Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Booster doesn't actually mind the whole "he's just A Guy in a Bat Suit" thing when it comes to Batman—it's aspirational, actually. Bats can't even fly the way Booster can with his equipment, and he gets a lot of good work done. He can understand, though, how it might make the super-powered among them nervous.

He especially understands that now, standing in the Javeline's tiny medical bay, hooking Batman up to an IV drip.

"Alright, looks like you hit a vein," Skeets says from over his shoulder. He's been monitoring the situation, supplementing the ship AI's instructions as he works. Booster is technically their medical officer for this mission, being that he was most-recently first aid certified and Bats couldn't take that role because he was mission lead due to seniority and familiarity with aliens they were liaising with.

And the mission hadn't been an emergency. And it hadn't gone wrong. And they'd been on their way back right on schedule, smooth as silk when that comet had come out of absolutely nowhere and struck the side of the ship. This wouldn't have been a problem had the shields been up, and even then, it would've been fine if Bats hadn't been standing, not restrained in his seat like the rest of them. So yeah, really this was all Batman's fault for standing to get a meal pack out of one of the overhead compartments.

"Doesn't anyone else want anything?" he'd been saying when the alarm went off. Then he'd said, "Report!" and then shortly after that "Hnnnngrr—" as he was flung forward hard enough to first knock his head into the overhead and then throw him so hard against the seat that the Javelin's medical bot had diagnosed him with bruised ribs. And a concussion. And—

"Good thing he had that cowl on," Hal says from the medbay door.

Booster can hear the way Hal rolls his eyes as he speaks, but for one, Booster isn’t really down for mocking the unconscious, and for another, he can empathize with a guy who only went by his codename, even when there were other leaguers around. If someone asked Booster his name, his first instinct was always to say Booster Gold. Maybe Bats was the same way. Maybe he didn’t think what was under the cowl was important enough to warrant taking it off.

"Well," he says. "According to the diagnostic AI, the damage should be a lot worse. He must have some concussion prevention in there somewhere." He touches his own head. It wasn't hard to believe.

Like, first of all, he's Batman. You think Batman isn't going to have a system in place to keep himself from getting concussed? And second, if you look closely enough at the cowl— which Booster did on the long stretches of their voyage where he was bored out of his mind and Skeets didn't feel like playing digital checkers with him—you could tell it isn't the exact size and shape of a normal guy's head. Booster imagines it looked a bit like the inside of a football helmet, with padding and springs and whatever else to help minimize damage.

"Oh," Hal says, and Booster can hear the way his shoulders must fall. "Sure. Okay." He comes into the room proper, slotting himself on the other side of Bats' hospital bed. "You, uh, didn't want to take it off him, though?"

Booster looks down. Bats is indeed still wearing the cowl, and in fact most of the Batsuit. Booster had managed to get the chest piece and gloves off, but the cowl refused to part with its wearer. "I tried," he says, feeling sheepish.

Skeets pipes up: "There is a mechanism to remove it, but it requires knowledge and training we don't have."

Hal scoffs. "Keeping his identity a secret at the cost of his health. Sounds like Bats."

"Uh, well..." Booster wants to explain that Bats helped design the diagnostic AI, that he'd actually enlisted Booster and Skeets' help because the tech required was so advanced. The bed had recognized Bats' biosignature and accounted for the cowl once it understood that he'd sustained a head injury. He's interrupted, however, by a growling sound from the bed. He looks down, startled, and suddenly feels like he's going to get in trouble, even though Booster hadn't been flying the ship and it's not like he tossed a rock at the Javelin himself. "Hey! Hey... you okay, Bats? Can you open your eyes?"

Bats blinks himself awake. Booster can just barely see his eyes open behind the eye shields in his cowl. The AI chirps, announcing that its patients' brain waves indicate that he is now conscious.

"Hi, Bats," Booster says, grasping desperately at his training. "Do you remember where you are?"
Bats doesn't reply, just looks around the room, his gaze lingering first on Booster and then on Hal.

Hal arches an eyebrow. "C'mon, Spooky—let us know you're still in there."

"Where..." Bats mumbles and Booster thinks this is it, this is how he gets kicked out of the Justice League: he's the designated medical officer on the trip that got Batman concussed.

"You're on the Javelin," Hal says.

"You're not supposed to give him the answers," Boosters scolds. "We've gotta let him adjust. Bats, do you remember what day it is?"

Hal looks incredulous but lets Bats answer on his own. He rattles off the date, tells the two of them that he's Batman, and recounts some details from their mission.

Booster sighs the way a drowning person gasps for air. "Okay, good. Good. You're fine. You hit your head, and your ribs are a little banged up, but there's no major damage. You're on some pain killers so you might feel a little woozy. I'll get you some water." He turns and takes the half step necessary to make it to the fridge where there's bottled water waiting alongside some meds that can't be synthesized and that need to be in cold storage.

"Where..." Bats repeats. He looks around the room frantically.

Booster stoops and grabs one of his gauntlets. "Your gloves are right here. I needed to get them off for the IV, and your chest plate is down here too. No worries." He opens the water and offers it to him.

He looks at it like it might bite him.

"What?" Hal chuckles. "You think it's poisoned?" And Bats just looks at him in that way that only Batman can look at people. Hal puts his hands up in mock surrender.

"Where..." Bats says again, looking around the room again, and at this point Booster really needs him to just finish that sentence because he can't think of anything else Bats is missing— "... I can’t stay here.”

“You don’t have that much of a choice, Spooky,” Hal says. “We’re still about two hours out. Hey, don’t—” Hal reaches out to stop Bats from pulling at his IV again.

“I can’t stay here,” Bats repeats. “I can’t—where are they?”

“Where’s who?” Booster asks. “Bats, if you tell us who you’re looking for, I’m sure we can find them.”

Hal shakes his head. “He’s not looking for anyone, he’s high off his ass.”

“My babies,” Bats says and Hal and Booster’s gazes both snap to him. “My babies—they’re out there somewhere and I don’t know where they are.” His shoulders fall like someone’s just told him the entire universe is falling apart again, and he’s the only one who can hold it together. Hal makes a noise like he wants to laugh.

Chapter Text

Hal desperately wants to laugh.

First of all: it is funny that Batman got taken the fuck out by a chair and a storage bin.

Second of all: it is hilarious that The Dark Knight(tm) is hopped up on pain meds and looking around the Javelin medbay like it might kill them all on purpose.

And Third of all: it is astoundingly, astonishingly comical—downright chucklesome— that Batman is lying in a hospital bed, looking at Hal and Booster Gold of all people, and asking to see his babies.

Hal covers a laugh with a cough. "Your... what?"

"My babies." He looks around the small room like a couple (several?) small children could be hiding somewhere just out of his eyeline. Booster checks between his feet like there might be a toddler crawling around near his ankles and that's what makes Hal finally lose it.

He's laughing for a solid 20 or 30 seconds, probably. His ribs are starting to hurt, and he's leaning against the wall of the medbay, by the time he calms down long enough to look at Booster, who is looking back at him with a kind of helplessness Hal can see even through the visor. Hal opens his mouth to say something biting and witty, but then he finds himself grabbed by the front of his uniform and hauled downward. He can see Bats' eyes through his visor shields—most of the time he can't, and it's somehow even scarier to be confronted with the coldness of Bats' icy blue, human eyes in this moment than it would be to look into the white void of the cowl's visor.

Bats' voice is low and dangerous-sounding and Hal forgets for a moment that he wields a cosmic manifestation of the universe's will. "Are you keeping them from me?" Bats growls.

"Whoa, whoa!" Booster says. Hal can see him making calming gestures out of the corner of his eye, but Bats is laser-focused on Hal. "Hey, Bats—it's alright. We're on the Javelin! In space! Your, um—your babies are probably back on earth, right?"

Hal sees Bats' eyes flick toward Booster for a moment, and then he lets Hal go. He stumbles backwards and regains some semblance of himself. "Jesus, Spooky, you can't just grab a guy like that." He smoothes down the front of his uniform even though the fabric has already returned to its normal position.

"He's stressed," Boosters says.

"He's high," Hal retorts. He can feel Bats still glaring at him, but it's not really effective if Hal isn't looking directly at him. It’s not. Really.

"I don't take narcotics," Bats says. He looks down at his IV where it's sticking out of his forearm.

Booster reaches for him but thinks better of actually touching him. "Don't pull it out! I can turn off the morphine." He fiddles with the med panel.

Skeets hovers a little closer to Bats. "The medbay AI was unaware of your preference. I'll update it now."

"I can't protect them if I'm on something," Bats murmurs, reaching for the IV.

Booster puts hand over his. "You really aren't supposed to take those out yourself—the morphine is off, see?" He turns the panel so Bats can see. Bats scrutinizes it. Hal wonders why he's still standing here. Booster has the situation under control, and he doesn't want to get manhandled again. He should go hang out with Nate, who was taking his turn flying the Javelin. Captain Atom didn’t do things like grab him and growl. Nate was nice to talk to.

Booster continues: "It's just giving you fluids now, and you should let it keep doing that. Sorry, I didn't mean—are you sober? I'm so sorry, oh shit."

Hal blinks.

Oh.

That might explain why he's so agro, if it's been years and years since he's had anything in his system, even morphine. Hal's shoulders drop. "That fucking sucks."

"It's fine," Bats says, mostly to Booster, who is clearly trying to stave off panic. Bats reaches out and touches his arm. He speaks quietly, soothingly. "It's alright. You didn't know. I'm not angry with you."

"Sorry," Booster says again.

"Your profile has been updated," Skeets says.

"It was my own oversight in the first place," Bats says. "You were only following protocol as medical officer. Thank you."

"Yeah," Booster says. "I'm still sorry. We'll be back on earth in a little over an hour: will you be alright until then?"

Bats thinks for a moment. "Could I have something to eat?"

"Yeah, yeah. For sure," Booster says and is out of the medbay in a streak of gold and blue.

Hal crosses his arms. Really, he should just return to his seat. Update Captain Atom. Man, why hadn't J'on come on this mission instead of him? He was closer with Bats—probably knew about his kids, whether through mind-reading or, like, actual friendship with the guy, as unlikely as that sounded.

He runs a hand over his face. Bats is looking at him, but not glaring. "Sorry," Hal says. "That really does suck. Don't beat yourself up about it, though. How, uh, how long have you been sober?" He doesn't know why he's trying to bond with Batman of all people. They've worked together for close to a decade and this is the first real detail about his life that Hal is learning.

"I gave up drinking when I was 18," Bats says, implying that he was drinking before 18, and oh man.

Hal hums. He doesn't know precisely how old Bats is, but he suspects he must be knocking on 40 the same way Hal is.

"I took oxycontin while recovering from a back injury," Bats continues. "That was about 12 or so years ago." He looks down at his hands, like he's seeing them for the first time.

"Quite the streak," Hal says. "Congrats."

"Thank you," Bats says.

"I'm 8 years off the stuff," Hal says because it feels natural to talk about his own sobriety.

Bats nods. "Congratulations."

Booster is back then, carrying one of every kind of snack and refreshment the Javelin is stocked with. "Sorry, I didn't know what you would want."

"You don't have to keep apologizing," Bats says, taking a protein bar and bag of fruit snacks from him. "Thank you." He peers at the fruit snack wrapper. "Oh, these have gelatin in them. I'm trying not to eat pork products anymore, if I can help it." He hands them back.

"Why not?" Booster opens the fruit snacks himself, having dumped the remaining snacks onto Bats' lap.

"I'm Jewish," Bruce says. "I’ve never really kept Kosher growing up, but my oldest is quite dedicated to it. I picked up the habit from him." He trades the fruit snacks for a granola bar.

There's a pause as Booster and Bats eat. Hal considers picking a snack from the pile, thinks he would be better off getting one from storage instead. Again, he thinks he should just leave medbay. Sit somewhere with a window, watch the stars go by as they return to earth.

Instead, he finds himself rocking up on the balls of his feet, arms crossed casually. “So, Bats…How many... babies do you have?” He’s still curious about the fact that Batman has kids in the first place, and kind of wants to hear him earnestly explain more of his backstory while he’s too zonked to remember he doesn’t usually do that.

“Depends,” Bats murmurs.

“On?” Hal asks. Booster cocks his head to the side, one cheek stuffed with fruit snacks.

“How you count,” Bats says. When he doesn’t elaborate, Hal thinks the window has passed. Bats must’ve already burned through the pain killers because he once spent two solid years on a mountain, meditating next to a goat, and now he can manually control his metabolism.

Booster asks, “And how do you count?” In a conversational way, like anyone’s ever had an actual conversation with Mr. Broody Cowl.

“I don't,” Bats says. Hal opens his mouth to quip something, but closed it again when Bats says: “I love them all equally.”

Booster nods. “You seem like you’d make a great dad.”

“I do my best,” Bats says. He twists an Oreo open, tosses the plain cookie into his mouth. He offers the frosted half to Booster, who takes it with a thank you.

“Can’t eat the filling?” Hal teases. “Watching your weight?”

Bats looks at him—and this is a look Hal is very familiar with—like he might not be very smart. “It is nice,” Bats says. “To share.”

Hal takes a deep breath, considers needling the guy some more, asking if he moonlights as a kindergarten teacher. Instead, he shakes his head and returns to the main cabin.

Chapter Text

Booster finishes eating next to Batman’s bed, one eye on the monitors to make sure everything is alright. He tries not to feel too guilty. A lot of Leaguers are sober, especially the old guard, like Bats and Hal—whether for reasons of addiction or just not wanting to risk not being in top form during an emergency. He wonders which one Bats falls into, but doesn’t ask. He also wonders about his kids—his ‘babies’—but doesn’t want to pry.

“In my overnight bag,” Bats says. “There’s a satellite com. Could you bring it here?” He asks.

Booster shoots up from his chair so fast wrappers go skittering everywhere. He tosses them in the trash before heading into the cabin where Hal and Nate and discussing some kind of complicated airplane thing. Booster is technically certified to fly the Javelin and other League aircraft, but Skeets always has to talk him through take off and landing. The actual flying part he’s got down, though.

Bats’ overnight bag is on the floor underneath his seat, and Booster spies the shape of a cellphone in one of the side pockets. Hal gives him a look when he takes it out to bring to Bats, but doesn’t say anything.

“Thank you,” Bats says, taking it from him. He wakes it and taps at the screen for a moment, his movements slowed by the morphine. “It can be used as an emergency beacon,” he explains without prompting. He does a lot of that when he’s loopy, Booster observes. Where other people would be rambling on about nonsense after regaining consciousness, Bats is just one degree chattier than he usually is. Booster wonders if he’s just as tight-lipped around his kids, if they would find this version of their dad hilarious.

Booster also—because his brain is mean to him sometimes—thinks about his own father, and how he wouldn’t have anything nice to say about Booster, should he have been on the train to woozyville.

Bats continues, giving Booster something to focus on: “It’s connected to the suit, synced to my vitals. I wanted to make sure it hadn’t sent a signal out. It didn’t, thankfully.”

“Oh, yeah,” Booster says. “Wouldn’t want to worry the family.”

Bats nods. “It’s thanks to your quick action. I’m grateful.”

“Of course,” Booster says, and tries not to preen. “You uh… carry that everywhere?”

“Only when I’m off-world. After my youngest’s mother died, he became very concerned for my well-being. The phone was a compromise.”

Booster nods. “That’s really… um.” He clears his throat. He will not get choked up in front of Batman, just because the guy takes his kids’ emotions into account. “That’s cool.” Quick! Talk about something else! “You said your youngest’s mother? They don’t all have the same one?” Okay, wow. You can’t just ask a guy—

“My father says I’m a serial adopter,” Bats says, no trace of annoyance in his voice. “Not that he doesn’t love his grandchildren, but by the third one I brought home without notice, he was a bit annoyed.”

“So, you live with your dad?” Booster asks. Bats is swiping through something on his phone now, but Booster doesn’t pry. Just pries about everything else! Maybe he should go back to the cabin.

“Mmhm,” Bats answers. “Honestly, I think if I was on my own, I wouldn’t have survived this long. This is my youngest.” He turns the phone and shows Booster a picture of a smiling, brown-skinned boy holding a tuxedo cat up to the camera. “That’s his cat, Alfred.”

“He really likes animals, huh?” Booster asks. The kid looks ecstatic to be showing off the annoyed-looking feline.

“Yes, all kinds. I have a hard time saying no to him, so we have quite a few pets in the house.” He swipes some more and shows Booster a picture of a big, mean-looking great Dane mix being forcibly cuddled by a shaggy mutt with the face of a pit bull and the markings of a Malinois. On top of them are two more cats, one stark white and one Siamese. There’s a third dog in the frame as well, another bullie mix, this one missing its left foreleg. She’s rolling around in front of the pile, like she’s glad to have her own space. Bats points at them, introducing Titus, Ace, Jazzy, Isis, and Haley.

“I always wanted a dog,” Booster says. “I donno if the hero lifestyle would allow for it, but it’d be nice to have someone to cuddle with.” He chuckles because he’s not going to break down crying over being shown pictures of someone else’s happy family.

Bats hums. “Ace has taken quite a shine to me in particular. It’s nice to talk to him when everyone else has decided they aren’t putting up with me.”

“Putting up with you?” Booster raises an eyebrow behind his visor.

Bats levels a look at him that he’d given Hal earlier. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed this,” he says. “But I’m kind of a lot.”

Booster laughs –genuinely, loudly belly laughs. Bats smirks at him, and asks if he’d like to see the pictures he took at his daughter’s ballet recitable. Booster sits down again, scooting the chair closer to the bed. By the time the Javelin is docking with the Watchtower, Booster has earned a tentative invitation to dinner at Bats’ house. “We’ll have to see what sober me thinks about it,” Bats says, as if he’s aware he’s acting out of character. And really, why wouldn’t he be?

“I’m honored either way,” Booster says. “Your family sounds like a real hoot.”

“I would die for any one of them,” Bats says, and Booster knows he’s 100% serious, but he smiles anyway.

Chapter Text

They dock as normal. Martian Manhunter announces that they received a mild distress signal from the Javelin, and Hal explains that they already took care of the emergency. They get decontaminated, and Bats is bustled off to medical to get checked out. Nate and Booster turn in their incident reports, which Hal signs as a witness.

About 30 minutes after they dock, Booster comes up to Hal in the antechamber between the Javelin Bay and the rest of the Watchtower.

"Superman said Bats' family was arriving to take him home," he says and that sends alarm bells ringing through Hal's head for a split second—but then he remembers Robin, Bats' young partner. He's analogous to Speedy or Kid Flash, and Hal knows there have been at least 2 Robins, but that the latest one hasn't joined up with the Titans or Young Justice the way the other one had. Maybe it'll be his first time coming up to the tower. Hal feels kinda sorry for the kid, having to come up to space all alone because his mentor is in med bay.

"I'll go meet him at the entrance, then," Hal says and turns on his heel before Booster can say anything else. Hal doesn’t have kids himself, but he likes working with the Titans and other young counterparts of the League. He’ll meet up with the kid, explain what happened, and then bring him to medical, to wait for Bats to be cleared.

Nightwing is in the atrium when Hal gets there, and he can't help but smile at the sight of him. The Bludhaven hero is always so bright and positive, the energy is infectious. He waves to him and it's not until Nightwing waves back that Hal can see he's holding a child in his arms. The kid is maybe 3 or 4, and Nightwing gently takes her fist out of her mouth as Hal approaches.

"Hey," Hal says. "I thought you were caught up in Blüdhaven."

"I was," Nightwing says, adjusting the girl on his hip. "You were on the Javelin with him? How bad is it?"

Hal blinks. He looks at the child and then back at Nightwing's domino mask.

Wait.

"I—oh, you're here because Bats...?" He doesn't know how to finish that sentence.

Nightwing arches an eyebrow, mask morphing as his face shifts. The girl goes to put her fist back in her mouth and he covers her hand with his. "Superman said he was asking after us."

Hal starts talking before any of that sinks in: "Oh, yeah—he was on, I mean, he was unconscious for a bit, and the med system said his ribs were bruised, so we gave him morphine and he got a little loopy," he explains. Nightwing hums. "He started asking where his babies were and..." he looks at the girl again, really looks at her. She has shiny, jet-black hair and the brightest green eyes Hal has ever seen. They almost remind him of Lantern Stewart's glow. He supposes he doesn't know if she looks like Bats, because Hal has never seen Bats' face. He knows, vaguely, that he has steel blue eyes, but that might be the cowl's visor shielding messing with them.

"Yeah," Nightwing says. "That's why I rushed up here the way I did—couldn't find anyone to take Mari for the afternoon, and I figured he'd want to see her anyway." He leans down and kisses the girl on the top of her head. For a brief moment, Hal lives in a world where Batman is a new father, where his partner had brought their daughter up to the Tower to see him as he comes out of medbay. "Puro dad will be so happy to see you, Marshmallow."

The girl—Mari—murmurs something in a language Hal doesn't recognize and Nightwing answers back in the same.

"Puro dad?" Hal asks.

"Her grandfather," Nightwing says.

Ah, okay.

...

WHAT????

"He won't be happy to have been put on pain killers. Sometimes it's a struggle to get him to take an ibuprofen," Nightwing continues, blithely unaware of Hal's brain exploding and leaking out his ears.

"Sorry, wait—we're talking about Batman right now, right?" Hal says.

Nightwing looks concerned. "Um... yes? What—"

There's a sound behind Nightwing and the two of them both turn to see two more people emerging from the transporter. No, three: Hal hadn't seen Robin at first, obscured as he was by Red Robin's billowing black cape. Red Robin, Hal knows, has worked with Batman since he was young, and Hal figures he was the first Robin before the current one took over.

Robin looks around pointedly, ignoring Nightwing's greeting. "What have they done with father?"

"He's in medbay," Nightwing says. "They'll bring him out when medical clears him."

...father?

Hal watches, feeling dumbstruck, as Robin steps forward, looking up at the girl in Nightwing's arms, who says something to him in that language Hal can't place. It sounds Greek maybe? Or something related to Arabic?

"Hello, Mari," Robin answers in English. "I hope you haven't been too worried about puro dad."

Mari makes an excited noise and reaches out toward Robin, who gladly takes her from Nightwing's arms as the 3rd member of their party steps forward. Hal doesn't recognize the costume beyond the bright red Bat Symbol across his chest that marks him as related to Bats in some way. How many partners did Batman have? Nightwing claps the newcomer on the shoulder. "Thanks for leaving the helmet at home."

"Didn't wanna stir up too much drama," the man says. He must be about 4 or 5 years younger than Nightwing, though his hair seems to be going grey. "Didn't you bring Flashlight with you?"

"Sure did." Nightwing points toward one end of the atrium. Near one of the fountains, Mr. Terrific is speaking animatedly with another super Hal doesn't recognize. Again, he has a Bat Symbol on his chest: black on a bright yellow, armored costume. "We're just waiting on the girls. Oracle was in a meeting when I told her, so it might be a minute."

The one with grey-streaked hair hums. "Alright. I'm hitting the cafeteria."

Red Robin speaks for the first time since arriving: "Jay: shouldn't we wait for B?"

'Jay' waves him off. "Clark'll let us know when he's out. Besides: it's Tuesday, and unless they've changed the specials menu—"

"They haven't," Nightwing interjects.

"It's mac n cheese croquettes today." He puts his hands in the pockets of his leather jacket and saunters away like he knows exactly how to get to the cafeteria from where they are.

"Croquettes," Robin says, sounding intrigued. "Mari, would you like a snack?"

"She doesn't do too well with greasy foods," Nightwings says. "Maybe just half of one?"

"And I'm sure they have grapes and cheese," Robin says. He looks at Hal for a moment and Hal thinks Bats has to have taught him how to glare like that. But the young man doesn't say anything, and Hal watches him for a moment, walking after the grey-haired man.

"Don't worry about Robin," Nightwing says. "He's worried about Bats, that's all."

"Right," Hal says. He wants to ask about seven million questions, but he's interrupted again by a cry going up across the atrium:

"Nightwing!"

Hal turns to see Wonder Woman gliding toward them through the air. She lands rather daintily for a woman who's 200 pounds of solid muscle. "So lovely to see you, Richard!" She wraps her arms around Nightwing and he hugs her back, humming to himself. Using first names in the Watchtower isn't uncommon, but this is the first time Hal is hearing Nightwing being called by a civilian moniker—he's just as tight-lipped about his personal life as Bats usually is.

"You too, Diana. Wish it was under better circumstances."

"Of course." Diana pats him on his shoulder. "But your father is not one to be put down by circumstance. I'm sure he'll be just fine."

Nightwing nods. "It's just been a long time since he's had a major injury, so I think I'm a little worked up."

He doesn't look worked up: he looks calm, placid even, chatting casually with Wonder Woman.

Wait a minute.

Father?

Father???

Robin had called him that too—Nightwing and Robin were brothers?

"—Jordan?"

Hal's gaze snaps to Diana. "I—what?"

"I said, are you alright, Lantern Jordan?" Diana asks again. Her brows are pinched in worry. "You were not also injured, were you?"

"No! No, I'm fine, ah... I, uh, didn't know you and Robin were related, Nightwing," Hal says in what he hopes is a casual tone.

Nightwing chuckles. "I know, it's kind of hard to keep track of us all."

"Speaking of relatives," Diana says, clasping her hands together in front of her chest. "I thought you were bringing the baby."

"She's not much of a baby anymore,” Nightwing chuckles. “But Damian took her to the cafeteria for a snack. Signal's here too if you wanted to say hi." He turns toward where the yellow guy and Mr. Terrific were chatting. He waves and Signal waves back, then waves bigger when he sees Diana, who speeds over to him.

The transporter whirrs to life again and Nightwing turns expectantly. The Question steps out, her trench coat billowing behind her. Hal has said maybe three words to the Question since she joined after her previous incarnation passed, so he's confused when she waves at him as she steps into the atrium.

"Hey!" Nightwing says, waving back. Oh, so they know each other too. That makes sense—Bludhaven and Gotham are only a train ride away from Hub City, and Hal imagines there must be some overlap, especially given that the Question seems to focus on organized crime. "No Katie?" Nightwing asks as the Question approaches.

"Volunteered to stay behind and help get the house ready," Question says. "I think she still gets a little space sick on jumps."

Nightwing nods. "Bluebird stayed behind for the same reason. I can smell the stress-baking from here."

"Oh yeah, I bet. Looking forward to the lemon bars." She pats her stomach. "We've gotta get together when no one's been catastrophically injured."

"Hey, we were all at the wedding," Nightwing says with a chuckle.

"The baby!" It's Diana's voice that rings out across the room this time. Hal turns in time to see her gliding through the air. She lands next to Robin, who is returning from the cafeteria with baby Mari in one arm and a paper boat of food in the other. "Hellooooo!" She coos at her. Hal can see Mari hide her face in Robin's neck. Nightwing starts power walking over to them, saying something about how Mari is shy around strangers, but Diana is kneeling at the girl's eye level and talking quietly.

Hal looks at the Question and, strangers as they are, he's much more confident asking her questions than he was with Bats or Nightwing. "Wedding?"

"Mine and Batwoman's," Questions says. "Sorry we didn't invite you. I wanted to keep it small, just family."

"Oh, yeah, of course," Hal says. Batwoman??????? Who the fuck is Batwoman!? "Um."

"Yeah?" Question cocks her head, compensating for her expressionless mask.

"How did you meet... Batwoman?"

"We go back," Question says. "College sweethearts. Broke up for a while, then my life fell apart. Then the world ended. Then I became a superhero, and now we're married. Y'know, normal stuff."

Hal knows the last part is supposed to be a joke, but he can't bring himself to laugh. "Yeah, super normal," he says. His eyes drift over to where the other... Bats? Are they all Bats? A robin’s not a bat. Is a “nightwing” a bat? Mari is on her feet now, Wonder Woman showing her how to stand akimbo, her fists on her hips, shoulders square. Mari pauses in the middle to take a grape and cheese cube proffered by Robin.

"Nice to see Hood hanging with the family again," Question says.

"Hood?" Hal asks. Something about the name rings a bell.

"Red Hood," she says. "You know—from Gotham. He didn't always get along with his siblings and their father, so I'm glad they've started to work things out. The fact that he put the Bat on his chest really says a lot about how far they've come."

Red Hood.

Hal does know that name.

"The... crime lord?"

"Mmhm," Question says, like the fact that Batman is openly working with a criminal organizer isn't absolutely fucking insane. "Takes care of Crime Alley best he can."

"Uh... do you know... how many kids Bats has?" He asks in lieu of asking for clarification on any of that shit.

"Think it depends," Question says. Hal raises his eyebrows at her inquisitively. "On how you count: legally, biologically, or emotionally?"

"What?"

"They're all different numbers, and I might get it wrong, honestly. You'd be better off asking 'Wing."

"Oh, okay.”

Movement catches Hal’s eye as the yellow-suited Bat (Flashlight?—Nightwing had called him Signal) moves toward them, bidding Mr. Terrific a pleasant goodbye.

“Hey, Dayshift,” Question says as he approaches.

“Hey. Any word yet?” Signal asks. Question shrugs, explains that she just got there. Signal turns to Hal. “Lantern Jordan, right? I’m Signal. I’m on the day shift in Gotham.” He holds out a hand to shake and it takes a Hal a moment to recognize this extremely normal gesture.

“Good to meet you,” he says once his brain starts working again, shaking Signal’s hand. “Not gonna lie, I sort of thought all of Gotham shut down once the sun was up.”

“That would certainly make things easier to manage,” Signal chuckles.

The teleporter vrrrrmps to life behind Question. Hal has never seen these two people in his life: a red-haired woman with green-tinted glasses in wheelchair, and a young woman in a hooded, purple outfit. The latter turns and jogs away; Hal figured she’s just a recently-inducted Leaguer he doesn’t know. The red-haired woman, though, makes a bee-line for their group.

“Hey, Red,” Question says, patting her on the shoulder as she comes to a stop next to the Question.

“Hi.” She squeezes Questions hand, then looks over at where the others are. “Oh, good. Diana’s been wanting to meet Mari for a while.”

'

“Hi. Lantern Jordan,” he says, extending his hand for a shake.

“I know,” she replies. “We’ve worked together before. Oracle.”

“Oh!” Hal says. Then blinks. “You’re uh. A person.” She raises an eyebrow at him. “I just—I mean—”

“What’s going on?” Nightwing is suddenly standing next to him, the rest of the party approaching, including Wonder Woman. Hal catches the conversation she’s having with Robin:

"How is your new puppy, Robin?" She asks. She has Mari up on her hip now.

"Young Bandit is doing quite well,” Robin explains. “Titus and Ace have been teaching him a lot about being a good boy, and he'll be moving on to his forever home next week."

"What excellent news!" She cheers, causing Mari to raise her hands in the air and shriek with excitement. “Exactly!”

Nightwing stoops to kiss Oracle on the cheek. “Hey, babe.” Ah, okay. So, this woman at least is not Batman’s child, but rather his daughter-in-law. Hal can handle that. Lots of people have daughters-in-law.

“Hal thought I was an AI,” Oracle says.

Nightwing chuckles. “How many is that, now?”

“Four, if you count Ralph,” she says.

“We’re still not sure if he was fucking with us,” Nightwing says to Hal by way of explanation.

"Can I ask—how many siblings do you have?"

Oracle looks like she’s stifling a laugh.

Nightwing asks, "Legally, biologically, or—"

Hal puts his hands up in a kind of surrender gesture. "Let's try all three."

"In that order: Five, zero, eleven,” he rattles off without hesitation.

Hal blinks. "Eleven." Eleven!?

"Mhm." Nightwing nods.

Oracle is counting something off on her fingers. So is Question. The latter says, “Wait, who aren’t you counting?”

“Yeah,” Oracle says, looking up at Nightwing.

Nightwing’s brow furrows. He counts something off on his fingers. “Including me it’s—no! Including me it’s thirteen!” He looks at Hal. “Full baker’s dozen.”

Part of Hal wants to ask who he forgot, but instead what comes out of his mouth is, "That seems like a lot for a single father."

Nightwing laughs. "It's not as bad as it sounds: a lot of us older kids are out of the house by now, and he's always had help from his dad.”

“Oh, wow.”

“Yeah, that's about the size and shape of it." He smiles wistfully. “For a while, that first number would’ve been ‘none’, since I wasn’t adopted legally. I’m Romani, and there’s cultural stuff around being adopted by gadjo—non-Romani. We only made it official after I turned 18, mostly for inheritance law purposes.”

“Romani! That’s the language you and Mari were speaking.” Hal feels like he’s solved a puzzle. And it feels nice to know something concretely.

Nightwing smiles. “Yep! I’ve um… been separated from my heritage for a while, and it was important to me that Mari have that connection.” At that, Oracle reaches up and squeezes his hand. He squeezes back, running his thumb over her knuckles.

“I feel like this is the most I’ve learned about you and Bats in the entire time I’ve known you both.”

“Yeah, B can be really protective of his civilian life, and I guess I sort of inherited that from him.”

“Hard to think of Bats as having a civilian life,” Hal laughs. “Getting to know it all at once as been a lot.”

Nightwing looks at him for a long moment. “Wait. Did you… not know?”

“Know what?” He asks. Oracle barks out a laugh, sharp and clear.

“Who he is. Who I am. The other founders…” He looks for a moment like things are clicking in his head in a way they hadn’t before. “How much do you know about Bruce Wayne?”

Hal feels taken aback. What did that have to do with this? “Uh… I’ve heard the name. Probably couldn’t pick him out of a lineup, though. I know he’s a billionaire from Gotham.” He suspects the guy must give the Bats a hard time, as rich people in cities with superheroes are want to do.

“Millionaire.”

The Batman Voice™ is unmistakable. Hal whirls around to see Superman pushing… a guy in a wheelchair. He’s good looking, with a strong jar and piercing eyes, but Hal has no idea who this dude is for a few seconds. Then he sees the Bat symbol poking out from between the folds of the standard-issue robe he’s wearing.

He’s looking at Batman’s face.

Well, it’s good to know he has one under that cowl.

Hal blinks. “What?”

“I am. A multi-millionaire, not a billionaire,” Bats says, rolling his eyes. “I happen to work very hard to keep my net worth down, thank you.” Hal only stares. “The word billionaire is so eminently unfuckable, first of all. That’s not even touching the ethical implications, my god. Billionaire. Who am I? Lex Luthor?”

“Oh, okay. my mistake.” Hal feels like he’s growing a completely new brain in his skull, for the express purpose of it melting like the other one did.

“Thank you,” Bats says, then his eyes land on something his entire face lights up. “Nightwing!”

“Hi, B,” Nightwing says, stepping forward. He bends to wrap Bats—Bruce? His name is Bruce? Because he’s Bruce Wayne?—in his a hug and then two of them hold each other like they’re both afraid this will be the last hug they ever get. “Brought you a whole escort team for the trip back home,” Nightwing says as he straightens up. “You had us worried!”

“That might be partially my fault,” Superman says, putting a hand on Bruce’s shoulder. “I might’ve made it sound worse than it was.”

Bruce pats Superman’s hand. “No one’s upset with you,” he says. “I’m sorry for worrying you.”

“It’s okay,” Red Robin says, appearing from nowhere. “We were due for a reunion anyway.”

Bruce looks at Red Robin for a moment and then his entire demeanor changes, like he’s going to burst into tears at any moment. "I shouldn't do drugs,” he laments.

Nightwing shakes his head. "It's not drugs, B. It's morphine. You're fine.”

The grey-haired young man—fucking Red Hood, who shouldn’t be allowed in the fucking Watchtower, if anyone is going to listen to Hal’s opinion on the matter—scoffs and moves his head like he’s rolling his eyes, though Hal can’t tell under the domino mask he’s wearing. He has a paper boat of mac-n-cheese croquets and dipping sauce. "We were just worried. Calm down."

Mari jumps down from where she’d been perched on Robin’s hip. "Puro dad!"

“Careful, careful,” Superman and Nightwing say almost at the say time as Mari clambers into Bruce’s lap. Because that’s her granddad.

Bruce wraps his arms around her. "Mari, hi. Hello. You're so small."

"She's average size for her age, Father," Robin says.

Bruce is shaking like he is actually crying, though his face is dry. "She's so small and I can't protect her."

"She's literally fine,” Red Hood says, mouth full.

The person who speaks next, Hal will be forgiven for thinking was just part of Red Robin’s endless, billowing cape. They’re more of a black, amorphous blob than a person for a few seconds. "Alfred is making lasagna,” the voice is feminine, and has the harshest broadcast accent Hal has ever seen, like they learned to speak listening to neutral-voiced new anchors and family-friendly sitcoms. The Bat steps away from Red Robin and Hal realizes she’s wearing an all-black costume with a faint yellow Bat on her chest, her own cape just as expansive as Red Robin’s or Batman’s own. She’s wearing a full-face hood, but there’s a prominent stitch line across where her nose would be, as if to imply that the hood was once a cowl, but it’s been sewn shut.

"I love Alfred's lasagna,” Bruce says, still snuggling with Mari on his lap. Nightwing switches places with Superman, taking up the mantel of pushing Bruce’s chair.

"That's because you have taste buds,” Red Hood says. Superman hands him a giant, shadowy blob that must be the rest of Bruce’s costume, trading it for the now-empty croquet boat.

"Quit negging him, he's high," Signal says. He doesn’t say it like it’s a bad thing, or even as a joke the way Hal would have: it’s just a fact that Batman is on pain killers.

Nightwing sighs like a put-upon single mother trying to take her unruly children to the mall. "He's not high! It's morphine! B, sit down!"

Question chuckles. “Anyone ever tell you, you have oldest daughter syndrome?”

Nightwing doesn’t glare at her so much as he gives a withering look that has Hal wanting to take a half step back. Question only laughs again as Nightwing says, “Yeah, me. Every day of my fucking life. B, please sit.”

“I'm sitting,” Bruce says. He really isn't; he's perched on the edge of the wheelchair's seat, knees bent like he's poised to jump up and start punching bad guys at any moment.

“You're literally not,” Nightwing says.

“You were having your quarter life crisis when he had his wisdom teeth out," Red Hood says. "It wasn't half as entertaining as this."

Nightwing sounds offended: “I wasn't having a crisis. I just got a job.”

“As a fucking cop. Like a coward. No offense, Q.”

“None taken.” Question shrugs.

"B, look at what Barbara's doing. That is sitting. You're not doing that.” Nightwing gestures to Oracle. Her wheelchair is a proper everyday mobility aid, rather than the hospital-style one Bruce is in. She throws her shoulders back as if to more clearly demonstrate proper sitting technique. The all-black Bat with the sewn-over cowl gestures at her, Vanna White style.

“Hm." Bruce settles into the chair properly and Nightwing can finally start pushing him toward the transporter.

"Yes, okay. Let's go home. Selina and Katie and Harper are there, they're making lasagna and lemon bars.”

Hal thinks he can finally watch them all leave and then stop thinking about this massive shift in his perspective on the universe, but then Batman bursts into real, actual tears. A sob echoes through the atrium. Hal finds himself falling into a defensive stance, like his body is going into Panic Mode. Next to him, Wonder Woman giggles quietly. “He’s so dramatic,” she whispers.

Superman shakes his head. “I hate seeing him so out of sorts.” Hal looks at them like they should also be panicking, though couldn’t articulate why. This is just… wrong and bad and they should all be freaking out.

Because Batman is upset. In front of people!

And that means the world is ending.

Right?

Nightwing stops the chair. “B, why are you crying?”

He sniffs. “I'm not crying.”

Nightwing puts a hand on his shoulder. “You are, though.”

“What's the matter?” Red Robin kneels on the other side of the chair, checks Bats’ pulse as if on instinct. “You can tell us.”

Bats takes a deep breath. His voice wobbles when he says, “Jason loves lemon bars.”

Red Hood scoffs loud enough for the sound to echo around the atrium. “Yeah, I do, and I'd like to go have some. Let's go.”

At this, Bats’ face lights up. “Jason!”

Red Hood pinches the bridge of his nose. “Oh my god.”

Bats reaches out and squeezes his hand. For all his exasperated sighing, he does squeeze back. “Hi, sweetheart.”

“Hi, B. We were leaving, remember?”

Bats looks stricken. "You're leaving already?

Red Hood lets go of Bats’ hand so he can rub at his temples. “No I'm not—push the fucking chair, Dick.”

The all-Black bat crouches near the chair so that, for a moment, Bats is flanked by pillowing black capes and masks the way rich families in paintings are surrounded by hunting dogs. “Mari, tell puro dad to calm down.”

Mari responds to this request by gently tapping Bruce on the forehead and saying something bracing in Romani.

"I'm calm, I'm calm," Bats says, putting his forehead to Mari's.

"You're fine, B. No one's mad at you. You hit your head, it's alright." Nightwing starts pushing the chair again, Red Robin and the black Bat moving away from it.

"I shouldn't hit my head."

Red Hood—Jason—says, "Maybe next time stay seated in the space plane."

At the same time, Robin asserts, "That's an unrealistic standard to hold yourself to, Father."

Bats gasps and the whole party stops short. “My cape!”

Red Robin’s voice is patient when he says, “Jason has the cape.”

Even Jason sounds calm when he speaks up again: “Safe and sound.” He pats the mass of Kevlar he’s carrying under his arm.

Bats sighs and leans back again. “Oh. Thank you.”

Then, Jason says, “You keep me from my lemon bars any longer and I'm tossing it into the Zeta stream, old man.”

Red Robin looks around for a moment. “Wait—where did Stephanie go?”

Red Hood—Hal wonders if they ever get each other’s codenames mixed up—appears to be on his last straw. “Oh, for fuck's sake.”

“She peeled off earlier to go look for Ollie,” Oracle explains.

Red Hood takes the deepest breath Hal’s ever seen someone take other than, like, Black Canary. He cups his hands around his mouth and shouts, "Spoiler! We're moving out!"

Almost instantly there’s the sound of running across the atrium. A young woman in a purple, hooded outfit sprints toward them. The eyes of her expressionless black mask shine like a dog’s in moonlight. "I'm here, I'm here!"

Green Arrow is indeed with her. "Hey gang!" He says, delighted.

Bats looks annoyed. "Hello, Oliver."

Green Arrow’s smile widens. "Hey bud. Heard you tried heroin for the first time."

Nightwing looks for just a second like he might break one of Green Arrow’s hands. "Ollie, I swear to god."

Bats scoffs. "It's morphine, Oliver. Not that it's any of your business. We're leaving."

The all-black Bat nods her head. Hal hadn’t noticed her reach out to take the purple Bat’s—Spoiler’s—hand. "Yeah, come on. I hunger."

Spoiler giggles. "Love when you talk like an Eldritch demon."

The black Bat tilts her head a little too far, like a puppet in a scary movie. "How d'you know I'm not?"

"You're not a demon, chum,” Bats says, in that voice he uses to reality-check people during League meetings. Hal wonders if he could get away with calling Bats chum the next time he sees him. “You're my daughter and you're wonderful and good and kind, and you could kick my ass."

The black Bat un-tilts her head. "That's true."

"A demon couldn't kick my ass."

Jason grunts like he’s taken this statement as a challenge. “I’m gonna find a demon, and we’re gonna team up and kick your ass together.”

“I’m glad you’re making new friends. You know, we should have Artemis and Bizarro over for breakfast.” Bats smiles, big and genuine and knowing that this guy is Batman makes it a little disorienting.

“Yeah!” Oracle says, delighted.

“No,” Red Hood says.

“Yes!” Black Bat insists.

“Watch me start scaling these walls right now,” Red Hood deadpans.

Nightwing gestures to the transporter. “Everyone, get in the tube.”

“That does remind me,” Bats says as they start moving again, all in one mass, like a skool of fish. “We’re having Booster Gold over for dinner in a few weeks. I can do the cooking.”

Nightwing doesn’t miss a beat: “You absolutely will not.”

“Father, are you trying to assassinate a fellow League member?” Robin doesn’t sound like he’s joking, like, at all.

There’s a nasty-sounding beep from the transporter; Hal’s never heard it make that noise before. He feels himself go into Fight Mode again, but the automatic voice simply says, “Error: maximum persons exceeded.”

“Oh, fuck.” The purple Bat says, taking a step back. Green Arrow bursts into raucous laughter.

Bats raises his hand. “I’ll go last.”

This is when Nightwing truly begins to look like he might start pulling his hair out: “You absolutely will. Not!”

Hal looks at Supes and Wonder Woman, who are both giggling at the situation in front of them. Hal decides that he’ll be able to laugh about this one day, when his brain has fully grown back. For now, he takes himself to the cafeteria. Mac-n-cheese croquets do sound good.