even as a child, he could read his Batman, small signs carried through life.

They all turned to look back at Dick, who winced, “There’s still a chance you’re not my Batman.” He said, turning fully to Bruce again. “This could be a trap or some kind of mind trip. Maybe a different universe with the same codes. You taught me to be suspicious.”

“What do you need for us to convince you?” Tim asked curiously, perched now against the back computer. 

Dick glanced at him, up to the computer, then back to Bruce. “I want access to your systems. Let me verify for myself.”

“No.” Bruce shook his head with a slight frown. 

Dick scoffed, “Now you’re actively being suspicious. I mean, come on, B. It’s not like you can keep me out anyways.”

The man’s frown deepened, but he didn’t respond. 

“See,” Dick continued, standing from his chair, “before I wanted to check some details in the past, now I think you’re hiding something. You’re going to have to give me more than ‘No,’ or I’m hacking in myself.” 

“Wow, kid,” Jason muttered, slightly impressed.  

The silence stretched again between the two, a conversation just between them. 

“Master Richard,” Alfred interrupted, always the voice of reason, “I believe the intent is to prevent unnecessary complications. As you have mentioned, things have changed significantly, and there are things you won’t be happy to learn. If we are able to change you back quickly without any unnecessary grievances, why would we want to put you through that?”

Dick glanced between Alfred and Bruce thoughtfully, “twelve hours,” He offered.

Bruce threw out a counteroffer, “Give us forty-eight.” 

“twelve and a half.”

“forty-eight”

“twelve and three quarters. I can do this all night, B.”

Bruce let you a sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose; Dick smirked, knowing he had already won. “Twenty-four hours, and you let Alfred take your blood.” 

“Deal,” Dick agreed, launching himself over the table with an easy flip and offering out his hand in a shake.  The two shook, and Alfred pushed his once again young charge back into medical. 

“It’s not like he could even hack the computer anyways,” Tim stated to the cave at large. There was a long pause before he asked, “Right?”

Chapter Text

Jason wasn’t entirely sure when he returned to the manor. The cave was empty. His shower in the changing rooms was scorching hot. A set of clothes was waiting for him: a pair of lounge pants and an old shirt.  He had just enough energy to make it up to the ground floor and crash on one of the couches in the living room before passing out.  He woke later with Tim flicking him in the foot. Jason hissed, pulling his leg closer to his chest and out of the other’s range. 

“Get up,” Tim advised, “Unless you want Alfred to find out you slept on the couch.”

Jason grumbled, peeking out from under his arm tossed over his face. Tim was at the end of the couch, coffee cup in hand, looking as if he got no sleep. “Alfred probably already knows,” Jason mumbled.

Tim conceded with a nod, “Fair, but if Damian catches you, he’ll lecture you about being a disgrace to the Robin name or something like that.”  He watched as Jason sighed, hiding his smile with a sip of coffee. 

Jason rolled into a sitting position and stretched his arms above his head. His joins let out a loud pop that made Tim cringe. He stood, leading the duo out of the room towards the kitchen, the older man hoping there was some coffee left.  “Kid’s going to be an extra big pain in the ass with Goldie shrunk down,” he mused.

“Fuck,” Tim muttered. 

“Did Timmy just swear?” Jason teased, going for a cup of coffee and pouring it black. 

“Screw you,” Tim snorted, topping off his own mug. “The demon brat doesn’t hate you as much.” Jason shrugged, sliding into one of the barstools. Tim stood across from him, leaning against the counter. The lightness of the room melted as their eyes met. 

“Find anything new?” Jason asked. 

“No,” Tim wished he didn’t sound as disappointed as he did. “Bruce sent us up shortly after you left.”

The older man let his head fall into the crock of his elbow, pillowing his forehead. The coffee cup was still in his hand. “It’s going to be complicated, isn’t it?” He muttered voice muffled. 

“Yep.”

“Wake me up when Alfred gets here.”

“Sure.”

Jason sighed again, mind drifting back to the night before. 

  Tiny Dick, as Jason referred to him in his head, was fascinating to watch. He still moved with the grace and fluidity expected from the last remaining Grayson. He was confident and knowledgeable and threw sass like batarangs.  Jason would never admit it, but the kid was hilarious. 

It wasn’t Dick who was grating on his nerves, not really. Sure, the kid threw him off; it isn't every day Goldie gets turned into a baby. But it was everyone else, Bruce, specifically, that really started to rub him the wrong way.  It was a joke from Bruce, not even a good one, that broke the camel's back.  

Jason was only half paying attention to the conversation when Bruce said something to Tiny Dick. Tiny Dick stuck out his tongue rather than replying. Bruce, with a twitch of a smile, stated, “Use your words, chum.” His voice was light and teasing. 

It brought forward half-constructed memories of a time before Jason’s death. 

The oxygen left his lungs. “I can’t,” Jason said, his chair scraping across the floor and crashing over in his haste. The cave was getting too small, and the walls suddenly too close. 

“Jason?” Bruce edging into his line of sight, “you okay, lad?”

He filched back, breath coming in too fast. He could feel eyes on him. Tiny Dick was still watching with wide, curious eyes, but there was something more. He was analyzing Jason, making his skin crawl. “I’ll do patrol,” he stated, already moving to grab his equipment, “need air.” He swung onto his bike, shooting out with a spray of rock and the roar of an engine. 

He ended up on the Wayne Enterprise Building, legs hanging off the ledge. The city was a dark void below his feet, the occasional light glowing like a star through the smog.  With bloody hands – not his blood, of course - Jason pulled out his phone. He placed his helmet to the side and hit speed dial number two. 

“Wha?” Roy answered. 

A little more of the pressure in Jason’s chest lessened, “Wake up, asshole.”

The line disconnected. Jason pulled the phone from his ear to look at the end-of-call notice on his screen.  Before he could reconnect, Roy’s name came up as an incoming call.

“You done bein’ rude?” Roy asked when the call connected. 

Jason snorted, “Probably not,” he admitted. 

"At least you’re honest.” Roy mused. Jason could hear rustling in the background, the older man probably shifting in bed.  It was quite on Roy’s end, not like the loud ambiance of Gotham.  There was a small click, a light Jason assumed. “What do you want?” Roy asked. 

“There was an accident – no one hurt,” he added before the other could ask, “But something happened with Dick.”

There was a pause, and Jason could hear more rustling. " Okay,” Roy said cautiously, indicating for Jason to elaborate. Soft footsteps were heard, followed by the noticeable hum of Roy's coffee maker.

"Joker de-aged him.”

“No shit? How old?”

“Thirteen or fourteen, I don’t think anyone actually asked. At least not before I left.”

“You bailed on Tiny Dick?” Roy asked; there was the sound of a chair dragging along cheap linoleum flooring. 

“That’s what I’ve been calling him too.” Jason laughed, aware the edges sounded a little hysterical,  “But no, I just needed some air. Bruce was…” He trailed off, trying to find the words. Roy didn’t press. It was one of the things Jason appreciated about him. “Bruce was acting weird.  Thirty minutes in, and Baby Golden-boy had him making jokes.” Jason tugged at his hair.  “It became too much.”

“Yeah,” Roy started when Jason didn’t elaborate, “Dick always had a way with people. Bruce was wrapped around his finger as a kid. Practically the whole Justice League was, if I remember correct.”

“Golden Child,” Jason muttered. 

 Roy snorted, “He take meeting you all okay?” 

“Surprisingly, yeah.” Jason shrugged eagerly, desperately, grasping the change of topic. " I told ’em we were his replacements, and he didn’t seem to care.”

“What exactly did you say?” Roy pressed, suppressing Jason at the sudden intensity. 

“I don’t know, man.  B introduced us; I said we were his successors. And then he moved the conversation along.”

“That’s it? Just successor, nothing about being Robin specifically? Or how any of you came into the bat-family.”

“No, Roy, sorry to disappoint, but we didn’t get all deep and personal.” Jason ground out. "Sharing stick stayed in the closet."

Roy made an Ah-ha noise, like something for him clicked. But Jason ignored it, powering on, “Bruce wants to keep it vague, won’t let'em near the computer. Tiny Dick threatened to hack our systems, which Bruce took way too seriously. Replacement set up our security, no way kid’s getting in.”

Roy hummed non-committal. “Do you want to come over? Or me to come out?” he offered.

“Na, but thanks. I just needed to vent. I can't believe I'm saying this, but it’s not even Dick who's the problem. Everyone else is putting me on edge. Demon Brat keeps fluctuating between lookin' like he wants to fight’em and just creepily staring. I don’t know what’s going on with replacement, but he went straight to being awkward. And B is acting like a pod person." Jason sighed, "At least Alfred is acting normal.”

"Alfred is king.’ Roy agreed. 

“You bet your ass.”

"Yeah, well, keep me updated, and let me know if you want me to swing by. I’m not doing anything.” 

Jason swallowed the lump in his throat, a thank you on his lips.  “Night, asshole.” He said instead. 

“Morning, Jerk.” Roy disconnected, and this time, Jason put the phone away. With a long breath, Jason slipped his helmet back on and took a running leap. He had a patrol to finish and a bed to get to. 

Tim shook Jason awake just in time for Alfred’s entry. The man eyed them knowingly and shooed them out of the kitchen with the promise of food and more coffee. They sat beside one another, Jason pulling out his phone and occasionally making a face as he drank his room-temperature coffee. 

Tim had a tablet out, but the screen stayed black. The teen was lost in thought, and his mind drifted back to the night before. 

The cave was tense; Dick’s pun about air being in the cave was lost to the sound of Jason’s squealing tires. 

“I believe on that note,” Alfred announced with a clap of his hands, “it is time for bed.”

Tim and Damian started to protest; Dick turned his attention to Bruce. “You aren’t going to finish patrol, too?” he asked. 

“No,” Bruce said, making a show of heading back to the computer, “I’ll run through the blood test, then go up myself. Hood knows to call if he needs backup.”  He took a seat at the computer, swiveling to face the room. Dick watched his mentor, looking for something the others couldn’t see. Bruce kept his face blank, letting Dick come to some conclusion. 

“Okay,” Dick chirped, he spun on his heels and took for the stairs. “Have fun with your files, B. I want a shower.”

Bruce was immediately suspicious, squinting at Dick’s retreating back. “Richard,” he called, freezing the younger in place. He stood, walking to stand at the younger boy's side, and held out a hand. “Give it,” he said. 

“Give what?” Dick parroted. He blinked, eyes wide and shining bright even in the limited light of the cave.

“That hasn’t worked since you were ten.” Bruce shook his head, face twitching into a smile. 

Dick let out a loud laugh, “We both know that isn’t true. Just last week – my last week at least – you stopped for ice-“

“No,” Bruce interrupted. 

The whole interaction was too strange for Tim and Damian. The younger boy had never seen his father this relaxed. For Tim, it was a distant memory when he was still living with his birth parents. Back when he would watch Bruce and Dick interact, playing it up for galas and paparazzi. He used to assume it was exaggerated for publicity.  But watching them now, he wondered if it was all real, at least to some extent. 

“Bed,” Bruce instructed, “all of you.” He turned a sharp eye to Tim and Damian. 

“Sir, yes, sir.” Dick nodded, getting ready to bound up the stairs once more. 

Alfred cleared his throat, forcing Dick to freeze once again. The older man held out his hand expectantly. Dick sighed, pulling out the holo-glove to Tim’s suit and handing it over. 

Tim frowned; he clearly remembered locking that away.  Dick shot him an apologetic smile. Damian snickered.

Alfred tucked the glove under his arm and held his hand out again. Dick handed over three bat-a-ranges, a small set of tools from the equipment area, and a flashlight. 

“The belt, Master Richard,” Alfred stated. 

Dick glanced around the room, body tense.  He shifted back, growing defensive. 

“Let him keep it,” Tim found himself saying.  Everyone turned to look at him, but Tim just watched Dick, “It’s just the belt, right?” he asked. 

Dick nodded, cautious but hopeful.

“It’s like Dick said before, he still doesn’t know if this is his world. If it makes him feel safe, let him keep the belt.”  Tim continued. Dick made a face at ‘feel safe’ but didn’t comment. “A sign of good faith.” He added. 

Alfred and Bruce exchanged a look, and the butler dropped his hand. “You make an excellent point, Master Tim. Richard may keep the utility belt.” Dick’s face lit up, body sagging for just a moment in relief. “But,” Alfred continued, causing Dick to snap back to attention. “I don’t want any funny business.” 

“Of course, Alfy,” Dick promised, smiling bright and grateful. "Best behavior."

“Off to bed,” the man shooed, pointing the three young charges up the stairs. 

They went quietly, stopping at Dick’s bedroom. Damian sniffed indifferently and disappeared behind the door across the hall.  Dick blocked Tim’s way with an arm, “Good faith and all that,” he said, holding something out in his other hand.  It took Tim a moment to realize Dick was handing him back his phone. “It’s a two-way street.” 

Tim gaped at him for a second before snatching his phone back. “How did you?” he asked, turning the device on and checking to see if it had been tampered with. 

Dick shrugged, studying Tim closely. “You’re the Drake kid, right?” 

Tim nodded, suddenly feeling five years old again.  Dick cocked a simple smile, “Cool! Night, Timbo.” He turned to enter his room, “Night, Damian!” he called over his shoulder. 

A muffled “Good night, Grayson.” Drifted from the room across the hall. 

Bruce, Damian, and Dick entered together, pulling the two from their thoughts. Dick clung to Bruce’s back like a koala bear as Damian trailed behind them, looking like a lost puppy. 

Dick was deposited quickly into his usual chair, Bruce swinging him off his back with what looked to be a rusty but practiced ease. Damian took his regular seat to Dick’s left while Bruce sat at the head of the table to Dick’s right. 

Jason and Tim shared a look, turning to Damian to ask. The kid only shrugged a shoulder, thanking Alfred quietly when he placed a stack of pancakes In front of him. 

Dick’s eyes trailed Alfred as he dropped off the food and disappeared into the kitchen. He waited for the door to stop swinging. “So, what-“ 

Again, the galley door swung open, “No case talk at the table.” Alfred stated. 

“I was just going to ask about the Knights Seasons I’ve missed," Dick said, eyes a little too bright to be trustworthy.

“No case talk at the table,” Alfred said again; the door fell closed with finality in his wake. 

Dick sighed, looking a little deflated. 

“Uh, do you actually want to talk Knights?” Asked Tim. “I don’t think talking baseball seasons would cause any harm.” He glanced at Bruce, who nodded in approval. 

“Of course not-“ Jason started, only to be interrupted. 

“Yes! I am dying to know what happened to Bradly Vaunts. He recently returned from an injury, but they predicted it would be his last season.” 

There was a long pause, and then Jason spoke up. "There is Good news and bad news. Good news: It was not his last season. Bad news: They traded him to Metropolis."

"Traitor," Dick hissed under his breath. 

Jason nodded in agreement, "But he re-tore the ligament during the second game into the season and retired." 

And they were off, Jason catching Dick up on the last decade of the home team. Tim was throwing out random facts and searching for a way to stream the old games. Damian surprised everyone by getting into a heated debate with Bruce about a trade from three years ago. (Damian would never admit it, but he was paraphrasing a rant from Dick he had heard way too many times, in his opinion.) 

Alfred watched from the doorway, momentarily content. 

Chapter Text

They were shooed from the dining room as soon as they were finished eating by hovering Alfred. Dick led the way, cartwheeling down the hall with a practiced ease. He talked the entire time, a running commentary about the minor changes. A different painting, a new vase, he asked the occasional question. They made it to the clock, then down the elevator, Dick falling silent. The smile on his face melted into a line, his causal, loose stance straightened.

Like the night before, Tim watched Dick fluctuate between relaxed to serious. He cast his attention into his coffee cup when his brother’s gaze moved to him. He glanced back up in time to see the shine in Dick’s eyes. Tim realized that the kid was laughing at him, and only the familiar glint in his eye was giving it away. If Dick had a mask in place, Tim would probably never know.

Tim was startled when he caught Damian’s glare.

“Find anything?” Dick asked, sliding out of the elevator after the others. First in, last out, and all that.

“Nothing specific when comparing to your blood what we have on record. I was able to narrow down your age, though,” Tim explained, walking over to the computer and typing a few things into the keyboard, pulling up a holographic version of the young Dick Grayson in the center of the briefing table.

“Timothy,” Bruce warned, “You were supposed to go to bed.”

Tim avoided eye contact, choosing not to answer, instead giving a one-shoulder shrug. Honestly, you would think Bruce would stop being surprised.

Dick wondered closer, flicking a hand through the holograph to the written report.

Bruce sighed, running a hand down his face.

“Pot meet kettle,” Dick called before the man would speak. “Kettle, this is pot.”  He waved a hand between the two without lifting his gaze.  

Jason snorted, taking the same chair as the night before and stretching to rest his feet on the seat across from him. Damian followed close to Dick, taking the seat on his left.  

“Nothing in the blood. Have you been able to find a magical contact?”

“I wouldn’t say nothing,” Tim interrupted with a frown; he tapped a few keys, pulling up a specific section of the blood work. “There was a mix of older Joker Venom and Fear Toxin in your system.”

Bruce nodded, “I’ve already determined those are unlikely to be applicable to the situation, at least based on his age and history around that time.”

“What?” Jason interrupted, Damian and Tim equally confused.

“It was there before,” Bruce was studying Dick, whose face had fallen blank again.

Jason glanced between the two, “Again, what?”

“Two days ago, my time, the Joker and Scarecrow teamed up,” Dick explained, he started messing with the holo-screen. He flicked through cases to bring up a specific one. It was the typical story: An Arkham breakout and re-capture.  “Should be out of my system at this point, but as you might be aware, it sometimes lingers in the system.”

“Ah,” Tim nodded, “Then nothing in the blood.” He agreed.

“I’ve sent it through a secondary scan; it will take longer to see if there is anything else.” Bruce advised, “But no hits-“

“According to this, you have two broken ribs!” Damian interrupted, still reading through the case report Dick had pulled up earlier.

Jason crashed back on all four legs of the chair, leaning to read where Damian was pointing. “Injuries:” he read, “cracked ribs (4,6). Sprained wrist – right. Gash left side – 16 stitches. Re-tore stitches right thigh – 9 stitches. Concussion – grade two.”

“I’m fine,” Dick said as if on instinct. “Like half of that isn’t even from that case.” He waved them off, “Alfred checked over the stitches yesterday. Bruising is down significantly on the ribs. Concussion was cleared. I’m totally feeling the aster.”

“Aster?” Tim mimicked.

“I’ve called in Zatanna,” Bruce cut in, “I want her to take a look. Do a scan and see if anything magical sticks out. I’ll have her review the footage we gathered.”

A blush crept up Dick’s neck, luckily no one commented.

“She doesn’t know the specifics yet,” Bruce continued. We are keeping this quiet for now. I don’t want the information falling into the wrong hands.”

Dick opened his mouth to argue, but Bruce pressed on. “Between anyone interested in the younger version of Dick Grayson and the proof of de-aging, you would be a prime target for kidnapping. Plus, we don’t know what the Joker is planning; he put a lot of effort into this.”

“If they can fix the memory loss, it’s basically immortality,” Tim mused.

Dick nodded, though still looking reluctant.

“Uh,” Jason stuck a hand in the air, lowering it when all eyes turned to him, “I told Roy.”

A wide smirk grew across Dick’s face, and Bruce sighed. “Tell him to keep it to himself.” The man pointed to Jason. “And Dick,” He waited for Dick to make eye contact. “Whatever you’re planning, stop.”

Dick held up his hands in surrender, “When’s Zee supposed to get here?”

“She’s expected around two this afternoon.”

Dick nodded along, “What’re we doing until then?”

“I have a few more tests that-“

Dick cut him off with a dramatic grown. He went boneless, melting into a half-slump in the chair. “boring.”

Bruce sighed, “Dick-“

“So bored!” He yelled over the older man.

Damian was wide-eyed, caught somewhere between an overwhelmed panic and confusion.

“Can I go to the gym?” Dick asked.

“Aren’t you,” Tim began, pointing to the still open case file and injury list.

Dick brushed him off, “I’ll just do the bars or something.”

“You’ll play nice when Zatanna gets here,” Bruce said, knowing to pick his battles. “No pranks. You will do what she asks without complaint.”

“I would never do that to Zee,” Dick argued, raising one hand in oath and making a crossing motion over his heart with the other.

“Pulling pigtails is a thing, “Bruce sent Dick a knowing look.

A blush crept up the boy’s neck, “I’m going to the gym.” He said, standing with a rough shove to his chair. “Are the codes the same? You know what, I’ll figure it out.” He fled down a side passage.

“No sparing,” Bruce yelled after his retreating back, then turned to his current oldest. “Jason, can you go and unlock the door before he breaks in?”

Jason gave a sloppy solute, “Come on, Demon Brat.”

Damian waited long enough for Bruce to nod in approval before following the older man down the hallway after Dick.

“Were his crushes always so oblivious?” Time asked with an amused smile.  Seeing his usually impressively infallible brother so flustered was doing wonders for his self-esteem.

“He got better at hiding it.” The unspoken, ‘from me at least,’ echoed through the silence. The man’s shoulders sagged slightly.

“He’ll probably freak when he finds out they dated,” Tim tried to lighten the mood.

Damian trailed after Jason, lost in his thoughts. He still had enough special awareness to sidestep the older hero when he came to an abrupt halt. He caught the snide remark on the tip of his tongue, realizing they were at the gym entrance with no Grayson in sight.

Jason swore under his breath. He went to the keypad, swearing again when it came up locked and seemed undamaged.

Damian shoved him aside. Both heroes were aware Jason only moved because he allowed it. “There are other ways in,” he said with a sniff, refusing to elaborate when Jason raised a questioning eyebrow.  It only took a few seconds for Damian to enter the code, the door opening with a light hiss.

Dick was inside, hanging from a single ring by his left leg. He pouted at them, though more adorable than anything else. “That was faster than I expected.” He dropped from the perch, flipping three times and landing in a crouch.

“Older you showed me.” Damian’s eyes flickered around the room too fast for Jason to follow.

Dick seemed to understand, a smirk growing. “We get along?” He asked.

“As good as the Demon Brat can get along with anyone.” Jason cut in, ignoring Damian bristling demeanor.

“Maybe,” Dick shot back, his voice edging towards cold, “it’s because you keep calling him Demon Brat and not his name.” He cocked an eyebrow.

Jason snorted, crossing his arms over his chest, “God, even shrunk-you stands up for the kid.”

“Or, I just don’t like bullies?”

“Excuse me?” Jason snarled, “Look, Kid, it’s just a nickname. His grandfather is the Demon Head.”

Dick made no indication of surprise. “And Talia is his mother,” he shot back, sparing a glance at Damian for verification.

Damian nodded but couldn’t do more than watch. He doesn’t need anyone to stick up for him, especially given the situation. It was his duty to watch over his Batman while in this impaired state. But even at this age, Richard saw him a little too well.

“Maybe he doesn’t want to be compared or remember that part of his family.” There is something in Dick’s expression that was gone before the other two could get a full read.  “You ended up with Bruce for a reason,” He continued, “For good or for bad, maybe you don’t want to be reminded of before.”

The silence echoed; Dick was avoiding eye contact, gaze lost. Jason looked complaintive.

Damian was flushed. “Richard,” he cleared his throat, cringing under both their gazes. “Thank you. I have grown accustomed to the nickname, and it no longer holds the same implication it once did. But I appreciate your consideration.” Damian liked to believe that Adult Dick would be proud of him; years ago, he would have attacked at the insinuation of weakness, but now he knows better. Richard taught him to be better.

Dick rubbed a hand on the back of his neck, “Yeah, no problem.” The awkward silence was back, his gaze drifting from Damian over his shoulder.  “No way,” he breathed, both once again loose as he bounced towards a dent in the wall. “This is still here?” He traced a finger along the edge of the crater

“You know where that came from?” Jason asked.

The dent was a mystery to the younger three Robins. Bruce claimed he had no idea where it came from. It was a tradition to gently punch the indent before training for good luck, especially if they were sparring.

Dick tossed him a smile. Jason found himself relieved that Tiny Dick didn’t seem to hold a grudge. “Dude, I made that. I was-“ he paused, “I was angry about something and messed up a dismount and…” he mimicked, punching the wall. “I thought B would have filled it or covered It or something.” He mused.

“You did that?” Jason repeated.

Dick shrugged, like he didn’t just solve a decade-old mystery and blew Jason’s mind in one. “Better than the time I blew up those warehouses. The explosion was intentional but even I can admit it didn’t need to be so big.”

When no one said anything, Dick turned back to the rings, “I’m going to train for a bit,” he powered on. He didn’t wait for an answer, sprinting and jumping to swing with his momentum.

“Hey, Dea- Damian,” Jason cleared his throat, “Does it-“

“Todd. Jason,” Damian corrected, noting the relieved look on the older man’s face when he didn’t have to finish his thought. “We have all grown and changed. I like to believe that for all our issues in the past, we have moved forward. I know, for the most part, that when you and Timothy refer to me as Demon Brat, it is meant more in jest than to be cruel. It is the same when you refer to him as Replacement or when you call Richard Goldie.”

Jason looked ready to flee under Damian’s intense gaze. “Shit, kid,” he said after a long breath, “stare into my soul. Why don’t you.”

“I do not think that is something I want to see,” Damian tried to joke.

Jason took it with a laugh, “Fair.”

Bruce was the only one in the cave when Zatanna’s request for entry came through the computer. He approved clearance and stood to greet her at the Zeta.

“Bruce,” she called, to which he nodded in return. “What’s going on?” She asked, openly concerned. Usually, Dick would be here to at least say hi if she had to come to the cave.

“We need your help,” Bruce opened, “It probably goes without saying, but everything discussed today needs to be kept quiet, at least for the time being.”

She frowned, “Of course.” Her concern jumped to a low panic.

“The Joker de-aged Nightwing.”

Her mind blanked for a moment, “How?” she asked.

“We’re hoping you could tell us.” Bruce turned to the computers, indicating that the magic user should follow. He pulled up the various test results and the evidence they had gathered. He ran through the night’s events, pointing out specific evidence.

“How old is he now?” she asked.

“Thirteen.”

“That’s ten years,” she muttered, mostly to herself. Bruce nodded anyway. “Can I see him?” she continued. “Run a few tests of my own.”

Bruce continued nodding, tapping out something on his phone. Not even a minute later, Tim came sprinting down the stairs with Dick riding on his back. Jason was hot on his heels, carrying Damian like a sack of potatoes.

Dick cackled as they came to a stop. The sound hit Bruce and Zatanna close to the heart. “What’s up, B-“ Dick jumped from Tim’s Back. He stumbled slightly when he caught sight of Zatanna. A slight blush crept up his neck to his ears. “Hi, Zee.”

Behind him, Jason dropped Damian to the ground, failing to hide his laughter behind his hand.

“Oh my goodness,” Zatanna practically squealed. She pulled Dick into a hug, causing the blush to spread through his face. “I forgot how adorable you were.”

“Hey,” Dick made a halfhearted attempt to pull away. The woman squeezed harder. “I am not adorable.” He said, just short of a whine.

Jason wasn’t even hiding his laughter anymore. Tim was trying to hide his giggling behind his phone, not so subtly taking a picture. Bruce and Damian had similar looks of half-hidden amusement.

“You totally are,” she said, holding him at arm's length. I want to put you in my pocket.”

Jason was almost collapsed. Tim’s whole body shook with silent laughter. Damian was losing a battle with a smile. Bruce wasn’t fighting it anymore.

“I hate you,” Dick grumbled.

Zatanna beamed, “No, you don’t. The three years we dated and the fact that even after breaking up, we still get coffee like twice a month says otherwise.” Her voice was light and teasing.

“We dated?” Dick gasped. “B won’t let me access anything,” he explained before she asked.

“Like that has ever stopped you.”

“I promised to wait 24 hours. If they can change me back before then, less drama for everyone.” With a cheeky smile he added, “I pick my battles with him.”

From across the room, Bruce looked affronted. The other boys snickered.

Zatanna let out a bright laugh. “Well, spoilers to hold you over.” She shrugged.

Zatanna stayed through the afternoon and into the night. Alfred corralled them all upstairs for a quick break and the pasta dish he knows she loves. They returned to the cave shortly before patrol, with enough time for Zatanna to say her goodbyes.  Dick didn’t argue when Bruce told him he wasn’t going. “I figured,” he said, “Just stay traught.” He disappeared towards the elevator before Tim could question what traught meant.

“I forgot he used to do that,” Zatanna said, voice fond. 

“Do what?” Damian was the one to ask.

“Butcher the English language.”

Damian nodded like it made sense; Tim and Jason were more confused. “Distraught?” the youngest clarified.

Both Zatanna and Bruce nodded. “Go change,” Bruce interrupted, already dressed for the night. Damian disappeared with a small, proud smile on his face. Jason and Tim were a little more hesitant but followed the youngest after bidding the magic-user goodnight.

“I have to do some research,” Zatanna started before Bruce could ask. She looked down at the notebook they had provided her. Tucked under it was a container of leftovers provided by Alfred. “Nothing jumped out, but I have a few leads to work with.”

Bruce nodded in understanding.

“I know you want to keep this on the down low but consider talking to the Flashes. They have the most experience with time-based science.” She continued.

Bruce looked hesitant. Zatanna knew how much trust he put into her by letting her read him so easily.

“I know he and Wally might not be on the best terms,” she continued in a soft voice. “But he’ll still help. I think anyone would for Dick, especially in Robin form.”

“I will keep it in mind,” Bruce conceded, and Zatanna knew that was the best she would be getting for the moment.

“I’ll let you know what I find,” she said, making the short walk to the Zeta. “And Bruce,” She punched in the code, the system lighting up behind her. “You need to hell him. You can’t keep him from the truth. We both know he is too curious and stubborn for his own good.”

The Zeta announced her departure, and the light faded again.

“She is correct, Master Bruce,” Alfred said, approaching from behind. “In less than ten hours, he will find out everything. It would be better if it came from you. He deserves at least that.”

“I’ll,” Bruce swallowed past the lump in his throat. Red Hood, Red Robin, and Robin emerged from the changing rooms. “After patrol.” He bargained, pulling his cowl over his face.

Bruce wasn’t proud when he fled, beckoning Robin to join him in the Batmobile. He could feel Alfred’s disappointed gaze burning into his back.

No matter what look Alfred gave him, Bruce did not intentionally extend patrol later than usual. His kids may joke that he would rather deal with a mass Arkham breakout than talk about emotions, but he knows Zatanna and Alfred were right. He didn’t do it right the first time. He owes Dick an explanation. It was mostly luck, but he doesn’t know yet.   He would tell him he just needed to use patrol to put his thoughts together.

Then, there was an Arkham breakout. Reported by Oracle, who was off the night before. “Ivy and Harley are already gone; cameras show them driving into Gotham.” She explained, “Scarecrow was last seen fifteen minutes ago before the breakout began. Two-Face and Penguin are MIA from cameras, but I have chatter of sightings in the last few minutes.”

Bruce pressed down harder on the gas. Tim and Jason sped past on their bikes.

“They lost Penguin and Two-Face. I have reports of Clay Face vanishing,” She sounded slightly frantic, “I don’t understand.”

“Is there anyone who isn’t escaping?” Jason growled.

“Zsasz and Freeze are accounted for.” Barbara offered, “Killer Crock-“

“Yes, Red. Thank you.” Jason didn’t roll his eyes because he knew better to do so when driving at this kind of speed, but it was a near thing.

“I can’t get ahold of Nightwing.” She continued. “I tried coms and his phone.”

They forgot to tell Babs…

“Nightwing is out of commission for the time being,” Bruce advised after a pause long enough to be suspicious.

“What happened?” she demanded.

“Oracle, focus on-“

“Oh shit,” Jason broke in, skidding to a stop at the front gate. One of the doors was missing; the other was spray-painted with a Joker face. A dead guard was laid out on the ground, two envelopes stapled to his forehead. The top was addressed to Robin #2, #3, and #4—the second to Batman.

Jason tore the first letter open before anyone could stop him, pulling out two pieces of paper. Clearing his throat, he read. “You’re formerly not invited to the welcome home party for our little bird, Robin the First.” Jason read, voice running through the com line as the Batmobile pulled up. Bruce and Damian joined Tim as his mini audience. “Wishing you love and well, Joker.”

“Pleasant,” Tim commented, taking the paper from Jason. He snorted at the ‘It’s A Boy’ printed across the top with blue balloons.

Jason started on the second page: “We are pleased to inform you that, effective immediately, you are being evicted from Gotham. The role of Robin has once again been cast by the correct player. Your attempts at service have been noted.” Jason glanced up at the others. A red dot danced across both Robin’s foreheads. 

The letters fell from his hand. He dove forward, a loud crack echoed, and his arm started to burn. Two more shots followed. The letters were forgotten as Bruce tracked the shots to a watch tower. He took off running, laying down smoke bombs as cover.

They returned that night only mildly injured, given the circumstances. Jason took a bullet to the arm. It was only a graze, luckily, given the guy was originally aiming for the back of his head. Damian and Tim were generally unscathed past the typical scrapes, bruising, and exhaustion expected from long nights of crime fighting. There were two bullets embedded in the Batmobile. If Jason hadn’t moved when he did, Bruce would be doing more than fixing two dents.

Only Harley, Ivy, Two-Face, Penguin, and Scarecrow made it out during the breakout. They were only able to collect Clayface before he left the premises.  They found a spray-painted Joker face in the five cells. Clayface, they found out later, was a failed attempt at opportunity.  

These five were chosen. An empty envelope, similar to the one left for them at the gate, was found in Penguin’s cell. A “guest list” was found in Harley’s cell, listing Her, Two-Face, Penguin, Scarecrow, Joker, Batman, and Robin 1st.  Ivy was written in at the bottom in Harley’s handwriting.

Barbara didn’t bring up Nightwing again, instead letting them know the Birds of Prey would do a lap of the city and follow up if they were able to track anyone down.

Bruce ushered Jason through medical. The younger man muttered under his breath about being fine but let Bruce help him without much of an actual fight. He was put to bed upstairs. Jason passed out quickly, with a little help from some of Alfred’s special tea and an adrenaline crash.

Bruce stopped to check in on Damian, finding him showered and curled up in bed with Titus. They had a brief talk, Damian agreeing to sleep after finishing his chapter and bidding Bruce a soft, “Goodnight, father.”

Bruce ruffled Damian’s hair and gave Titus a small pat on the head as he passed, “Night, Kiddo.”

Damian hid his pleased smile behind the pages of his book.

Bruce went to check in on Tim next, finding him—unsurprisingly—with a computer balanced on his knees and his face lit up in the pitch black. The man confiscated all the technology with a firm, “Sleep Tim.” He went so far as to take Tim’s backup computer, last year's model of the Wayne Pad, and the holo-gloves he knows Tim keeps in his room.

Bruce stopped at Dick’s door. Alfred trailing behind him.  Bruce took a calming breath. This was it. His heart was pounding. He opened the door, calling a soft, “Chum?” into the darkness. He crept closer, stopping at his son’s side. Dick had a hand-tossed over his face, mouth slightly a jar. The blanket was half on the floor, the other end wrapped around one of his legs.

Bruce’s heart climbed into his throat. He brushed a few stray hairs from Dick’s forehead. He untangled the blanket with slow, careful movements before tucking Dick in again. Bruce moved to Dick’s desk, pulling open a left side drawer, second from the bottom. He grabbed the hidden nightlight, plugging the elephant back into its old home for the first time in years.  Bruce knew, even as a teen, Dick didn’t like sleeping in pitch dark.

“We live in the dark,” he used to say.“I don’t want to dream in it, too.”

Bruce straightened, pausing once more to smooth over the blankets. He moved back to the hall, Alfred waiting at the doorway. The older man closed the door with a slight click. He turned to Bruce, face full of understanding.

Bruce opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out.

“Go to bed, Bruce,” Alfred advised, placing a warm hand on his charge’s shoulder. He lifted his free hand to brush a few stray hairs behind Bruce’s ear, just as the man had done moments ago for Dick.

“Thank you,” Bruce choked, the words sounding surprisingly wet. He didn’t know precisely for what, but Bruce felt it burn through him.

Alfred gave his shoulder another squeeze. “It’s my absolute pleasure.” As always, Alfred understood. “Goodnight, Master Bruce.”

“Goodnight, Alfred.”

Chapter Text

Jason woke up slowly and lethargic, his body heavy. The bedside clock read just before 11:00 am.  The bandage tugged at the stitches in his arm when he shifted, sending a burst of pain through his fingers. He weighed his options. It wasn’t often Alfred let them sleep in, but on the other hand he needed painkillers and food. His stomach growled, making the call for him. Jason heaved himself up and out the door.  

He wandered down to the kitchen to find Alfred putting the finishing touches on grilled cheese and tomato soup.  The older man shot Jason a look before he could sneak any food and pushed him out to the dining room. Alfred followed a moment later with some tea, a small portion of soup, and some painkillers and antibiotics.  “For the pills,” he explained, setting out the partial servicing. “Lunch will be served shortly.” 

True to his word, Damian, Bruce, and Tim arrived from different directions just a few minutes later to settle around the table.  They all tossed concerned looks to Dick’s empty chair, but no one commented. Alfred emerged to the tense silence with a tray of water. “Master Timothy, would you kindly retrieve Master Richard from his room?” 

Tim nodded, pushing from the table, “Of course, Alfred.”

Damian was a step behind, “Drake, I can retrieve- “ 

“He asked me, Demon Brat.”

Alfred cleared his throat, “Please, Master Damian, return to your seat.”

Damian huffed, crossing his arms tight across his chest. Bruce hid a smile behind a sip of coffee. Tim stuck out his tongue before slipping out the door. 

Ten minutes later, they were still missing. Around the fifteen-minute mark, something sprinted past the door, then doubled back. Tim burst in, eyes wide and slightly frantic. “As anyone seen Dick?” he gasped out. 

“Can’t find his room Replacement?” Jason snorted, “It hasn’t changed.”

Tim rolled his eyes. “He isn’t in his room. From what I can tell, nothing is missing.”

“Did he sneak-“ Bruce started, only to be interrupted. 

“Already checked, nothing breached the sensors and I’ve verified on cameras. He didn’t go out, and nothing came in.” Tim listed off, shaking his phone for emphasis.  

“Aren’t you being a little dramatic,” Jason asked, “Maybe he went to the cave to practice or for a walk around the manor.” He half shrugged. “Let the kid breathe.”

“He hasn’t left his room either,” Tim stressed; he fiddled with something on his phone, then held it out to show off a picture of Dick’s door with an overlay of statistics for anyone passing by or opening said door.

“Did you bug his room?” Jason laughed, trying to snatch the device, only for Tim to pull it away at the last moment. 

“No,” Tim scoffed, avoiding eye contact, “Just the door.”

Jason cocked an eyebrow at Damian, “And you’re okay with this?” he asked.

“Drake, I demand you give me access.” 

Tim smirked at Jason but nodded in agreement to the request. Jason rolled his eyes. 

Bruce let out a long groan, hefting himself out of his chair and towards the entrance of the Batcave. His three remaining sons were on his heels. “I’ll check the computer; it will be faster than manually searching. We might be able to find him.” They filed into the elevator, “Otherwise, I need you boys to start a manual search of the manner and grounds.” They arrived at the cave, Bruce leading the charge for the computer, “If we’re lucky, he hasn’t wiped the footage already.”

“He can do that?” Tim asked, wide-eyed. 

Bruce hummed in agreement. He logged into the systems, flicking to the manor security. Multiple camera feeds were pulled up across the scenes. With a growing sense of dread, they watched smaller versions of themselves flicker in reverse from various angles. At breakfast the day before, they talked to an empty chair. A few moments later, Bruce and Damian stood, walking backward to the door. Bruce paused for just a second next to the open chair, doing the same swinging motion he did with Dick yesterday, just without Dick. 

The footage continued like this, missing any signs of the child-sized Dick Grayson. The night he turned, Tim stopped in the hall to talk to nothing.  Back further at the cave, even the chair Dick used that first night remained unchanged as the whole family spoke to the empty space. 

“Did we imagine all of this?” Tim croaked. 

Jason shook his head. “Can’t be.” He pointed to his injured arm. " The Joker has a hit on us, and we talked to Zatanna. She would have noticed us all talking to nothing.”

Bruce sighed, “He’s removed himself from the footage.” He said, running a hand down his face. 

“Master Richard has many skills,” Alfred’s voice drifted from the elevator, pushing a cart with plates of sandwiches and steaming bowls of soup. “And has always been known for not doing things halfway.” He handed a plate to Jason, who nodded in thanks. Then another to Tim.

“You were expecting this,” Bruce accused the elderly man. 

Alfred paused momentarily, just a slight hesitation before passing Damian his food. His gaze turned disappointed. “As you should have, sir,” he stated. He put the remaining plate on the briefing table. “Both I and Ms. Zatana warned you.”  Alfred turned back to his cart and tucked it off to the side for the dishes once they finished eating. “I will be in the kitchen if you require my assistance, " the man advised, heading towards the elevator once more. 

“Alfy,” Jason called after him, “Do you know where he went?”

The man paused in the elevator doors, “No, Master Jason. Unfortunately, I do not. But may I advise reaching out to Mr. Harper? He and Richard were close at this age. If he made it off the grounds, there is a good chance he will know where to look.” 

Jason had already pulled up his contacts and chosen Roy when Bruce turned to him. “Jason, don’t you dare!” The man started. 

Jason hit the call button. 

It rings once, then twice.  “Roy’s Mortuary, you kill them, we gri-“

“Hey, shut up for a second. We have a situation.” Jason interrupted. 

“What’s up?” Roy asked, his voice serious but cautious.  

“Tiny Dick is missing.” Jason jumped right to the chase. The scowl from Bruce doing nothing but putting him even more on edge. “He’s completely gone from our security systems, like wiped off all the footage. And Alfred said you might be a good point of contact.”

Roy let out a long breath. “Yeah, Alfred is always right.” 

“Damn right,” Jason agreed, mostly out of habit. To his right, Tim snorted, having drifted closer to listen to the conversation. 

“Is Bruce there?” Roy asked. From the line, Jason could hear movement: footsteps down a hall and a door opening. 

Jason frowned, “Yeah, but why?” 

“I need to ask him something; give him the phone.” 

Jason turned his gaze to Bruce. “Fine, but if he breaks my phone, you’ll have to buy me a new one, " he threatened. 

Roy snorted, “Sure, whatever.” 

Jason underhandedly tossed the phone to Bruce, who caught it without issue. He put it to his ear and grunted. Roy started talking, though none of them could make out what was being said. Bruce grunted a few more times and threw out the occasional “Harper " that sounded like a threat before snapping “Fine.” and ending the call. 

Bruce stood, slamming Jason’s phone on the table as he passed and disappeared towards the gym without a word.  The phone buzzed, and a message from Roy said, “I’ll let you know when we find him.” Jason read, helping himself to half of Bruce’s grilled cheese. He rolls his eyes when Damian scoffs at him and pushes the soup towards Tim. 

Wally was the one to find him at the beach of the old Happy Harbor Mountain base. The League cleared it out after the incident. It was left empty and deserted but listed as an emergency backup base due to the security breach. The Zeta was easy enough for Dick to hack from the Bat-cave and just as simple to clear the history shortly after. 

It only takes a few minutes for Wally to pick up Roy, leaving the two adults standing on the beach staring at the child version of their friends back. “Now what?” Wally whispered, shooting a glance at the older man.

“I didn’t actually think that far ahead, “Roy admitted. 

“I mean, should we call the Bats?” Wally asked. 

“No, he-“ Roy’s phone dinged in his pocket, followed by a second and a third. 

He pulled it out, showing the three texts from an unknown number. 

The first: “You’re being creepy.” 

The second: “The lady down the beach looks like she will call the cops on you.”

The third: “Her name is Sharon. she is very concerned with my safety. Keeps offering me food and water. Wants to call my parents.”

A fourth came through right after reading the last one, “Sharon incoming.” 

The two glanced up to see a middle-aged woman marching over with a scowl on her face. Behind her, a man was asleep in the sun, and some children played in the water. 

“Oh shit,” Roy breathed, grabbing Wally by the wrist; he dragged them closer to Dick until they were standing just a few steps away. From the corner of his eye, Roy could see Sharon stop but was watching them closely. 

“Sit down,” Dick muttered, not looking away from the ocean view.  Roy and Wally did as instructed, sitting on either side of the youngest. 

“So…” Wally drawled, “I see you’ve had an exciting few days.”

Dick snorted, throwing a slightly pained smile over his shoulder at him. “You could say that.” He shrugged. “I’ve been de-aged ten years, found out I’m fucking replaceable to not just Batman and Bruce. Let’s go with exciting.”

“Language,” Roy muttered.  

Dick snorted again but said nothing. 

“You looked them up.” Roy continued, watching Dick closely. 

Dick rolled his eyes, “Of course I did.” He pulled his knees close to his chest, curling in on himself. “That’s where I started. But I can’t-” he paused, taking a long breath. “I just started to come to terms with not wanting to be Batman.” 

“Failsafe?” Walk whispered, watching with sad eyes. 

“Two months ago,” Dick shrugged, “Part of me keeps thinking maybe, this is another simulation. But...” he trailed off. 

“Feels different. Feels real.” Wally supplied. 

Dick nodded, tight and small. “And if this is real, if this is my future-” He shuttered. “I need to focus and get myself turned back. But, I couldn’t not look. I had to know if this timeline matches up with mine.”

Neither Wally nor Roy knew what to say; they let the silence blanket over them. 

“I’ll go back,” Dick said after a few long moments, “I’ll pretend everything is fine. I just needed to get my head on straight.”

“Dick,” Wally started to reach out a hand but pulled it back at the last second. “That’s not healthy.”

“Why, you think I should confront Bruce?” Dick threw a glare over his shoulder, “Pick a fight with my literal replacements. B didn’t have an issue with throwing me out before, who’s to say he won’t do it again if I pushed too hard. “

“You know he won’t- “ Wally began. 

“Do I?” Dick spat. “Because two days ago, I would have probably agreed. But I would have also said Wally West and Roy Harper are my best friends and Brothers. But last time we spoke,” He nodded between him and Wally, “You said I’m dead to you. And,” he turned to gesture between himself and Roy, “we haven’t talked in like four months.”  Dick buried his hands in his hair and tugged, “I don’t know what I know anymore.” He muttered.  

“Dick,” Wally whispered, reaching out a hand again, placing it on his shoulder. 

Dick flinched, visually pulling himself back together, “But I’m going to do what I was taught. I’m going to focus on the mission. The older me can deal with this. You can tell Bruce and the others that I’ll head back when I’m ready.”

“We can’t leave you here,” Roy shook his head. 

“Why not? Don’t pretend it’s because you care about me.” Dick muttered. “If it’s some kind of obligation to younger me, then just let it go. I don’t need your pity or protection or whatever this is supposed to be.”

Wally opened his mouth to argue back, his face flushed. 

"Wally, take a walk," Roy said before the other man could put his foot in his mouth.  

"What? Why?" Wally sputtered, frowning at Roy now.  

Roy tried to shoot a meaningful look at the back of Dick’s head, then gestured for Wally to go back towards town. "Just do it." 

Wally grumbled but followed instructions. The speedster started stomping down the beach towards the pier. 

"You're right," Roy said, watching Dick closely. "I am here out of obligation." The younger boy flinched. "But," he continued before Dick could protest. "It's the same obligation I feel for Wally, or Dinah, or even Olly, no matter how much we both deny it. You're my little brother. You could blow up half the world, and I would come running to help if you asked." 

Dick let out a watery laugh. 

It sparked a little hope in Roy’s chest, and he smiled, even though Dick wasn’t looking.  "I mean shit, you’re the Godfather to my kid." 

"Lian?" Dick asked quietly, smiling when Roy nodded. "She's adorable, by the way. Older me had pictures." 

“Yeah,” Roy agreed, “And she loves her Uncle Dick. She’s on a trip to Disneyworld with Ollie and Dianna for the week. But we can schedule a playdate for you kids when she gets back.” 

Dick laughed, sticking out his tongue playfully. The moment drifted away quickly, the smile falling from his face. "I don't know if I'm ready to pretend everything is okay. Bruce,” he trailed off, fists clenching. "Should I even be calling him Bruce? Is he Mr. Wayne? How much of the last 36 hours has been a lie? Was he faking it before that? How many times does my world have to be turned upside down?"

Roy scooted closer, wrapping an arm around Dick’s shoulders, momentarily pausing to realize just how small Dick was at this age. "Hey,” he muttered, dragging himself away from that thought, “No one said you had to be ready. Just take it slow. You learned a lot today. Come with me for a bit; it’s safer than being out here. I can let Jason know to pass the message on and give you time to ground yourself before having to go back to Gotham.” 

Dick nodded, rubbing at his eyes with the palms of his hands.  

Roy pulled out his phone, first texting Wally to come back, then to Jason to let him know he found Dick and that they would be heading to his place for the night.  They waited in silence for Wally to return. 

Chapter Text

Jason doesn't get a text from Roy until midafternoon.  “Found him. We’re going back to my apartment. He’s safe.”  Jason sent back multiple responses, starting with a demand to know where they found Dick and ending with just some swear words when he didn’t get an answer.  

The day had been tense. Bruce was brooding in the training room. Tim took refuge at the computer, muttering about security. Damian disappeared upstairs and spent a few hours outside with Titus, failing to hide his increasing anxiety. Jason went back to his room, determined but unsuccessful in taking a nap.  

Jason hefted himself up, stomping down to the kitchen, pausing just long enough to grab a set of keys to one of Bruce’s more excellent sports cars. 

Alfred caught him. The older man glanced at the key in Jason’s hand and nodded once in approval.  He indicated Jason to wait, causing the younger man to shift from foot to foot. Alfred disappeared into the kitchen and returned with a familiar container of cookies. “Please let me know if any of you will be returning for dinner,” he requested, passing the container over. 

Jason nodded back, slipping into the garage with Alfred’s approval, and took off before anyone noticed. He had a party to crash. 

Jason didn’t actually know what to expect when he arrived at Roy’s. He knew the two were friends long before he met Roy, but he never actually spent time together as a group. Jason and Dick were together as Bats, brothers as Robins. Roy and Jason were together with the Outlaws, a team. Roy was his best friend – even if Jason felt awkward and childish for thinking it. Roy and Dick were together with… Jason paused on his way up the stairs, realizing he didn’t know. They both talked about Young Justice and the Titans, but the details were vague, and he never asked. 

He found himself at Roy’s door. Taking a deep breath, he let himself in with the key Roy gave him ages ago. Dick and Roy were spread across the couch, the TV on a video streaming search screen. They glanced his way, neither surprised, before turning their attention back to the screen. 

He flashed back to the family's concerns that morning: Tim and Damian’s panic, Bruce and Alfred’s argument. Now, the kid was sitting there like nothing had happened. A surge of irritation flashed through Jason. “You can’t just vanish,” he snapped, tossing the container of cookies on the closest armchair. His jacket followed up a few seconds later. 

Dick cocked an unimpressed eyebrow in his direction, doing nothing for Jason’s temper. 

Roy snorted, “Been saying that for years,” he muttered mostly to himself. Dick just flashed the redhead a smirk full of mischief.  

“Stop that!” Jason growled, pointing a finger. 

Dick huffed, crossing his arms over his chest with a small pout, “Why does everyone keep saying that?” 

“Because we know you,” Roy said with a slight eye roll, then he turned his attention to Jason. “Gab a beer and sit down; we're about to start the movie.” He nodded towards the kitchen. The TV paused on the intro to one of the newer Star Wars movies. 

“I want one,” Dick announced, before Jason could respond. 

“No.” Both Roy and Jason said at the same time. 

“Older you is lame,” Dick complained, “I don’t like responsible Roy.”

“Hey,” he cried, aiming to smack Dick in the back of the head, but the younger man ducked out of range easily. “I’ve always been responsible. 

“Walmart,” Dick drawled with a knowing look. 

“You say that like I had any control over you,” Roy argued. 

“A responsible adult could keep track of me,” Dick advised, the gleam in his eye saying otherwise. 

“Bruce-“

“Bruce isn’t a responsible adult.” He stated it like it was obvious. Jason couldn’t help but snort out a laugh. Dick flashed him an unreadable look, turning back to Roy just as fast. “Alfred is the responsible adult and has his hands full with Bruce.”

“He’s got a point,” Jason found himself saying.

Roy held his hands up in surrender, looking amused, “Jason, you going to sit down or what?” he asked. 

Jason nodded to the kitchen, stating he was going to grab a drink. Roy stood to follow, picking up an empty bottle and plate from the coffee table. 

“Can I have a soda at least?” Dick called after them. 

“You can have a low-sugar juice box,” Roy countered.  A soft “lame” drifted as a response. “Or water,” Roy added, the threat hanging in the air. 

“Juice box, please, and thank you,” Dick called, turning around to look at them over the couch with wide eyes. 

“Brat,” Roy muttered, shoving Jason the last few feet through the kitchen door. 

Jason turned to him with wide eyes, “What the fuck?” 

“What?” Roy cocked his head, leaning against the counter after putting the dishes in the sink. 

“What do you mean what? What was that?” Jason pointed a finger at the door, jabbing it a few times in Dick’s direction. 

Roy frowned, “A compromise? Because I’m not giving him anything with too much sugar. He’ll be happy with a juice-“

“No,” Jason interrupted, “Why is he here?”

Understanding flashed across Roy’s face, “Because I invited him. I wasn’t going to leave him on the beach by himself, and I wasn’t going to send him with Wally after the argument,”  Roy pushed Jason lightly out of the way to get into the fridge. 

“You could have sent him back to the manor.”

Roy pulled himself out of the fridge to send Jason a look he didn’t understand. “No, Jay, I really couldn’t.” He held out a beer to Jason, waiting for him to accept before ducking back into the fridge. “He wasn’t ready.”

Jason frowned at the drink in his hand, “Ready for what?”

Roy pulled out a beer and two juice boxes, all wedged in one hand. The fridge door closed with a small thud, “Think about it from his point of view.” He began, “Imagine waking up one day to find out you lost ten years of your life. I know you know what it’s like to find out you were replaced by a stranger,” The knowing look Roy sent him hit Jason a little close. “Dick was replaced by three.” 

Jason swallowed, his throat dry. He cracked the beer, chugging half of it down. 

Roy waited for him, face sad and a little apologetic. “If anything, the kid is handling things way better than I would have.”

“Better than I did,” Jason muttered, voice rough. He avoided eye contact. 

“You had extenuating circumstances,” Roy advised, and Jason just shrugged.  

Silence fell over the room, lasting for only a few moments. “Are you done talking about me yet?” Dick yelled. 

“Almost,” Roy called back.  He turned back to Jason with a small, amused smile on his face.  “D needed some familiarity, I offered.” 

“A port in a storm,” Jason mused, pretending it wasn’t a feeling he understood.

"Exactly," Roy nodded. 

Jason fidgeted under Roy's knowing gaze. 

“You’re my best friend,” He announced, catching Jason off guard. 

“I’m – You’re – same.” Jason struggled. 

Roy smiled in understanding, knowing what Jason was trying to say, even if Jason didn’t. “Come on,” he nodded towards the living room, “We’re watching the new Star Wars movies because Dick has the opportunity to see them again for the first time.” Jason followed him out, still feeling awkward in his own body.  Roy dropped down onto the couch, Dick bouncing a few times. “We’ll order pizza and charge it to Bruce’s credit card.” He added. 

“Already done,” Dick advised, looking up from Roy’s cellphone, Jason’s wallet was open on the coffee table. The credit card Jason stole from Bruce, the one they both pretend he doesn’t know about, was in his hand. 

Jason was too surprised to comment, just watching Dick casually slip the card back into its hiding spot and slide it across the coffee table in his direction. “I didn’t take anything,” he added, avoiding eye contact with Jason while fiddling with Roy’s phone. “I only used the Bruce card.”

“What’d you order?” Roy broke through the tense atmosphere. 

“You had a usual order, based on the website order history. I got that, plus a few things.” Dick shrugged, “I hope you’re not vegetarian.” He added towards Jason. He was significantly more stiff and awkward compared to the Dick from yesterday.

“Na,” Jason tried to force a smile, resisting the urge to swipe his wallet off the table and shove it into his pocket. “I’d rather die again than give up meat.” It was an old joke made out of habit, but the flinch from Dick left a sour feeling in Jason’s stomach. “Demo- Damian, is,” he continued, stumbling over the correction. “Vegetarian.” He ignored Roy’s judgey eyebrows, knowing his friend was laughing at him. 

Dick shot him a quick look, thoughtful and thankful at the same time, and let out a small huh noise, “Good to know.”

They returned home the following day after a tense but enjoyable night at Roy’s. The drive was silent except for a soft hum from the engine. Dick didn’t seem to mind, leaning his head against the window.  Jason used the time to think over what Roy had said the night before.  The car grew tense the closer they got to the Manor. The gate opened before Jason could find the remote. No doubt Bruce had tracked them when they hit the city lights, if not since they left Roy's apartment.  Dick and Jason shared a look of resignation, creeping slowly up the drive.  Bruce stood at the front door, face dark and arms crossed. 

Jason took a long breath, put the car into park, and uncurled his tight grip on the wheel. He shot a glance at Dick, who was looking grim. “This will be fun,” Jason muttered.

“Think I can just live in the car?” Dick mused; he glanced around the car interior, bouncing in the seat and testing it for comfort. “I could sleep here.”

“Alfred would never allow it.” Jason pointed out. 

Dick deflated slightly, looking at the still scowling figure of Bruce at the door. “ Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more.”

Jason barked out a laugh, “Or close the wall up with our English dead.”

They exited the car, Dick dragging his feet up the front steps. Jason dropped the keys off in Bruce’s awaiting hand. They lined up, on instinct for both of them.  Bruce closed the front door with a measured hand.  “Jason, you’re dismissed.” He said, eyes falling to Dick and staying there. 

Jason glanced between the two of them with a frown. Dick was scowling at his feet, hands in fists at his sides. Bruce’s face was stern, and eyes thunderous. Jason shook his head, “Nah, I’m good.” 

“Jason,” Bruce growled. 

The man in question just crossed his arms over his chest and cocked an eyebrow, unimpressed.  

Bruce let out a deep grumble but turned to Dick instead.  He stood tall, double the size of Tiny Dick, and looming in a way that made even Jason uncomfortable.  “Richard,” He growled, “Where have you been?”

Dick glanced up from the floor, face soothing out blank, “Out.”

Bruce’s hands flexed in a way that usually meant danger when dressed as Batman. “Where?”

“With Roy.”

“Richard.”

“What?”

Jason’s gaze bounced between them like a game of tennis. 

“Enough with this attitude,” Bruce demanded. "I made it very clear: You are forbidden from leaving the manor. Yet, you went against a direct order. It's dangerous for you to leave; we don’t know who might find you.”

Dick rolled his eyes, “I can take care of myself, you know that.” Dick argued. “It’s not like I wore a sign that said I was Robin and went yelling for the Joker.”

“That's not the point,” Bruce argued, voice raising in volume. “The world has changed –“

“I’m aware,” Dick interrupted.  “A lot has changed, Bruce.” He paused, glancing at Jason and then back at Bruce. “I might be de-aged, but you don’t actually have any authority over me anymore. Because, as a reminder, I’ve aged out.” 

Jason was lost, but Bruce seemed to understand what Dick wasn’t saying. An emotion passed over Bruce’s face, too fast and unreadable to Jason. 

“Not that it mattered to you,” Dick spat, arms shaking in anger. 

Jason found himself moving between them. Footsteps echoed through the entrance hall, and Tim and Damian ran down the front stairs. Jason reminded himself to find out where they were hiding once this was all over.  “Enough,” he demanded, breaking eye contact between the two.  The moment was surreal. Usually, Dick was the one getting between him and Bruce. “Dickie, Bruce is right, it’s dangerous for you to leave without telling someone. And Bruce, ”  Jason turned to the older man, the memory of his conversation with Roy floated through his memory. “There has to be a compromise. I can go with, or drop him off, or some shit.”

“I don’t need a babysitter,” Dick grumbled from over his shoulder. 

Jason snorted, “And I’m not offering. There isn’t enough money in the world. But I can give you a ride.”

Bruce’s jaw clenched, “I will consider it.”

“Fine.”

“Fine.”

Alfred cleared his throat from the dining room doorway. “Lunch, sirs, is ready.”

Lunch was tense. Neither Bruce nor Dick made conversation. Jason could feel Dick glancing at him but ignored it. The meal was barely served before Dick asked to be dismissed.  He looked to Alfred for permission, though it was Damian who spoke, pointing out that Dick barely touched his food. 

Dick shrugged him off with a plastic smile, “Not hungry.” He said, “Ate before coming back.”

They didn’t, but Jason wouldn’t call the kid out. If he wanted to leave, Jason wouldn't be the one to stop him.

Alfred had a pinched expression but no reason to disagree. “Master Bruce has an announcement first, then you are excused.”

Dick nodded, tight and stiff, pushing his mostly full plate away. He refused to look at Bruce but cocked his head slightly, indicating he was listening. 

Bruce took his time, pulled the napkin from his lap, cleaned his face and hands, and folded it into a neat little square before finally speaking. “I have called Cassandra to assist with the current case.” He glanced around the table, “Cassandra, “ he began, eyes falling on Dick, “is – “

“I know.” Dick interrupted, “Daughter of Shiva and Cain, trained assassin from birth.  Expert in reading body language and primary source of communication is ASL. Currently working under the alias Black Bat, working out of Asia, on assignment. Only adopted daughter of Bruce Wayne. Up and coming dancer in the Gotham ballet.” He rattled off, ignoring the looks of surprise from his younger table companions. “Anything else.”

Bruce’s jaw was clenched again, “No,” he grunted. “You’re dismissed.”

Dick was up and out of the room in seconds. 

Chapter Text

Dick ran, no, correction; Dick made a strategic retreat to his room. It was familiar, but not at the same time. A handful of posters he recognized, more than he didn’t. The Flying Grayson poster was missing, but there was a faded space where it used to be.  

He closed his eyes, taking a long, deep breath. Dick was trying, but every time he looked at Bruce, a cold fear pooled in his stomach. One that spoke of loneliness and longing, one he hadn’t felt in years. It brought back memories.

It brought him back to the second anniversary of his parents’ death. Batman and Robin took the night off, Dick having taken the whole week off under Alfred’s gentle advice. He told Bruce it was fine and Gotham needed Batman. Bruce didn't have to stay home with him. But Bruce, who over the two years went from being classified under the guardian category to the father category next to John Grayson, not replacing him, just pulled Dick into his lap. Dick spent the night crying into his shoulder, sobbing into a suit that cost more than his parents’ entire trailer. Bruce held him, humming and offering comfort from the world in an all-encompassing hug. In that moment, for all of Dick’s pain, he didn’t feel alone. Later, he realized that the cold pit in his stomach was gone.

He tried to shake off the memory. He wasn't there. They had years between that memory and now, even if he didn't know or remember them. He had to separate that Bruce from this one. He tried to breathe, to bring himself back,  but instead, he was pulled into another memory.

It was his first day at the manor. His English was limited, choppy and heavy with an accent. He spent months at the juvenile detention center. He learned commands like a dog and words he didn’t understand but knew were meant to hurt. His case worker drove him there, talking fast against the radio. He only caught every few words like “behave,” “Gypsy”, “punish,” and “trash.”  

The manor was clean and bright compared to the Gotham darkness. Bruce and Alfred smiled at him, but he could see the tense lines on their shoulders and the hard looks they kept sending his social worker. The woman finally left; Bruce dropped to his knees and held out a hand, palm up. “Hello, Richard,” Bruce said.  It took Dick a few seconds to realize Bruce was speaking Romani. “Welcome to our home.” He was speaking slowly and carefully, the language fresh on his tongue.  Dick smiled, and for the first time, his chest was a little less cold. 

Dick scrubbed at his face, rubbing away the tear tracks. He wanted to hit something. 

He wanted Bruce to explain himself. 

He wanted a hug.  

Dick stood, tossing off his shirt, stripping on the short walk to his on-suite bathroom. He cranked the water up to the highest level, stepping under the stream without letting it heat up. Maybe the slow climb in temperature will help defrost the feeling in his chest, he mused.

Jason was grounded from patrol. The injury on his arm was getting better, but it was by no means healed. He’s patrolled with worse, they all have, but after all of Bruce’s stubborn growling, Alfred pointed out that with the current environment, taking another night to heal now would benefit them in the long run.   If it were any other time, Jason would have probably gone anyway or kicked up a much larger fit. But he caved a lot faster than even he was expecting.  

Jason had other things on his mind, specifically his conversation with Roy and his currently younger older brother. 

Dick was gone the whole day, hiding out in his room.  Tim monitored the door and window with an obsessive fever, and the rest of them pretended they weren't also keeping an eye on him. The only person who approached was Alfred.  The man stopped by three times throughout the day, each conversation running the same. Dick approved the butler's entry. No, Alfie, he wasn’t hungry. No, he doesn’t need anything. Yes, he was fine, thank you. Alfred would leave again to return a few hours later; rinse and repeat. Dick didn’t show up to dinner, and the look on Alfred’s face when Damian asked said to drop it. 

Jason kept thinking back to the night before, watching Dick and Roy interact of Roy talking about Dick needing familiarity. His mind comes back to Dick being replaced by strangers. It was something he never thought about, or maybe it was something he never wanted to think about. Because he understood, like Roy said, he understood what it was like to find out someone had replaced you, waking up to find out you were replaceable. 

He agreed to stay behind, handling coms and cameras while reviewing the case file on Dick’s situation. They hadn’t made much progress; the detailed blood analysis had a few unknown traces that needed additional research.  The last message from Zatanna said her first few leads ran dry, but she’d keep looking.  She re-advised them to try reaching out to the Flashes. She would try some of her contacts who work with more of the occult but promised to keep it vague for now.

It was early into patrol, just an hour after Batman and the Robins had left when Dick snuck up on Jason. The currently younger hero took a few confident steps off the elevator, slowing to a stop when he noticed Jason at the computer, legs kicked up next to the keyboard. 

“What are you doing here?” Dick called. Much to his delight, he caught Jason by surprise.  The man rolled off his chair, pulling a knife from somewhere and throwing it.  Dick dodged easily, cocking an unimpressed eyebrow as it clattered to the floor behind him and slid over the edge of the platform down to the cavern below. They waited, and after a few long seconds, they could hear a plop of something landing in the water. “Nice,” Dick said with a snort.

“Fuck off,” Jason scowled, “And shouldn’t I be asking you that?”

“Gym,” Dick shrugged. A towel hung around his narrow shoulders, a water bottle in hand. He was dressed in a pair of loose shorts and a tank top. "You?"

“Joker tried to shoot me. The guy got a lucky shot when I was saving the baby birds and hit me in the arm. Bruce told me to stay in.”

“Because Bruce doesn't ever go out injured." Jason could practically feel the sarcasm dripping from his words.

Jason snorted, “Alfred agreed with him.”

Dick conceded with a nod. An awkward silence fell between them; Dick kicked at the floor. “So, uh, any update with this?” He asked, pointing at himself. 

Jason weighed his options, deciding Dick deserved the truth rather than false hope. “Nothing about reversing it. The Joker has a hit on the rest of us Robins, though.” Jason grimaced as the words came out of his mouth. Dick flinched, lips drawing into a tight line, but made no attempt to speak. Jason sighed, “Look, Kid-“

“Don’t,” Dick interrupted; he looked tired and old, “Just don’t.” Dick turned before Jason could stop him. “I’m going to train,” He called over his shoulder. 

Jason watched him leave, Dick practically sprinting from the room, much like he did earlier at lunch. He sighed, rolling his shoulders. Jason scrubbed at the headache building behind his eyes, taking the elevator back into the manor. Walking blind, he made it to the kitchen with a practiced familiarity. He slowed to a stop, dropping his hands to push the door open. 

Alfred greeted him with a nod and light, “Master Jason,” from where he was doing dishes at the sink. They had a dishwasher, but Alfred had always preferred to do it by hand. He argued it was quicker and much more efficient his way. 

“Hey, Al,” Jason muttered, trudging towards the coffee maker. He pulled a mug from the above cabinet. It was empty, leaving Jason to make it how he liked it. They fell into silence, Alfred scrubbing and Jason setting the machine to boil. “Hey Alfred?” Jason asked after a few moments of relaxing silence. 

The older man hummed, pausing only momentarily to gesture for Jason to grab a towel and dry as he continued to wash. Jason followed the instructions without arguing, waiting for Alfred to signal for him to talk. “Has Dick been acting weird?” Jason asked, finally working up the courage. 

Alfred took a moment to think, “Given the circumstances, no.” He said eventually. He finished rinsing a plate and handed it over to Jason. “If anything, he is doing better than I expected.”

Jason accepted it, whipping it dry. “Roy said something similar.” He admitted.  He turned to put the plate away, and Alfred moved onto a teacup. 

“I am not surprised. Mr. Harper and Master Dick were very close when he was that age.” Alfred advised. 

“What were you expecting from Dick?” Jason asked, “Because he hasn’t exactly been pleasant.”

Alfred passed the cup to Jason but didn’t grab another. He let out a heavy sigh, cleaning his hands with a spare cloth before turning his full attention to his young charge. “Master Richard has learned a lot in the last few days, ten years of emotions to work through.” 

Jason frowned in confusion, and Alfred kept talking before he could ask questions. “Master Dick does his best to keep it from you boys, but he and Master Bruce have a complicated relationship.”

“I remember them arguing a lot before,” Jason muttered. He kept running the rag in circles around the base of the cup, the motion relaxing compared to his racing mind.

Alfred nodded, face tired and grim, “The history with Master Bruce is only part of it. He has a life outside of Gotham, and he has always tried to carry responsibilities alone.  There are things that Young Richard has learned, which Older Richard has already had the opportunity to come to terms with.”

“Like us becoming Robins?” Jason asked. 

“Among other things, yes. This is why I had advised Master Bruce to talk to Master Dick. Case files are limited as we often find that they tell us what happened, but not why.” 

Jason nodded, finally putting away the teacup he had been absentmindedly drying repeatedly. Alfred turned back to the sink, picking up another dish. The two men fell into a comfortable repetition. When they were finally done, the dirty water running down the drain, Jason made himself a cup of coffee. He thanked Alfred with a soft nod and wandered back to the cave. 

He let his feet take him down, blinking up from his coffee, when he pushed into the training room. He was determined to talk to Dick while it was fresh in his mind. 

Dick was training, standing in the middle of the simulation area, with a bow staff and a belt around his chest like a sash.  He was fighting a crowd, the figures over twice the size of Dick with broad shoulders. The figures were white and featureless, made up of state-of-the-art nanotechnology. They could take almost any form and were a solid surface when active. Jason stopped at the door, watching Dick take each figure down with a quick and slightly scary efficiency.  

Dick bounced from the shoulders of one, kicking another in the head, flipping then sliding between the legs of a third. The downed figures dissolved, and new ones spawned in their place, holding guns.  The guns, Jason knew from experience, shot faux blasts, leaving a mark on the fighter until the simulation ended.  He continued to watch Dick work through the crowd; it was a dance similar to Nightwing in grace and fluidity.   Dick finished in a crouch breathing heavily through his nose, the floor turning green under his feet.    He stood, turning to Jason with a guarded gaze. He didn’t speak, making his way to the water bottle left on the side. 

Jason cleared his throat. “You’re good,” he said, eyes darting to the empty simulation area and back to Dick. 

“Thanks.” He nodded, face tight. “What do you want?” He grabbed the water, chugging down half in one go. 

Jason huffed. “I wanted to say I got it,” He said with a half-shrug. 

Dick raised a questioning eyebrow at Jason. 

“You read about us? Me, Damian, and Tim?” 

Dick nodded, his face guarded, clearly unsure where Jason was going with this. 

“I won’t bore you with my story,” Jason continued; his hands shook slightly, his knuckles white as he clutched the mug. “But I woke up from the grave with some kid wearing the uniform I died in. I understand losing time, and when you come back, the world is different but not.  I understand if you don’t want to talk, especially with a guy who replaced you, but if you ever want to fight a real person or something...” Jason shrugged. “I might be able to help.”

Dick studied him with a complicated look. It made Jason’s skin itch and made him want to take a swing, but he kept himself centered, holding back the rage.  After a few seconds, Dick nodded and, in a small voice, said, “Thanks.”

“Uh, yeah.” An awkward silence fell between them, only to be interrupted by a beeping from Jason’s phone, letting him know Red Robin was requesting verification of information. The notification reminded Jason he was technically running coms for the night.  He left with a quick goodbye, fleeing back to the computer. A blush crept up the back of his neck, feeling like an awkward teenager he never got to be. He thought he was over his childish need to impress Dick. 

Dick watched Jason leave, tucking the information away for later. He went back to the simulation controls. Dick turned up the difficulty, determined to train until his mind went blank. 

Chapter Text

Dick stayed in the gym as late as he could, somehow avoiding Bruce and the others. He “borrowed” a phone and let himself into the systems, setting up something that would notify him when Batman and company started to make their way back towards the manor.

The alert came in at around half past two in the morning, signaling that Dick should call it a night. He slipped past Jason, who either ignored him or missed him completely- regardless, he was grateful.

Dick took a quick, steaming shower, then crawled into bed, pleasantly sore and with a blank mind. He was asleep before his head even hit the pillow. 

It was dark. His surroundings were sleek and black, rolling in a low, dense fog. “Robin,” a familiar voice—deep and gruff, Bruce—called. “Robin, come here.”

Dick turned in the voice’s direction, though he couldn’t quite remember picking up his feet. 

 He opened his mouth to respond, but nothing came out.  Someone answered from behind him. A chorus of answers followed the first. “Yeah, B.” 

“Coming, Boss.” 

“Yes, Father.” 

Dick found himself still turning, Bruce drifting out of his line of vision.  From the fog, three new figures emerged.

Each was dressed in their own slightly altered version of his Robin costume. All three sprinted past, the largest catching him in the shoulder and causing Dick to stagger, barely keeping his balance. 

 “Oh, my little Robin,” A woman’s voice drifted from behind him again. Spinning, always spinning, Dick turned. His mother was there, cradling the middle Robin. John Grayson was beside his wife, the smallest Robin propped up on his hip. 

 “Mama?” Dick choked, trying to move, but his feet were stuck in place. 

Both his parents turned to him with confused frowns. “Who are you ?” John asked, shifting just slightly to shield the boy in his arms as if Dick was a threat. 

“I’m Dick, your son. Your little Robin.” Dick cried, his vision blurred and swam. 

His parents shook their heads, “You’re not Robin, they are.”

“You’re Batman,” The middle Robin informed him, seeming confident and sure. The others nodded in agreement. 

“No,” Dick stumbled back, one step, then another. 

“Batman. Batman.” He chanted, the other two Robins and his parents all joining in. 

Dick ran. 

 Their voices echoed no matter how far he got, his body growing heavy. A weight settled around his shoulders, dragging him down.

He stumbled again, feeling something wrap around his feet and pull. He fell, the world going black as something covered his eyes. Dick pulled at it, panicking when it stopped at a pair of eyeholes. 

His fingers traced along the familiar nose piece and up the head, all the way to the pointed ears at the top.  He clawed at his face, desperate. It came off, cape and cowl falling into an inky pool behind him. He couldn’t breathe, even free from the cowl; his lungs were tight. 

There was a presence near him, a black and orange figure approaching from the darkness. “Not yet, Richard.” It said, voice deep, sending chills down Dick’s spine.

They darted in close and fast, landing a blow in the center of Dick’s chest. He fell back through the cape and the floor, fabric tangling around him. 

He woke up with a silent scream, blankets tight around his legs, in a cold sweat. Ignoring the clock, he untangled himself and stormed into the bathroom.

He twisted the faucet, making the shower as cold as possible, before collapsing into it, the water still icy. It felt good against his flushed skin. 

Dick arrived last for breakfast at nine in the morning, sliding into a chair just in time for Alfred to emerge with food.

Breakfast was awkward, the new normal for the manor. Alfred served an array of eggs, meats, and a vegetable and tofu scramble. It didn’t go unnoticed when Alfred stared down Dick until he took at least two scoops of the vegetables, but everyone was smart enough to keep their mouths shut on the topic. 

Damian watched Dick from the corner of his eye. The other boy was quiet, picking at his food.

Bruce was staring at the paper in his hands. His face was blocked from view. He wasn't reading,  having stayed on the same page for far longer than it would typically take for him to read it. Jason, Damian noted, seemed equally interested in observing everyone else at the table. 

Tim was the first to speak, clearing his throat and offering the table a lopsided smile, “So, Dick, I found some old Gotham Knights games online. Did you want to watch them with me?”

All eyes turned to Dick; he could feel them burning into him. Tim sounded excited, eager to spend time with him.

But Dick couldn’t. Logically, he knew it wasn’t Tim who called him Batman, but the chanting still rang in his ears.

It wasn’t Damian held in his mother’s arms.

It wasn’t Jason who slammed into him.

These boys were made Robin, but it wasn’t their fault.  Yet, simultaneously, a part of him, the part that still wished on a shooting star for his parents, wanted to cry. He felt stripped, raw, broken, and ready to blame someone.

He wanted to face Bruce, but Dick wasn’t ready. He might never be ready. But, the others- easy pickings, an upsetting, cruel voice hissed from the back of his head.  

He just had to get through this. They’d turn him back, and then Future Dick could deal with it. 

Dick shook his head, trying to clear his mind, and turned back to his barely touched eggs.  

Jason opened his mouth, a poorly hidden sneer on his face. But he stopped himself, jaw clicking shut just as quickly.

Tim flushed, clearing his throat again, “Maybe later?” He muttered to the quiet room. Again, no one answered him, and the young man drooped. 

“Hey, Bruce?” He tried. The man grunted from behind his paper. “When is Cass supposed to arrive?”

 The newspaper twitched as Bruce adjusted himself. “Her flight is expected to land at 6:37 pm.” 

 “Who's going to pick-“ Tim continued. 

 Dick turned him out right then, instead catching Alfred’s eye as he passed through the room. He quickly signed something to Alfred. 

The only one who seemed to notice was Damian, but the boy had been watching him the whole meal. Alfred, for his part, signed the words juice and pills with a pointed look. Dick scowled but nodded in agreement.

The butler disappeared back into the kitchen, returning moments later with a small paper cup and a few pills. He placed it on the table next to Dick’s elbow, collecting his plate in the same motion. 

Dick scowled at the cup, but he understood that this was Alfred’s compromise. He would be taking vitamin supplements if he weren't going to eat. 

Dick tossed the pills back like a shot and chugged the orange juice. He drank the whole glass without stopping for air and resisted the urge to slam it on the table triumphantly.

After he finished, Alfred plucked the glass from his hands, replacing it with a bottle of water. Dick was dismissed with a shooing motion from Alfred. He noticed that Damian, Tim, and Jason were all watching him leave.

As he left, Dick realized throughout the entire meal he had not once seen Bruce’s face.

Damian was not a people person. He found small talk pointless, and the general public was boring at best.

From a young age, he had been taught to lead, to be a superior who deserved and commanded respect. People were pawns, just things for him to rule, and at the end of the day, they were disposable. 

Then he was sent to the real world, away from Mother and Grandfather. A world in which he was supposed to be raised by his father, but instead, he was raised by Richard in his father’s stead.

Richard taught him a lot about people. He learned about compassion and cruelty. He learned the difference between being a leader and being a commander. People were complex, with layers, “like onions,” Dick would say. 

Richard had taught him a lot about people and emotions, but he was still learning. He knew how to handle the happy version of Younger Richard, but this new version was more complicated. It reminded Damian of himself during his early days at the manor when Richard was still Grayson and Damian were equally sharp and raw.

When Richard brought home Titus, the large dog was still young enough to be considered a puppy. He was already trained, though Damian knows the dog could do better. Alfred – the person and the cat – weren’t too pleased. But Damian was secretly delighted. 

“Dami and Alfie, I want to introduce you to Titus, the great-grand-nephew to Ace,” Richard announced, face bright, surprisingly genuine. 

Understanding flashed across Alfred’s face, its meaning lost on Damian. 

“He already knows a few commands,” Richard continued.

He pulled a piece of paper from his pocket and held it out to Damian, causing the younger boy to scoff. Much to Damian’s frustration, Richard flashed him a fond smile.

Richard whistled twice, once long and once short—Titus, who was sitting in front of Damian, perked up. The dog turned to trot over to Richard and sat eagerly at his side. Dick tossed the paper to the closest table, crouching to smoosh Titus’ face in his hands.

The gentle giant’s tale thumped against the floor.  “Who’s a good boy?” Dick cooed, finding the sweet spot behind the dog’s ears. 

“I shall be the judge of that, Grayson.” Damian sniffed. He mimicked the whistle Richard had done previously, drawing Titus to his side. The child did a poor job of hiding his delight. Damian turned to leave, taking a few steps before realizing Titus wasn’t following. 

“The whistle-” Richard started before Damian could say a word. “was the command to come and wait. He’s looking for further instruction.  If you want him to walk with you, the command's heel. He'll fall into line on your left.”

Alfred hummed thoughtfully, “Didn’t you teach Ace the command to follow?” Alfred asked. 

The smile grew across Dick’s face, a laugh bubbling seeming to catch him off guard. “I forgot about that.” He nodded, “Yeah, it was mostly to annoy Bruce. Ace would stalk him around the house, staying just in sight. But it was really useful that one time I was kidnapped, and Ace followed the truck across Gotham.”

Damian wasn’t impressed, and Dick and Alfred weren’t fooled. He glanced at the dog, still watching him for a command. “Heel,” Damian called, like before Titus jumped into motion, falling into place beside Damian as Dick had said he would. 

The two adults watched them leave, Dick’s eyes flickering to where the list had been and then back to Alfred. 

“A dog, Master Richard?” Alfred prompted with a raised eyebrow. He didn’t bother lowering his voice, knowing Damian and, by extension, Titus were in the hall listening.  

“Why not?” Dick shrugged.  “Ace did wonders for me. Alfred the Cat has already done a lot of good, but Damian needed someone to keep up with him. And how could I say no to that face?” 

“Are you referring to Master Damian or Titus?” Alfred asked rather dryly. 

“Both?”

Damian wasn’t a people person; he wasn’t good at offering comfort and kind words. But Richard had taught him that animals have a way of providing comfort when words fail.  

Damian sat up in bed, startling Alfred the Cat from his position curled up at his side.  The cat squinted at him, slinking to sit at the corner of the bed.  Pointedly ignoring Damian, Alfred used his paw to clean his face.  

Damian followed his gut, grabbing Alfred the Cat and tucking him under one arm. The cat meowed softly, then hung loose, accepting his situation as Damian trudged down the stairs and to the Batcave.

Damian grabbed a pair of lockpicks. 

Dick was fine. 

He wasn’t. 

Everything was fine.

It wasn’t. 

He was traught. Because it was traught or dead, and he wasn’t dead. 

Was he?

Dick was fine. 

Dick approached the impromptu history lesson in stages, not by time, but by people. He started with Batman and Robin. He researched in a morbid fashion as his relationship with Bruce fell apart. He watched the footage of a slightly older version of himself being fired by Bruce, barely keeping himself standing with a gunshot wound in his side and crutches long forgotten on the floor.  

Then there was a gap, a period with just Bruce and Alfred. Dick was gone. No activity of Robin was on record. Dick checked his own records because he had his own systems now.

His was limited. It mentioned a group of young heroes known as the Titans, and Dick hadn’t researched that very much yet.

Bruce took in Jason, passing on his name and his family colors to the new kid.

Dick watched the footage of Jason's first reveal in full costume. Older Dick floated back into the picture, him and Bruce clashing in a way just short of violent. 

Then Jason died, and Tim came around, stating there needed to be a Robin. But Dick wasn’t Robin, he was Nightwing. 

He knew that name; he recognized it from the stories Uncle Clark used to tell him about his home planet. He wonders briefly if Clark ever passed that information on to Connor. 

Tim took up the mantle, and he was good. He didn’t have the street smarts that backed Jason up or the training invested into Dick, but he was a fast learner.  

Dick was divided between the Titans, Young Justice, Gotham, and Bludhaven.

He was running two major teams, but didn’t that bring him a little pride? No matter how short-lived it was.

The Justice League was called off-planet, and Dick was put in charge of saving the world. Future Him succeeded, too, but apparently, that wasn’t enough for everyone else.

In the end, he watched his team, his family, tear into him. They talked about trust and faith, safety and risk. They talk about sacrifices for the cause. Dick spends hours on that, learning everything he could about the Invasion.

There were things he still didn’t understand, notes in his system, and abbreviations he couldn't make out. 

His door handle jiggled, causing Dick to glance up from his computer, frowning when it jiggled again. If it wasn’t for his hyper-aware state and the fact the handle was just barely within his field of vision, he might have missed it.

The lock clicked.

Dick just watched, waiting to see what was about to happen. The handle spun, and the door swung open just a few inches and closed again just as quickly. Dick frowned, putting the computer to the side and pulling a Batarang he snagged from the cave on his last visit.

Something was on his floor, quiet but noticeable. He tucked it between two fingers, shifting on the bed. 

Dick was ready for an attack; he was prepared to fight, to defend himself. He wasn’t ready for a cat.

Damian waited.

He waited for a sign of anything at all from Richard’s room. Alfred the Cat went inside without much issue, seemingly understanding what Damian was trying to do.

Minutes ticked by, and nothing happened. Damian settled on a “no news is good news” mindset, hoping he was right to do so.

Seeing as Richard hadn’t kicked Alfred out, nor had the cat made any noises of protest from inside, it seemed to be going well.  Damian wasn’t naive enough to believe Richard hadn’t noticed him opening the door. 

Alfred the Person made his rounds about an hour later.

He knocked on Damian’s door first, telling him that lunch would be served in about an hour. Damian glanced up from his sketchbook to give the man a quick thanks.

He waited for a tense moment as Alfred left and made the few steps across the hall to Richard’s door.  Damian put his stuff to the side, crouching at his door, pressing his ear against the wood in an attempt to hear.

Alfred knocked on the door.

“Master Richard?” The butler called, waiting for permission to enter.  Damian missed the response between two doors of impressively solid wood but heard Alfred enter the room.

“I see you’ve met Alfred the Cat,” Alfred remarked. Damian couldn’t resist the urge to crack the door to try and take a peek, but Alfred was in his way. 

“Yeah, he’s…” Dick trailed off for a moment, and Alfred – and, by extension, Damian – waited for him. “He’s very adamant but comforting.” Dick decided. 

Alfred hummed in agreement, sounding amused. Damian could imagine the small, fond smile gracing the man’s face.  “I came to inform you that lunch will be served shortly.” 

“No thanks, Alfie.” Dick said, voice growing smaller again, “Not hungry.”

“I still expect you for dinner.” Alfred went right to compromise. “Miss Cassandra will be arriving tonight.”

“Of course, Alfie.”

Damian wasn’t quick enough. Alfred closed the door and turned around before Damian could return to his room.

The man caught him with another one of his small, fond smiles. He gave Damian a wink and an approving nod before turning down the hall, disappearing without a word. 

Damian was now in phase two of his mission. With a renewed determination, he went to find Titus. 

 Dick worked around the cat curled up in his lap, one hand rubbing small circles into the cat’s head, the other working his computer.

Occasionally, Alfred the Cat would demand two-handed scratches, forcing Dick to look away from his research. 

 The door opened again, revealing whatever it was hiding from view.

A dog similar to Ace- with a slightly lighter snout and darker eyes - stood in the doorway, waiting for a command. The dog glanced at whoever was hiding behind the door, out of sight, and then to Dick, cocking his head curiously.

The person hissed something, the words lost to Dick. It might’ve been Tim, but it's more likely Damian based on the pitch.

There was a whistle, like the one used to call Ace, and the dog finally entered the room, the door closing behind him. Similar training to Ace, Dick realized. With that knowledge, he whistled, once short and once long. 

The dog, Titus, the tag on his collar said, took the invitation.

 Dick was expecting the dog to curl up on the end of the bed, but Titus had different plans.

He wedged himself between Dick and his pillows, dislodging him and Alfred the Cat.

With some shifting, Dick found himself half lying against Titus. The dog curled up so that his head was in the boy’s lap, and Dick stroked his head for a moment.

Alfred the Cat took advantage of Dick’s more horizontal position, settling just below his chin. 

 The low rumble of Alfred’s purring and the warm, safe weight of Titus sent Dick into a nice, dreamless sleep before he could even try to protest. 

 Dick woke up to a paw hitting his face.

Alfred the Cat sat in the center of his chest, tail flicking back and forth. A single paw raised, Alfred struck again, batting him in the nose.  Dick blinked. There was a thumping to his left as Titus wagged his tail. 

“Okay,” Dick said, Alfred the Cat raising another paw. “Okay, I’m awake.” He sat up slowly, giving Alfred time to jump off the bed and reach the door. The cat slinked through the doorway, pausing once to make sure Dick followed. The teen smiled to himself, letting the creature lead him down the hall. Titus was at his heels, occasionally nudging him in the back when the animal thought he was going too slow.  It was well past dinner time, Dick realized as he passed by the empty dining room, following Alfred the Cat to the kitchen.  He paused just short of the door, his leading escort disappearing around the corner.

“Pennyworth, I request permission to bring Bat-Cow into the Manor,” Damian said. Dick frowned and mouthed "Bat-Cow?"  at Titus. The dog cocked his head back. 

“I assure you, Master Damian, Bat-Cow is fine in the barn,” Alfred answered. Dick could hear the sound of water and clinking dishes. 

“But she needs to be here,” Damian argued. 

The sound of sloshing water stopped, replaced by Alfred’s shoes clicking against the floor. “And why is that?” Alfred asked, voice softer now. 

“Richard needs her,” Damian admitted, voice small.

A flush ran up Dick’s neck, his throat tight.  Titus nudged his hand, letting out a high-pitched whine. 

“How about tomorrow you bring him to see her instead? The fresh air will do the boy some good.” Alfred suggested. 

Damian didn't give an audible response.

 Alfred’s shoes clicked across the floor again as he returned to the dishes. Alfred the Cat mewed further in the room, followed by the shuffle of pet food bags and sounds of opened cans. 

Titus nudged Dick again. Taking the hint, he followed Alfred the Cat, finding Damian and Alfred the Person, as expected, waiting.

Damian was holding a full dog bowl, and Alfred the Cat was already digging into his own bowl of cat food at his feet. 

“Good evening, Master Dick. How was your nap?” Alfred greeted, offering a welcoming smile over his shoulder,  while Damian whistled for Titus so he could serve the dog his dish.

“It was really good, actually.” Dick shrugged, “Did you let me sleep through dinner?” 

Alfred hummed affirmatively, drying his hands on a hand towel and pulling a bowl of pasta from the fridge. He stuck it in the microwave. “Miss Cassandra’s flight was delayed due to weather.  I saw no need to wake you; it was clearly needed.”

Dick flushed, scratching the back of his head and avoiding Alfred’s knowing look. “Yeah, thanks.”

 His gaze drifted to Damian, crouching beside his two pets, watching them eat. The microwave beeped, and Alfred passed the food over to Dick with a fork. 

Silence settled over the room as he picked at his meal. “I have to ask,” he said after a tense moment. Alfred turned away from the dishes, and Damian stretched from the crouch. “Bat-Cow?” 

Chapter Text

Jason never signed on to be an older brother.  He doesn’t think too hard about it because his brain likes to remind him that, technically, Dick didn’t sign up for any brothers, let alone to be the oldest.

For the first time since waking up in the med bay in a time that wasn’t his own, Dick was excited for the knock on his door. He was ready, clad in the new wardrobe bought by Alfred: a pair of jeans, a loose, long-sleeve shirt, and some new sneakers. Dick was okay with borrowing whatever was available, but Alfred was insistent.  It didn't take much to wrangle a promise from Damian to take Dick out to meet Bat-Cow and Goliath.  He verified that, yes, Bat-Cow was a cow. Goliath was a Dragon Bat. Dick listened as Damian told the harrowing origins of Goliath from Bialya.  He spoke of Jerry the Turkey, advising with sad eyes that the bird died last year.  Dick responded with some of his more wild stories about the animals in the circus. The other boy nodded along to a few but sat wide-eyed when Dick told him about the protective lioness versus the persistent stalker when he was five.

Titus barely lifted his head, eyes trailing Dick to the door. The dog had stuck to Dick through the night and made himself at home in Dick’s space.   Not that he minded. 

Dick answered the door, smiling brightly at Damian. “Morning,” he chirped.  

Damian paused, taken aback by the chipper attitude, “Good Morning, Richard,” he nodded, “I take it you slept well?”

“Well, enough,” Dick shrugged, glancing over his shoulder at Titus and whistling for him to follow. 

He was on fire. The sun was always in his eyes. The sand was rough against his feet. Where were his boots? He lost his footing against the steep incline, sliding down with his knees and palms scraping against the blistering sand. 

Where were his gloves and uniform? 

He pushed forward and up. The sky was blinding. He crested over the top of the sand dune. His team was there—or he thought they were his team.

He’s melting, his whole body surging white hot.

He didn't know who the Superman wanna-be was or the two girls. But he did know Kid Flash and Aqualad, but they were missing Speedy.

His skin bubbled, and his body boiled. He shrinks and crumbles.

He had known of Aqualad, Aquaman's new partner. He had yet to meet him, as their mentors' territory rarely overlapped; Gotham Bay connected out to the ocean but was still a no man's land, the same as Gotham itself.   He had the chance to work with Kid Flash in the rare case that crossed over Gotham borders.  Flash even brought him to the occasional League meeting.

His fingers turn to dust, drifting away in the wind.

He doesn’t know any of these people, but they were familiar: the Flash, Superman, Green Arrow, and Martian the Man Hunter. But it was wrong, all wrong.

He’s smaller and younger, missing pieces and memories.

Dick burst awake, gasping for breath. His lips were cracked and dry, and hair stuck to his forehead. Titus was off the bed, pacing the room in a low whine. Dick rolled, falling to the floor, out of the blankets, away from the warmth of his bed. He lay there panting. Titus calmed slightly, laying near his head and watching Dick. 

It took a while, but Dick finally caught his breath, reaching out a shaking hand to pat Titus on the head. “Hey boy,” he muttered, voice rough and throat dry.

Titus whined in response. 

“Sorry for waking you.”  Dick offered, playful tone falling flat. 

Titus whined again, inching to bat at Dick with a paw. 

Dick forced himself up. He could still feel the heat on his face, his body burning and tight.  He pushed it off and pushed it down.  

 The duo took their meal as Alfred made and approved to-go breakfast sandwiches, bypassing the tense dining room without a second glance.  

Dick was excited. He ignored the Batman voice in his ear, which said to focus on the mission and the ever-growing to-do list. Dickie, an even younger version of himself, freshly traumatized by his parent’s death, weighing down his heart and wrapped around his leg. He cried because he had lost yet another parent. Robin was on his shoulder, waiting and observing. He was ready for anything. 

Dick shook them all off. 

He followed Damian, just a half step behind. The other boy kept shooting him side-long glances, which Dick easily ignored.  “So, Bat-Cow…” He trailed off, waiting for Damian to signal to continue, “What do you feed her? Because the grounds might be large enough, but I’m sure the grass doesn’t offer enough nutrients, especially in Gotham. I would be concerned about ingesting any plant grown too close to Ivy.”

“Are you suggesting I would not provide the most-“

Dick rolled his eyes, “Dude, chill.” He laughed, ignoring Damien’s red face. “I’m just curious! I’ve spent enough time with Ma and Pa Kent to know how to look after a cow.”

They could see the stables in the distance. As far as Dick remembered, they were empty, except for when horses were rented for an event.  It was big around the holidays to have horse-drawn carriages.  One of the doors was open, leading to a gated area, a cow grazing with the occasional flick of her tail. 

“You know the Kent’s?” Damian blurted, the red creeping up his neck for a different reason. 

It was Dick’s turn to shoot him a curious look, “Yeah,” he shrugged, “B and I would visit with Uncle Clark sometimes. Alfred said it was good for us to get out of the city. Is it not something you do anymore?”

“No,” Damian looked away, “I have never been with Father. I am acquaintances with their grandson, Jon.  Kent and Pennyworth sent us to the farm last summer for the same reason you mentioned. And I believe they intend to send us again next month.” 

Dick let out a small "hmm." He focused back before Damian could figure out what to say next.

“What about Goliath?” Dick asked before the awkward silence could settle over them. 

Damian startled, pulling himself from his thoughts. “What of him?”

“What do you feed a bat dragon?” Dick asked, following Damian into the stables. “You mentioned yesterday that he goes on missions,  which means he stays active. I assume he is pretty big; most bat dragons are. People would talk if we had to order large shipments of raw meat to the mansion regularly.” Dick paused, taking a long glance around the empty stables, “Where do you keep him anyways? This isn’t exactly the ideal place for a supernatural being.” Dick’s jaw was set. It was a look Damian knew from adult Dick, usually reserved when he was about to start protesting something he believed to be an injustice. 

Damian ignored the longing in his chest and held on to the reassurance that even as a child, his older brother was still there in his heart. “Goliath is in an expansion of the caves,” Damian explained. You,” he paused before clarifying, “Older, you helped me design and engineer the expansion to ensure Goliath would be more than comfortable while maintaining the stability of the grounds.”

Dick nodded in satisfaction. 

“I have not had the opportunity to take him flying for several days; we can do so if you like.” Damian offered. He forced the smile from his face, knowing Dick Grayson would never say no to flying. 

A sly smile slid onto the other boy’s face. The spark that dimmed over the last few days appeared in his eyes. “And by flying…” Dick trailed off, letting the question hang in the air. 

“We will be joining Goliath, of course.” Damian reassured, “To ensure he stays within the grounds.”

“Of course,” Dick beamed back, and Damian felt as if the other boy could see past his mask. The moment passed, and Dick turned to the door leading out to Bat-Cow.  “Let’s go see BC first.”

He was gone before Damian could respond, and Titus followed at his heels. 

 After the stress from the day before, Tim was not looking forward to breakfast. He was looking forward to Cass' arrival; honestly, he depended on it.  He had no idea how to read this Dick Grayson.  Something happened between Dick and Bruce, but both have hidden themselves away. Jason seemed to know enough to have an opinion. Alfred was tight-lipped, as always. Tim was a little reassured that Damian knew as much as he did. 

Tim stomped down the stairs, sliding into his seat at the table between Bruce and Jason.  Alfred appeared shortly with his serving cart and a greatly appreciated cup of coffee. “Hey Alfred?” Tim asked, frowning at the two empty seats across from himself. 

The older man hummed, topping off Bruce and Jason’s drinks while carrying the pot.  “Where are Dick and Damian?” Tim noted that the serving cart only held three plates. 

Bruce peered over his morning paper, blinking in surprise at the two empty table settings. 

“The young masters are out at the stable this morning,” The man explained, placing a plate in front of Jason. “They made the decision for an early start. Master Damian was eager to introduce Young Master Richard to Bat Cow.” He passed food to Tim.

Bruce opened his mouth, but Alfred continued, dropping Bruce’s plate with a little extra force. “It will be good for both boys to get out of the manor.”

“Wait, but isn’t it Monday?” Jason asked. “Doesn’t the gremlin have school?”

“It is rather unfortunate. It seems the majority of the house has come down with the flu; a doctor’s note has been provided by the family physician advising the school to excuse any absence for both Master Damian and Timothy until they have been cleared.”

 Jason smirked. “As always, Alfred, you are brilliant.” He praised, turning to his food. 

The older man nodded in thanks, turning back to the kitchen. Adding over his shoulder, “I would advise you to eat up Master Bruce; I wouldn’t want to be late for work.”

Tim didn’t smile when Jason whispered “Burn” under his breath, but it was a close thing. 

Bruce left for work, some of the tension going with him. Jason retired to the library, using this time to catch up on Alfred’s more recent recommendations. Technically, nothing kept him at the manor, especially now that Bruce was out of the house.  He told himself it was because of the threat from the Joker and security in numbers, especially with Goldie down. 

It totally wasn’t because he felt guilty when he did leave. It's not like he made it all the way to one of his Gotham safe houses. He was settled onto his couch, stripped of Jacket and weapons, when the tiny voice that sounded like adult Dick reminded him of the promise he made to Tiny Dick. He spiraled, brain sinking back to the little red dots dancing along the forehead of Tim and Damian.  His stomach dropped when he imagined another life where he wasn’t there, where they had to explain to a newly re-aged Dick that their younger brothers were killed.  Jason was back on his bike before he could finish that through. 

If anyone would ask, Jason was here for safety, and no one could say otherwise. 

Tim found him mid-morning, slipping into the library wearing a sweater too long in the arms. It was one of Dick’s, Jason realized when he glanced up. 

Tim paced along the shelf, eventually picking a book from the vast selection. He took a seat on the adjacent chair to Jason’s couch but left the book unopened on the arm.

Jason clenched his jaw and focused on his book, ignoring his fellow Robin. The seconds ticked on, and on Tim’s second sigh, Jason was done. With controlled restraint, he tucked his bookmark between the pages and placed the book carefully on the side table out of harm’s way. “The fuck do you want, Replacement?” He asked because his book was getting good. 

“Am…” Tim cut himself off. “Did I…” He paused again. 

Jason took a slow breath, letting Tim find his words. The kid was struggling, and some part of Jason realized that his usual person for this kind of thing was thirteen years old. 

“Did I do something to upset Dick?” Tim asked. 

“What?” Jason cried, “No, at least not that I know of.” he added after a quick run-through of the last few days.

“Does he just not like me?” The younger man pressed, “He seems to get along with you, and now he’s spending time with Damian. When I tried yesterday, it just…” he trailed off again. “It seems like he doesn’t like me.”

Jason sighed, falling back against the couch, “Bring the oldest sucks,” he muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose.

Tim frowned, “What are –“

“Look, Timbo,” Jason interrupted, jerking back into a sitting position and causing Tim to flinch back in reflex. “That is a lot of shit going on right now with Tiny Dick.  I don’t know everything; what I do know is just the basics. It’s not my place to talk about.” Jason sighed, choosing his next words carefully. “But I can relate.” 

“Relate to what?” Tim demanded, exasperated. He wanted all the pieces. 

“You’re a smart kid, Tim,” Jason smirked, but his eyes looked tired. “I’m sure you can figure it out.” He continued before Tim could respond, “From what I can tell, Damian locked him in a room with Titus and Alfred the Cat.”

Tim couldn’t catch the snort.  “Dick is a tactile person.” He conceded.

Jason nodded, “He’s a leech. But I think it’s more than that. Damian’s given him – What?” Jason jumped to his feet, running to the window. 

“Jason, what are you-“ Tim called after him, cutting himself off when a body fell past their window, followed by a red blur.  A few seconds later, the blur flew back up. “Was that…?” Tim trailed off in question. 

At the same time, Jason asked, “Is that…?” with the same thought left hanging in the air.  They shared a look before sprinting from the room. Jason hissed, “I’m going to kill them,” as they went. 

It was Dick’s turn again. He stood on the roof's edge, a smile wide across his face and hair windswept. Damian was perched on Goliath’s back, hair a mess and smile more controlled but eyes shining with delight. 

“You ready, Dami?” Dick asked. The other boy let out a playful huff but nodded. Dick just laughed, “How about you Goli?” He asked the Bat Dragon next to him, scratching just under his chin. 

The creature made a chattering noise, leaning slightly into the scratches.  Dick smirked, pulling his hand back to wave and letting himself fall back off the roof. The wind swept through his hair; it was a peaceful moment of freefall. 

A loud, echoing cry of “Oh shit!” interrupted his peace seconds before Goliath plucked him out of the air.  It was Jason; he realized as they flew towards the two awaiting people at the back patio.  Tim was open-mouthed at his side. 

They landed next to the pool, Goliath placing Dick on the ground, patting Dick on the head once with a soft cooing sound. Damian landed at Dick’s other side.  They would have made an imposing scene in any other situation, the boys guarded by a bat dragon.  Jason didn’t let it phase him. 

“What the fuck are you doing?” he hissed, eyes darting between Dick and Damian. 

“Training with Goliath,” Dick said before Damian could spit something back. It probably would have been something about not answering to the likes of them. Dick, though, had a look they all recognized from arguments between him and Bruce. It was equal parts ‘I’m humoring you” and ‘I’m right'' with a dash of amusement. 

“Tra-“Jason sputtered, “training.” His face contorted, flickering between confusion, anger, and disbelief. “Why in the fuc-“He started ranting, pointing between Dick, Damian, and Goliath. “You’re just jumping off the roof. How is that training? There are no safety precautions and no backup. Do you know how dangerous it can be to fall from that height? “ Jason felt a hand grab his wrist, cutting his rant. He glanced at Tim, startled at the look of horror on his face, then back to the two youngest. The anger drained from his face when he saw the ashen look on Dick’s.  

Damian moved forward, a snarl on his face. Goliath beat him to it. Sensing the change of tone, the creature set its eyes on Jason. Taking in a deep breath, he screamed. Spit flew from the creature’s mouth, and a large glob landed on Jason’s forehead, dripping down his face. 

There was a brief silence, then Dick burst out laughing, followed by Tim and a more subtle Damian. 

Jason used his shirt to clean the spit from his face. His gaze slid past Dick and Damian until landing on Tim. “You think this is funny?” He asked, his tone lost the previous heat.

“Yes,” Tim nodded in complete honesty. 

Jason hummed, pretended to be in thought, then lashed out. He pushed Tim into the pool. The younger man surfaced seconds later, sputtering water.   Jason wasn’t surprised when he was pushed after him, but he wasn’t expecting two sets of hands. 

Alfred emerged from the house carrying swimsuits and towels. He placed Jason and Tim’s on the table, then ushered Damian and Dick into the house to change.   Alfred shot them a wink, following the two into the manor, promising to bring lunch out shortly.  

Goliath wandered into the grass, lying with his belly to the sun and occasionally letting out what they assumed to be a content sound mixed between a purr and a growl. 

“You’re lucky my phone is waterproof,” Tim grumbled, hoisting himself out of the pool. 

Jason threw him a good-natured eye roll. “Like you can’t afford a new one.”

"Fair."

Chapter Text

Dick and Damian came back without their swimsuits and were in a much more somber mood. Bruce followed, with Cass trailing behind and Alfred taking up the rear. Dick was scowling, while Damian had a pinched look on his face. Bruce was thin-lipped and frowning, which was his usual behavior lately. Cass watched curiously, offering Tim and Jason a quick wave when she saw them. Alfred seemed disappointed in Bruce. 

"Sup?" Jason offered, hefting himself out of the water. 

No one answered. Bruce's gaze skimmed over the dripping-wet Jason and Tim, out to the snoozing Goliath, past Damian to Dick. 

The two stared at each other, communicating with the occasional twitch in body language. 

Tim turned to Cass, who watched them intently. He hoped she could provide him with some translation. 

Cass saw Bruce's gaze flick over Dicks shoulder to Goliath and then to the library’s roof. 

Dicks should twitch in a "so what” face otherwise guarded. 

Bruce's jaw clenched, screaming in equal parts recklessness and danger. The man’s shoulders tightened briefly in concern.  It passed quickly, and Cass barely caught it. 

Dick cocked an eyebrow, upping his challenge. Cass saw the shift, Dick rolling back onto his heels into a more defensive pose. 

Bruce grunted a warning they all could hear. 

Dick scoffed, intended as definite, but the slight rise in his shoulders spoke more to protective. 

Bruce let out a sharp breath through his nose, dismissing the conversation. He turned away, trying to hide behind anger while aching with concern and shame that Cass didn’t understand. He turned his attention to Damian, “Explain, now.”

Damian nodded, “Richard and I...”

At the dismissal, Dick, for a brief moment, was devastated. Cass shifted back, caught by the pain, confusion, and betrayal. It ended just as quickly as it began. Dick shifted again, locking it back behind a curious eye and challenging smirk. There were only echoes of the moments before, leaving Cass concerned and confused. 

“The roof?” Bruce interrupted, gaze twitching back to Dick. “Richard, what were you thinking?”

“Why are you blaming me?” Dick rolled his eyes. “It’s his Dragon Bat.” He nodded towards Damian halfheartedly. 

“Because I know you would be stupid enough to pull this kind of stunt.” The other man shot back. His body was angry, but fear and concern were etched in the details. “It’s just the kind of stunt -”

“Okay, B,” Jason said, hands raised in surrender. He slipped between the original dynamic duo, with his back to Dick. “I already yelled at them. They know how reckless they were being.” 

Dick scoffed, taring his gaze from Jason’s back. “Alfred, can I eat in my room?”  He asked, ignoring Bruce’s grunt of protest.

The elderly man nodded, “I will be up shortly.” 

Dick gave a tight nod and slipped past everyone; Emotions weighed down his shoulders with defeat. 

Bruce, Cass observed, twitched in regret before hiding it under a blank mask. 

“The fuck, Bruce?” Jason turned on the older man. “You -”

“I know.” Bruce interrupted. He turned to Jason; something passed between them, something Cass missed. 

Jason let out a shaky break and shook his head. He pushed past Bruce without another word to any of them. 

“Alfred,” Bruce turned to the man, face hard and stony, “I will be taking my lunch in my office.”  He followed Jason into the manor without another glance or word. 

They watched him go, lapsing into a thick silence. Finally, Alfred turned to his remaining charges, thin-lipped, “Lunch will be served shortly,” he announced solum and sure. He turned to leave, pausing long enough to place a hand on Cass’ shoulder and give a small squeeze in passing before disappearing after the others. 

“So...” Tim trailed, looking between Damian and Cass. “How was the trip?” 

Damian scoffed, and Cass smiled.

Lunch was tense, with just Cass, Tim, and Damian in the dining room. Alfred served them a small selection of sandwiches while they caught Cass up on the last few days. They walked the fine line between discussing the case and not breaking the no “downstairs talk in the manor” rule. 

Alfred raised an eyebrow in passing, rolling a cart out to the rest of the household. 

“It’s been complicated,” Tim grumbled after the footsteps disappeared. He slumped back in his chair and rubbed at his eyes. 

Damian picked apart his veggie panini, “Richard was fine initially. He and Father were getting along.”

Tim ran a hand down his face, “More than get along,” he admitted, “They were Bruce and Dick again.” He looked to the others, trying to get his point across. 

Damian frowned in frustration, and Cass cocked her head, curious.  

“We all know they have a special relationship.”

Cass darted forward, waving a hand to start signing. She got through. “B loves us,” before Tim interrupted. 

“I know,” he said. Cass didn’t look convinced but didn’t start signing again. “I do!” He emphasized, “But you guys didn’t know them before, back when Dick was still Robin, and they were the Dynamic Duo. It was - “ Tim struggled to find a way to explain, “It’s like I was eight again, watching them at a gala. They were always so good together, effortless.” 

Cass read the longing in the frown around Tim’s eyes, the long-time echoes of envy and guilt around his shoulders. Self-doubt hung around the edges, almost hidden by the waves of confusion. Damian felt his doubts crawling at the edges of his mind. 

Tim shook himself, trying and failing to hide away his emotions. “Then Dick left, and everything was a different kind of weird.”

“Richard has been reading case files,” Damian offered, his ears flushing pink when eyes turned towards him. “He did not provide details, and I did not want to pry.”

“Sad,” Cass whispered, “both sad. And regret.” They fell into silence, the growing sound of footsteps accenting their silence.  

Alfred entered, pushing a cart, followed by a grumbling Jason. The older man paused long enough to pull a chair out and gesture for the other to take it.   “What’s with the mood?” Jason asked. 

Cass signed the letters B and a bat, then the words big and D.  

“Of course,” Jason nodded in understanding, tensing under Cass’s searching gaze, “Should have guessed.”  He took the offered plate from Alfred to avoid making eye contact. 

“They’ve been telling Cass how weird they’ve been,” Tim explained. 

Jason flinched, ducking his head to pick at his food. Cass could see the guilt around his shoulders, “Don’t know if you’ve noticed Replacement, but this whole situation is weird.”

Tim sighed, “But they weren’t before!” he continued, growing more passionate. 

“It doesn’t matter,” Jason waved him away. 

“Want to help,” Cass interrupted before the fight could break out further. 

Alfred cleared his throat from the side of the room, “I believe,” he began, “the best way to assist would be to find a way to return Master Richard to normal age.”  

“Do we have any updates from Zatanna?” Jason asked, taking the thread that Alfred left.   Tim hesitated, giving it a moment for Alfred’s typical protest of no cases at the table. But instead, Alfred topped off Tim’s coffee cup and pointedly said nothing.  

Tim saw it for the approval it was meant to be and launched it into the most recent status update. “She didn’t have anything the last -”

That night, Bruce, Damian, and Jason went out. Tim stayed behind to do more research, and Cass wanted a chance to interact with Dick again. She took Jason’s advice and camped out in the cave to wait for Dick to go to the gym. An hour passed and then another with no sign of Dick; Alfred carrying a tea tray was the only person who came down.  

“Jason was so sure that Dick would come to the cave,” Tim said, muttering his tea. “Do you think we’ve scared him away?" His gaze flickered between Cass and Alfred. "He doesn’t seem to like me that much.”

“I go see.” Cass offered with a reassuring pat on his arm. She made it to the stairs when Alfred cleared his throat. 

“Before you go, may I suggest you check the cave first? " he suggested with a mischievous twinkle in his eye. 

“Dick isn’t down here,” Tim argued while Cass started scanning the surroundings. “He might be sneaky, but there is no way he could sneak past Cass without noticing. Not to mention, I’ve been watching for movement.”  He gestured to one of the monitors with the image of Dick’s door and the gym. 

Alfred hummed, neither dismissive nor doubting, just neutral.  

Cass and Tim shared a glance and took off running to the gym.  

Dick set the training simulation to a crowd, setting it to an equal amount of firearms and handheld weapons.   He walked to the starting point in the middle of the simulation. There was a countdown for ten seconds as the enemies assembled. 

From his back, the gym door opened, followed by footsteps announcing the arrival of two guests. Dick didn’t have to turn around to know one was Tim -steps heavy on the balls of his feet for agility rather than the strength and weight of Jason and Bruce -. and the other was new and barely there with a stride that differed from everyone else; Dick felt confident in assuming it was Cass. 

The floor flashed red, drawing Dick’s attention back to the enemies. There was a flash of yellow as the guests slowed to a stop. With a beat of green, Dick jumped into action. 

Cass watched critically, taking in the fluid movement and flashy flips. Dick dove and spun, jumping from enemy to enemy with the same efficiency she saw in Adult Dick. There was a moment, between a leapfrog over one back and launching at another, that Dick’s body language shifted to frustrated. She saw the pause that broke the stream that caused her brother’s frustration. 

Dick finished, landing in an easy crouch, the simulation enemies dissolving like sand. 

Tim snapped his jaw shut, shaking away his surprise. He cleared his throat, “That was awesome,” Tim offered. 

Dick shook his head, “That was too slow.” he countered. He turned to the control panel while keeping them in his peripheral vision. 

Tim frowned in confusion, shooting a look at Cass. Based on the slight frown on her face, she understood what Dick was talking about. He opened his mouth to ask but stopped when Cass touched his arm. 

“Too much weight on your back leg,” She signed. Tim turned to translate, but Dick was already nodding along. 

“Shifting would have left my right side open into the next move,” Dick argued. 

Cass cocked her head, replaying the action in her mind. She conceded with a nod, “Switch the -” 

The alarm sounded, and their phones lit up with an emergency backup request. Tim was in the lead, sliding into the computer chair and pulling the alert. On-screen, the image of the Joker loaded in, smirking at them from the thumbnail of a video. Tim hit play.  

The Joker was at a large table, surrounded by teacups and pastry. Harley was on his right, sipping from a teacup with a pinky out. Her uniform was old, a full-body suit split into red and black. Joker’s left was empty, and a prominent place card was labeled ‘Robin 1’.  

“Greetings, Robbie and associates.” The Joker greeted with a sweeping arm and shallow, seated bow. “I was hoping it wouldn’t come to this.” He sighed dramatically, “I had to change my plans because SOME PEOPLE,” he paused long enough to glare off-screen, “weren’t able to handle one simple task, and those imposters are still running around.” He lashed out, smashing a teacup and sending a tray of finger sandwiches flying.  

Harley didn’t even bat an eye, picking out a stray sandwich and taking a bite. 

The Joker took a calming breath and plastered on another smile, “I know it’s not your fault, kiddo.” he said with an overly sweet voice. “I know you would never ruin my CAREFULLY THOUGHT OUT PLAN!” Then, he lashed out again, hurling a teapot towards the camera. 

“Puddin’,” Harley cooed with a pout, “you’re ruining the spread.”   

“Yes, yes, of course.” The Joker muttered, running a hand down his suit and straightening the creases. His gaze flicked back to the camera, “I’ve taken care of part of our problem,” he flicked his wrist, and the background lit up. Batman, Redhood, and Robin were strapped up and hanging from the ceiling, unconscious but not visibly harmed. “You have an hour to find us, boy blunder.” He pulled a gun from under the table and halfheartedly aimed it at Jason. “As for the brat, I know you’re listening, and you’re not invited. If you want the rest of them alive, he comes alone.” 

The Joker lounged back, stretching out and signaling off-screen. Two henchmen came running, one carrying replacement pieces of the tea set. The other placed a new try of treats and cleared away the mess. “See you soon, Robin.” 

The screen turned black, leaving the cave painfully quiet. Dick turned to the changing room, already planning what he needed to take. Cass caught him by the arm before he could get too far. Dick spun back around, gaze sharp and challenging.  

“No,” She said, loud and final. Her fingers were tight, the gaze just short of painful. 

“Are you kidding me?” Dick argued, gaze flicking to Tim, still at the computer, and then back to Cass. 

Tim stood, edging closer with hands raised as a sign of peace. “Dick, It’s a trap. We can’t let you go running into it.”

Dick rolled his eyes, “Obviously,” he scoffed. “But that’s all the more reason I need to go. The Joker isn’t a threat to me right now, but the others don’t have time for this. Release me.” 

“If I may?” Alfred interrupted with a box in hand. “You might need this, Master Richard.” He placed it on the briefing table and stood back.  

Dick shook off Cass’ hold and turned to Alfred with a gleeful smirk. 

“Alfred,” Tim hissed, “You can’t be serious.”

Alfred tossed him a warning look, cutting off any argument from Tim or Cass. Dick pulled the lid off the box, revealing an almost duplicate copy of Dick’s Robin uniform. There were minor changes; new technology and materials were weaved into the details. He scooped it up with a quick “Thanks, Alfy” and ran to the changing room. 

“Alfred?” Tim asked, watching Dick disappear. 

“You all seem to forget that Master Bruce was not the only one in this house who knew Master Richard at this age,” Alfred said, sadness around his eyes aging the man. “As a man or boy, he has never run away from a challenge. He and Master Bruce are similar in that way. He would go with or without permission; I’d rather he go prepared.”

Dick emerged fully suited, flexing his hands and working out the gloves. He offered them a smile, looking comfortable for the first time in a long while. “You guys coming or not?”

Chapter Text

Dick led the way through Gotham, cutting down an alley a few blocks from the docks.  Red Robin and Black Bat followed without question, scaling up the building and sprinting. It was familiar yet different, a slanted type of Deja Vu.  It was Dick, smaller, but he carried the same ease. He led them like it was second nature. Tim ignored the swooping feeling in his chest. He remembered his days in the Robin uniform.  He doesn’t remember being that sure of himself.  Envy burned and seared his insides.  He didn’t have the same presence; even now, after years of experience, he felt less. 

Dick signaled them to stop, dragging Tim out of his thoughts. “There,” he pointed to a building across the street, “I’ll go; you wait here.”

“No,” Cass demanded, startling both Tim and Dick.  

“You can’t be seen.” Dick countered. 

Cass folded her arms across her chest; the unspoken challenge was loud and clear.  It was the same stance Dick took when playing the oldest sibling card.  With a start, Tim realized Cass was technically the oldest. 

Dick huffed, “The Joker isn’t going to let it slide. He will kill them and then you.” He matched her stance with crossed arms. It was a far toss from his older version's level of intimidation. 

Tim took a half step back, confident Cass would handle the situation. 

Cass cocked her head in response.  A few moments passed then Dick sighed. “Fine,” Dick shrugged, and Tim would swear he was rolling his eyes at them from under the mask.  “I’ll go first, draw in an audience like usual.  You two take overhead. Knock out anyone on the roof and wait for my signal.”

Cass nodded in agreement, but Tim was reluctant. “What’s the signal?” 

A smirk crept across Dick’s face, “You’ll know it when the time comes.” He didn’t wait for the others to agree; jumping off the roof, a high-pitched cackle echoed down the street, followed by the muffled sounds of yelling. 

Groups of henchmen scurried around the warehouse in a controlled panic.  Some put away the last of the film equipment, while others marched around in a loose patrol.   There was one exception to the air of panic. From the edge of Joker’s set was a free-sitting full-fledged kitchen, including a restaurant-grade stovetop. A henchman, wearing an apron and chef hat, pulled out a cake tin from one of the ovens with a satisfied hum. 

Batman, Red Hood, and the current Robin were pinned up in the background. They were wrapped in chains and suspended on hooks like prized fishing trophies. All three were still unconscious.

Robin dropped from the ceiling, twisting elegantly until the last moment to pull his grapple gun. His momentum slowed to land in a graceful roll.  He finished with his arms raised, bowing to the shocked henchmen.  

The Joker paused mid-pour, leaning back in his chair with a vicious sneer.  “Get him.”

The henchmen were fast, but Robin was faster.  Dick moved like liquid, ducking under their weapons and using their strengths against them.  They were eager, swinging without caution; he set them up, hitting each other as Dick danced around them.  With a few men left, Dick dropped a smoke bomb; there were a few seconds of yells of surprise followed by silence.   The smoke cleared, revealing Dick perched on a pile of bodies.  He backflipped, folding into a deep bow upon landing, facing the tea party like a jester to the king.

 Harley jumped up, clapping wildly.  The Joker raised a hand for silence, pulling a walkie-talkie from under the table.  “Encore,” He said. 

The words were followed by the roar of an engine. A truck -a standard bad guy - crashed through the back garage door. The driver, mouth open in a war cry, shifted to horror as they crashed into the first Robin.  The body rolled up the windshield with a sickening thud.  Two henchmen poured from the car, the one from the passenger seat chanting, “Oh god.” The driver hunched over, throwing up. 

The room went silent - aside from the panicking henchmen. Harley was frozen mid-clap. The Joker had a slow-growing frown. 

From above, Tim audibly gasped, his heart clenching in his chest. Cass gripped his arm painfully, undoubtedly bruising. Tim tried to pull himself free, the whirlwind of dread, regret, and guilt flushing his face and clouding his vision. 

"Plan," Cass whispered, urgent and pleading. Her frown was uncertain, sending doubt through Tim. He shook his head, trying to clear away the vision below.

"Plan," she said again. Cass shook him, physically pulling him to the window.

The body started to dissolve like sand.  The particles sparkled and faded to nothing.  The vomiting henchman turned tail and sprinted out of the room.  The chanting henchman fainted. 

"How?" Tim whispered, marveling at the technology. His mind rewound through the fight. The smoke, he realized, was the switch. The double was a modified version of the training simulation tech. 

A clapping interrupted the scene, startling a violent reaction from Harley and the Joker.  Dick batted the butter knife away, smirking from his seat at the tea table. There was another pause; then, the two rogues broke out into applause.  Dick smirked, offering a slight bow without leaving his seat. 

“That is what I’m talking about!” The Joker cheered.  He grabbed a spoon from the table and whipped around to check it at Batman, “you taking notes, Batsy?”.  It bounced off the unconscious man’s chest and to the floor with a clang.  Joker didn’t seem to care, shoving his chair away, sending it crashing to the floor, and starting to pace.  “The theatrics,” the Joker preened, “The trickery! The trauma!” he kissed his fingers in perfection. 

Robin ignored the rant, helping himself to a finger sandwich and shooting Harley a bright smile. “Hi’ya Harley.” He chirped. 

The woman offered a smile back, “Evenin’ Boy Wonder.”

“Come,” Joker interrupted, “Sit. Sit.” He jumped back to his seat and clapped his hands twice in quick succession. He waited, slightly crouched for someone to push in his chair.  He snarled, glaring around the room. “Where are -” The Joker cut himself off when his eyes landed on the pile of his unconscious henchmen.  He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Good help is so hard to find.” He sighed, fixing his chair.  “Of course you know that,” He continued to Robin. “You’re imposters,” he waved a hand towards Red Hood and Robin on the wall, “have really dropped the ball. Disappointing, all of them.” 

Dick hummed non-committal.

The Joker either didn't notice or didn't care.  “You give them one job and any equipment they may need, and they still aren’t able to kill a single person.  I know better; I should have just gone with the professional the first time.  You know how it is,” He grabbed a scone from the selection, pausing long enough to realize his butter knife was now on Robin’s side of the table and instead dumping an entire jar of red jelly on the top with a shake.” try to cut costs and now I’ll pay more than double for someone to do it right.”

“It’s taking away from our party budget,” Harley advised Robin with a grim frown.

The Joker nodded in agreement, waving his pastry around. Globs of jelly went flying, speckling everything that looked more like blood than something edible.“Don’t even get me started,” he moaned, jumping into his explanation without prompting.  “We’ve had to reschedule. It was going to be a surprise, with fireworks and games. Ozzy was going to host at the Iceberg Lounge.  But now he’s all pissy because we canceled in the 24-hour window.”

Tim and Cass exchanged looks from above, her hand still holding his arm. Tim nodded to the window but stilled when Cass shook her head.  Dick was going to give them a signal; they had to trust him. 

“There were going to be snacks. I was going to make your favorite pie, and Crain even agreed to make his famous dip.”  The Joker huffed, throwing his half-eaten scone at the table and spraying the others with crumbs and jelly.   

“We’ll reschedule, puddin’.” Harley offered, patting the man on the arm with a too-bright smile.

“Of course, of course.” Joker waved her away. “We’re not here to listen to me,” He turned his full attention to Dick, “Tell me, how are you doin’ kiddo? Talk to your Uncle J.” 

“I’m a kid. Again. Apparently.” Dick deadpanned. 

"You're welcome," Joker offered with a toothy smile. "Tea?" He waved a hand at the lukewarm tea cups. 

It was a test. They all knew it, even without the daring smile. 

Dick didn’t even hesitate, leaning over to take Joker's cup.  He paused, adding a few sugar cubes, and took a sip.

The Joker’s smile spread, breaking off into an echoing laugh. “Miles above the others and still so much to learn.” He grabbed the cup in front of Harley and drained it in one gulp. There was a tense moment of silence. The triumph disappeared from his face; the smile faded to something closer to satisfaction and approval. “Well, play-”

Harley snatched the butter dish out just seconds before Joker hit the deck. She did nothing for the fork stuck in the man’s face, dangerously close to his eye.  Dick didn’t bat an eye, instead sipping his tea with his pinky out as taught by Alfred. 

“You can come out now,” Dick yelled, trading Harley the butter for a plate of miniature cakes.  

Cass and Tim dropped from the ceiling, the rest of the bats shuffling from their places on the wall.

“How’s all this-” Harley waved a finger at the other heroes, “going?” She asked Dick with a raised eyebrow. 

“It’s so bad.” Dick groaned, ignoring the cries of indignation from the peanut gallery. “I'm missing years - a decade- of my life. Batman is trying to be all secretive.”

“Because that always works,” Harley snorted. 

“Right!” Dick cried in agreement, “And I don’t even know the others. They keep looking at me like they expect something but still seem surprised when I do anything. There’s so much baggage, invisible baggage, ghost baggage.”

A vine slithered across the floor during his rant, slipping through the shadows. It ran up his chair until perched over his head.  Red Hood cried out too late; branches crossed his path. The vine above Dick patted him on the head in a ‘there-there’ type of motion. Dick raised his hand, his fingers running along the plant before it slid back down and away.

Dick paused mid-rant, cocking an eyebrow at the currently older hero, then back to Harley. “See what I mean,” he waved a hand at the others. “It’s like they think I would be dumb enough to ignore my surroundings.”  

“Hey, you little shi-” Jason scowled from under his helmet, pulling a bat-a-rang from his belt to chop at the blockade. Robin pulled his sword, moving to help. 

“Ivy has been there for like five minutes.” Dick continued with a pointed look. 

“Hello, petal,” the woman in question called, stalking into view while twiddling her fingers in a wave. She sat on the arm of Harley’s chair. The other woman wrapped an arm around her waist with a sweet smile. 

Dicks eyes darted between breaking out in a huge smile. "I knew it." He stated. 

Ivy rolled her eyes while Harley giggled. 

"This is everything I could find," Ivy said, pulling a flash drive from the cleavage of her suit.  

Dick caught it, then dropped it on the table with a bright blush creeping down his neck.  

Harley cooed at him, reaching to pinch his cheeks, only to be slapped away. “You are so cute. Oh, I-”

Ivy placed a hand over Harley’s mouth, pulling back when the blond licked her hand with a wink.  Ivy continued, "I might be able to do more if I had a blood sample-"

A few yells of decline interrupted from the back wall.  Ivy huffed in response. 

“Do you see what I am dealing with?” Dick demanded, at the two women, ignoring the others. 

Harley laughed; at least Ivy had the decency to hide her smile behind her hand. 

“I’m going to have to go through puberty again,” Dick stressed, “I don’t remember the first time, but I doubt I want to do it again.”

A crash interrupted him; a figure in purple with blond hair dropped from the skylight, landing in a ready stance. 

“Like, who the Hell is this?” Dick demanded, throwing his hands up in defeat. He slumped across the table, pushing plates over the edge with little care.

Steph hesitated, glancing between the tea table and the assembled Bat Family. 

“Language,” Harley scolded playfully, flicking Dick's ear.

Dick perked up, lifting his head just enough to shoot the woman an unimpressed look.  It drew a snort from Ivy. 

Batman moved forward before anyone else could.  “Robin,” he growled in warning.

Dick shot up again, rim-rod straight and alert. He scowled at the other hero.

Ivy sighed, "That’s our queue. You know how to contact us." She said, dragging Harley up by the hand. "Stop by if you need to get away from them."

"We'll make a cake and watch heist movies," Harley cried, clapping excitedly. "We'll call in Selina and point out all the flaws." Harley paused long enough to place a bright red kiss on Dicks cheek and kick the Joker’s chair to send him crashing to the floor.  "You'll take out the trash, won't you kid?" She asked. 

Dick hummed in agreement, still staring down Bruce in a mix of the battle of wills and silent conversation. 

The bats watched the women flee out a back door in a rain of colored smoke—the doorway sealed in a crisscross of vines. 

“Robin,” Bruce warned, putting the attention back on the first Robin. 

"Where the hell did you get a flower crown?" Jason demanded. 

Dick shrugged with a smirk that gave everything away. A vine retreated through the shadows, and down the drain, it came through.