Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Sparks danced in the shadows as a young man with dark hair moved with precision and speed. His eyes, a piercing green, remained focused on the task at hand, each blow of his hammer shaping a piece of scrap into a recognizable form. His muscles flexed beneath a worn-out shirt, sweat beads forming a delicate pattern down his forehead as he worked. The name "Jason" was carved onto the wooden workbench before him, something he’d done in what seems like a lifetime ago now…

Outside, the Gotham night was alive with the distant murmur of sirens and the occasional screech of tires. It was a soundtrack that had become all too familiar to Jason. The garage door rumbled open, and a figure emerged from the darkness, the bright lights of the city silhouetting him.
Dick, with his acrobatic grace, leapfrogged over a stack of tires and landed lightly beside Jason, his eyes scanning the progress on the bike.

"Looking good," Dick said, his voice carrying a hint of genuine admiration. "But I thought you'd be out on patrol by now."

Jason grunted in response, not taking his eyes off his work. "Couldn't leave it half done," he said, his voice gruff but not unkind. "It's like leaving a puzzle unfinished."

Dick chuckled. "Some things never change." He paused, watching Jason's intense concentration before his gaze drifted over to the clock on the wall. “I came by because we've got a situation. Barbara's been burning the midnight oil again, and she's not picking up."

At the mention of Barbara, Jason's hand stilled. The concern in Dick's voice was palpable, and it resonated with him. He knew the cost of pushing oneself too hard all too well.
"What's Red working on this time?" he asked, setting down his hammer.

Dick shrugged. "The usual. Cases that the GCPD can't crack, keeping tabs on the new players in town, and juggling her day job. But she's been at it for days without a break."

The two men shared a look that spoke volumes. Both of them knew Barbara, the brilliant mind behind the screen of Oracle, and her unyielding dedication to the mission. But they also knew her as Babs, who was human, family, and a friend. Dedication like hers often leads to overworking. It was clear to Dick that Barbara was pushing herself to the edge.

"Let's go check on her," Jason said, wiping his hands on a grease-stained rag. He had his own battles to fight, but when it came to family, he'd drop everything. Together, the two former Robins headed out into the night, ready to offer a helping hand to their friend who was dangerously close to burning out.

Barbara's apartment was a stark contrast to the garage's chaos, a bastion of order and technology. The living room was bathed in the soft glow of computer screens, their blue light reflecting off her glasses as she typed away furiously. Her desk was littered with files and empty energy drink cans, a testament to the hours she'd spent pouring over information. Dick knocked gently on the door before pushing it open, holding a bag of takeout for the three of them in his hand.

Barbara, startled at the sudden intrusion, spinning her chair around to face them. Her eyes were bloodshot, and her posture was a tapestry of tension. "Hey, guys," she said, trying to sound casual despite her exhaustion. "What's up?"

"We brought dinner," Dick announced, setting the bag down. "And a friendly reminder that you can't save Gotham on an empty stomach."

Jason stepped closer, his gaze taking in the dark circles under Barbara's eyes. "Looks like you could use some help," he said bluntly. "You've been at this for too long."

Barbara sighed, her shoulders slumping slightly. "I know," she admitted. "But there's just so much to do."

Dick placed a hand on her shoulder. "We know, Babs," he said gently. "But you can't do it all alone. Let us take some of the weight."

Her eyes searched their faces, and she saw the sincerity in their expressions. Reluctantly, she nodded. "Okay," she said, "but only because I don't want to see what kind of mess you'd make if I keeled over."

They shared a laugh, the tension in the room easing slightly. Dick and Jason split the workload, diving into the stacks of cases and intel that Barbara had amassed. They worked well into the night, their banter a soothing background noise as Barbara's shoulders gradually relaxed. The steady conversation of memories from years ago, of when they were Nightwing, Robin, and Batgirl, helped her remember the family that would stay with her forever.

"Thank you," she whispered, her voice thick with emotion.

Jason merely nodded. They had all been there before, at the precipice of collapse, held together by the bonds of family and duty. It was moments like these that reminded them why they fought, and who they fought for.

The trio tackled the tasks at hand, turning the tide of the night into something a bit more manageable. The city was still out there, waiting for them, but for now, they had each other, and that was all that mattered.

Chapter Text

The schoolyard was a blur of laughter and motion as kids of all sizes and shapes spilled out of the towering, red brick building. Backpacks swung and sneakers squeaked against the pavement. Damian stood apart from the chaos, his arms folded tightly across his chest, his eyes scanning the line of vehicles waiting to pick them up. A gust of wind tugged at his jacket, and he shot a glower at the offending air.
Where was Grayson?
He was always prompt, always waiting for him with the engine of his old Toyota Corolla, as recognisable as anything.

A knot grew in Damian's stomach, twisting with each passing minute. He pulled out his phone and dialed Grayson’s number. It went straight to voicemail.
No, no, no. This was not part of the plan. Father had entrusted him to Grayson’s care, and now he was stranded, forgotten.
He tried to swallow the lump in his throat, but it only grew larger. The chill of the evening air began to seep into his bones, and he felt more alone than ever.

With a heavy sigh, he called the only other person he could think of—Todd. "I require immediate assistance," he said, his voice tight and controlled. "I fear something has happened to Grayson."

"On my way," came the instant reply, the line going dead before he could say anything more.

Damian waited, the cold wind biting his skin as the last of the kids disappeared into their warm homes. The street grew eerily quiet, the only sound the distant hum of traffic. He was so lost in his worries he didn’t notice Jason pulling up.
He felt a hand on his shoulder and spun around, expecting the worst, only to find Jason standing there, his eyes filled with concern. "You okay?" he asked, his voice low and gentle.

"Fine," Damian lied, his voice clipped. "Let's just go."

Jason nodded and led him to the motorcycle parked a few feet away, the engine purring with a steady rhythm. He handed Damian a helmet, his eyes searching the younger boy's face for any signs of distress. "You sure you don't want to wait for him?"

Damian took the helmet with trembling hands. "No, let's go," he said, his voice firm. He didn't want to admit the fear that had been gnawing at him ever since he had realized Grayson wasn't coming. They climbed onto the bike, and Jason revved the engine before pulling out of the school parking lot.

The ride to Bludhaven was tense, the wind whipping past them as they sped through the city streets. Damian clung tightly to Jason, the vibrations of the motorcycle a stark contrast to the stillness of his thoughts.
What if something had happened to Grayson? What if he was hurt? Or worse?
The questions swirled in his head like a tornado of dread.

When they arrived at the apartment, the lights were on, but the place looked eerily quiet. The door was unlocked, and they found Dick under a pile of blankets in his bed, his eyes glazed over, staring at nothing. The TV played static, the only sound in the room. The air was thick with the scent of stale pizza and untouched coffee.

"Dick?" Jason called out, his voice filled with a mix of worry and anger. Damian hovered in the doorway, his heart hammering against his ribs. Dick didn't move, didn't even blink.

They approached cautiously, and Jason placed a hand on his shoulder. "Hey," he said softly. "It's us. It's okay."

Dick looked up, his eyes red-rimmed and haunted. He looked over at Damian "I'm sorry, Dames," he murmured. "I just... I couldn't do it today."

Damian stepped forward. "It's okay," he said, his voice shaking. Seeing his eldest brother like this was startling. "We're here."
Dick opened his arms and Damian wiggled his way towards him, enveloping his big brother in a hug that he hoped did something .

“I’m going to go clean up your kitchen, Dick. I’m pretty sure there’s new kinds of mold growing there,” Jason teased before leaving the bedroom.

Dick and Damian lay there for a while in the staticky silence. Damian felt Dick move.
“I’m sorry I abandoned you today, Dames.” He apologised softly. The younger boy pushed himself up to face Dick.

“You did nothing of the sort! I was merely worried for you.” Damian declared. Dick’s expression softened before he reached out his arms for his baby brother again.
“But for a second there, you thought I did, huh?”
Damian didn’t answer, he couldn’t.

“He totally did,” Jason announced as he walked back in. “But, all three of us know you spent the majority of today trying to convince yourself to get up, so don’t stress yourself out about it too much. Baby Bat knows you could never forget about him.” Jason reached over and ruffled Damian’s hair before sliding into the bed himself.

They sat beside him, one on each side, enveloping him in a warm embrace. Jason's arms were strong and reassuring, hugging Dick from behind, while Damian, tentative and unsure of what comfort he could offer, tucked himself into Dick’s chest.
Dick leaned into them, his body trembling. They stayed like that for a long while, the three of them bound together in the quiet apartment, the outside world forgotten.

The tension began to ease from Dick's shoulders, and he took a deep, shuddering breath. "Thanks for coming," he whispered. "I don't know what I'd do without you guys."

Jason's grip tightened. "You're not alone, Dick," he said fiercely. "Never again."

Damian nodded in agreement, his throat tight. They sat there, the warmth of their bodies seeping into Dick's cold, rigid form, until he finally relaxed. They didn't speak of the episode, didn't need to. In that moment, their presence was enough. They were a team, a family, and they would face whatever challenges came their way together.

Chapter Text

"Dude, you okay?" Duke's voice cracked through the darkness of the room.

Jason bolt upright in bed, his heart hammering in his chest like a drum at a rock concert. His eyes darted around wildly, searching for the source of the nightmare that had jolted him awake.

"What time is it?" Jason's voice was hoarse, still thick with sleep and fear.

"Just after three." Cass's soft voice chimed in from the doorway, the light from the hallway framing her and Duke’s silhouette. "Do you want to talk about it?"

Jason swiped the sweat off his forehead with the back of his hand. The dream had been so vivid—so real—that he could still feel the cold, clammy grip of the shadowylaughing figure that had chased him through a twisted, endless maze of corridors. "It's just a bad dream," he mumbled, trying to convince himself as much as he was his family. “Probably just ate something that didn’t agree with me.”

Duke slid into the room and turned on the bedside lamp, casting a warm glow that chased the shadows away. "You don't get nightmares like that just because you ate too much pizza before bed," he said, his tone a mix of concern and teasing.

Jason took a deep, shuddering breath and recounted the dream as best he could. The more he thought about it, the more he realized just how deeply it had unsettled him. The manor, usually a place of comfort and solace, now felt eerie and unsafe.
“I—I don’t want to talk about it,” he said steadily.

Cass sat down on the edge of the bed, her hand resting gently on Jason's back in a soothing gesture. "Nightmares are just our brains working through stuff," she said, her voice soothing as a lullaby. "But that doesn't mean we can't arm ourselves against them."

The three of them huddled closer, and Duke suggested they try some grounding exercises to help Jason relax and get back to sleep. They talked about the room around them, focusing on the details: the roughness of the comforter, the smell of the lavender candle on the nightstand, the comforting tick of the antique clock on the wall.

As they went through the motions, Jason felt his racing heart start to slow. The panic began to ebb, like a wave retreating from the shore. He took another deep breath, filling his lungs with the calming scent of lavender, and closed his eyes.

The room grew quiet as they sat there, the only sound being the clock. It was a stark contrast to the cacophony of his nightmare, a reminder that he was safe, surrounded by his family who cared.

Duke and Cass shared a knowing look. They had been through tough times before, and they knew that sometimes the battles weren't with monsters in the shadows of the city, but the ones that lurked in the shadows of the mind. They were determined to help Jason navigate the murky waters of his subconscious.

"Okay," Duke said, breaking the silence. "Let's create a safe space for you to sleep in." He got up and moved some furniture around, making a cozy little nook that Jason hadn't noticed before.

Cass nodded in agreement. "We'll keep the lamp on, and maybe play some white noise to drown out any random sounds that might trigger you."

Together, they transformed the room into a fortress of comfort, a bastion against the horrors of the night. With each step, Jason felt a little more in control, a little less like a victim to his own thoughts.

As they finished up, Duke patted him on the back. "You're not alone, man. We've got your back."

Jason managed a weak smile. "Thanks, guys. I—I really appreciate it."

They tucked him back into bed, and as the white noise filled the room, Jason felt a sense of peace wash over him. The nightmare had left him shaken, but with the support of his family, he was ready to face whatever the night had in store for him.

Chapter Text

In a quiet corner of Gotham, Damian sat on the edge of the Wayne Manor rooftop, the cool breeze gently tugging at his raven hair. His eyes, a mirror of the grass drenched in darkness, stared at the cityscape with a mix of fascination and detachment.
The moon cast a soft glow on his brooding face, highlighting the sharp angles of his tense jaw and the furrow in his brow. His small hands clenched and unclenched around the grip of his sword, the weapon of his heritage, his constant companion, and the embodiment of his identity crisis.

Cassandra and Jason, two of the many who called the manor their home, approached him with careful steps. They knew the weight of his thoughts, the storm brewing within him all too well. Cass, her eyes as observant as ever, noted the tension in his posture and the tightness of his jaw. She reached out, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder, feeling the muscles relax ever so slightly under her touch. "You okay?" she asked, her voice a soft melody in the silence of the night.

Damian looked over at her, the question piercing the armor of his stoicism. He hesitated before letting out a sigh, sheathing his sword with a metallic whisper. "No," he admitted, "I am not." The words hung heavy in the air, a rare admission for the boy who’d only recently learnt to treat himself as the human he was and not the weapon he had been raised to be.

Jason sat down beside him, leaning against the rooftop's ledge. "Wanna talk about it, Baby Bat?" His tone was casual, but the concern in his eyes was unmistakable.

Damian took a moment before speaking, his gaze drifting to the horizon, where the city lights blended with the night. "It's just... sometimes I feel like I'm not good for anything but fighting. Like everything else... It‘s just a facade."

Cass took a seat next to him, her eyes never leaving his face. She knew the feeling. "You're more than just a weapon, Damian," she said firmly. "We all are. We've been shaped by our pasts, but we're not defined by them." Her words were a gentle reminder that despite their volatile beginnings, they had the power to choose their own paths.

Jason nodded in agreement, his dark hair ruffling in the breeze. "You're a part of the Batfamily, kid. And in case you haven't noticed, we're a bunch of misfits who've found our place. You're not alone in this."

Damian's lips quirked into a small smile, the first crack in the fortress of his solemnity. "Maybe," he murmured, the doubt lingering in his voice.

Cass leaned in, her gaze earnest. "You have so much more to offer, Damian. You're smart, you're kind—"

"I'm not kind," he interjected, his voice sharp.

"You are," Jason insisted. "Someone who wasn’t kind wouldn’t take care of street cats. You just hide it behind that tough exterior. And that's okay, man. We all have our ways of dealing."

Damian's expression softened slightly, and he finally met their eyes, the shadows in his own deepening. "I suppose so, thank you," he said, the words almost a whisper.

They sat in silence for a few moments, the quiet companionship a balm to the chaos of their thoughts. Then, with a sudden burst of energy, Jason jumped to his feet. "You know what we need? A change of scenery. And some paint."

Cass looked at him quizzically, but she knew better than to question his random suggestions. They often led to surprisingly effective therapy. "Paint?" she echoed, a ghost of a smile on her lips.

"Yeah," he grinned. "We're gonna do some paint therapy. It'll be like… family bonding time. Plus, it'll give the manor a fresh coat."

Damian raised an eyebrow, the corners of his mouth twitching upwards. "I'm not sure Alfred will appreciate us turning his home into an art studio."

Jason waved his hand dismissively. "Alf's cool. Besides, he's seen worse. C'mon, it'll be fun."

With a sigh, Damian stood. He knew Jason was right; a distraction might be exactly what he needed. The three of them made their way back to the manor, the warmth of their camaraderie lightening the heavy air around them.

Once inside, they gathered in the art studio, which had been cleared of its usual clutter of Damian’s unused canvas and half finished projects. Jason had set up a large canvas up against the wall and placed an assortment of paints and brushes on a nearby table. The walls were lined with plastic sheets to protect against any rogue splatters. They had decided against painting the actual walls.

Cass picked up a brush, her eyes scanning the rainbow of colors before her. "So, how does this work?"

"You just... paint," Jason said, dipping his brush into a vibrant red. "Whatever you're feeling, whatever you're thinking. It's a way to get it all out without words."

Damian remained standing, his eyes on the canvas as he contemplated. Then, with a decisive nod, he grabbed a brush and a pot of black paint. He stared at it for a moment, his mind racing with the darkness of his past, before finally letting the color flow onto the canvas. It began as a single stroke, sharp and precise, but as he continued, he ditched the brush and scooped paint up in his hands, the anger and confusion splattering out onto the canvas in a chaotic dance of shadows.

Cass stared at Damian for a moment before dunking her hand in a pot of green paint. She started with a gentle smeer, the color of the quiet moments she cherished in her tumultuous life. It grew into a serene forest, a place of refuge in her mind's eye. Her hands grew bolder as she painted, filling the canvas with life and tranquility.

Jason, the rebel, went for a wild splatter of red, the color of passion and anger. His hand slashed across the canvas, leaving a trail of fiery emotion behind it.

As they painted, the room grew alive with the sounds of hands against canvas and the occasional murmur of thought. The colors melded together, a visual representation of their inner turmoils and hopes. It was a silent conversation, each stroke telling a story of pain, of loss, of finding oneself in the shadow of giants.

As the night wore on, the canvas transformed into a tapestry of their souls, a shared catharsis. They painted until the early hours of the morning, when the first light of dawn began to seep into the room. They stepped back, surveying their work, a tangible testament to their individuality and their unity.

"It's... messy," Damian said, a hint of awe in his voice.

"Yeah," Cass agreed, a small smile playing on her lips, "but it's beautiful."

Chapter Text

"Steph, you're white as a ghost," Cass said, peeking into the bathroom. "You okay?"

Stephanie barely managed a nod, her eyes glazed with pain. She had been curled up on the floor of Cass’s bathroom for what felt like an eternity, trying to find the right combination of heat and pressure to ease the cramps that had her doubled over. Her endometriosis had decided to throw her a surprise party today, complete with a guest list of nausea, fatigue, and a heavy flow that seemed never-ending.

Barbara slipped through the door next to Cass, her voice soothing. "Hey, do you need anything?"

Stephanie took a shaky breath, trying to compose herself. "Could you guys grab me some painkillers from the kitchen?"

The sound of soft footsteps retreated. Steph knew she wouldn’t have to wait too long, regardless of the fact that they were on the 3rd floor of the manor. Moments later, Cass peeked through the door with a bottle of painkillers and a cup of water. "Here, take these," she said, her hand steady as she offered them to her friend. "They should kick in soon."

Barbara came in with a hot water bottle and a gentle smile. "I know it's not much, but it might help with the pain." She carefully placed it on Stephanie's lower abdomen, and the warmth began to seep through the fabric, offering a modest reprieve from the vice-like grip that held her in its steadfast embrace.

The two friends flanked her, each taking an arm to help her move to the couch, ready to provide whatever support she needed. They had been through this before, knew the drill.
"I brought your favorite blanket," Barbara said, draping it over her. "And I'll grab some snacks. Maybe something salty to help with the cramps?"

Stephanie offered a weak smile. "Thanks, guys." She took the painkillers, swallowed them with a grimace, and leaned back into the cushions.

"Don't worry about it," Cass assured her. "We're here for you, no matter what."

As the warmth from the water bottle began to spread, the tension in Stephanie's body eased just a notch. She closed her eyes, trying to focus on the gentle pressure instead of the ache deep within.

Barbara reappeared with a tray of snacks: chips, pretzels, and a couple of chocolate bars. She set it down on the coffee table and took her place on the couch. "You know the drill," she said, popping a chip into her mouth. "Painkillers, snacks, and distraction."

The three of them settled into a comfortable silence, the TV flickering with a sitcom they'd seen a hundred times before. It was a familiar, comforting background noise, a beacon of normality in the storm that was her monthly cycle.

As the minutes ticked by, the pain began to recede, giving way to a dull throb. Stephanie let out a sigh of relief, feeling the beginnings of a weight lifting from her shoulders. "Thank you," she murmured, reaching for a pretzel. "I don't know what I'd do without you guys."

Cass took her hand, giving it a squeeze. "You don't have to do it alone," she said. "That's what family is for."

Barbara nodded, her eyes filled with empathy.
The room was filled with the quiet crunching of pretzels and the promise of a future where Stephanie's pain wouldn‘t dictate her life. For now, though, she was content to be surrounded by warmth, comfort, and friendship.

Chapter Text

The morning light struggled to get through the closed curtains of Tim's room, casting a dim, flickering glow over the boy, which had settled on the couch below his loft bed. Tim lay still, his breathing shallow and nasal, one hand pressed against his forehead as if to hold back the throb of his skull.
A faint scent of mint lingered in the air from the nightly essential oil diffuser that had long switched off.

Damian's footsteps were silent on the plush carpet as he entered, his eyes immediately going to his brother. The young man looked pale and drawn, his usual vibrant spirit momentarily snuffed out by the grip of pain. Damian felt a flicker of irritation that Tim had yet to tell him—or anyone about this latest flare-up. He had the resources to help, and yet Tim had suffered in silence, not wanting to burden anyone. It was a trait that Damian understood all too well.

Crossing the room, he pulled out a sleek medical kit from the nightstand, his movements deliberate and calm. He knew that Tim's chronic sinusitis was as much an internal battle as it was a physical one. The pain could be debilitating, and the constant pressure and fatigue along with the fact that it would be forever, could make even the most stoic of souls feel fragile.
Dick, who’d noticed Tim’s decline last night and then again noticed Damian sneaking into the latter’s room this morning, hovered in the doorway, watching as the youngest carefully selected a bottle of painkillers, antibiotics and a pack of nasal decongestant spray.

"You need to take these," he said firmly, his small voice clipped and authoritative. "And I'll make you some ginger tea. That usually helps with the pressure."

Tim rolled over, a look of dazed confusion painted his face.

Damian handed him the pills and spray, then went downstairs to prepare the tea. Dick approached the bed with a concerned look on his face, gently placing a hand on Tim's shoulder.

“You okay, Baby Bird?" he asked, calling him the nickname that only his eldest brothers used.

"Yeah," Tim replied, though it was clear he was far from it. "Just tired of it all."

"You know we’re here for you, right?" he said softly. "You don't have to go through this alone."

Tim nodded, his eyes closed tightly against the pain. "I know," he whispered. "But sometimes it feels like I'm letting everyone down."

"You're not," Damian called as he entered again. The smell of the tea filled the room. "You're human, Tim. And sometimes humans get sick. It's nothing to be ashamed of."

“But I'm not sick sometimes, Dames, I’m going to be sick forever.” Tim mourned, his hands coming up to cover his face.

“And we will help you whenever you need it.” Damian placed a steaming mug carefully on the nightstand. "Now, sit up," he instructed, his voice a blend of kindness and firmness that had come from years of dealing with his own share of pain. "You need to drink this while the pills kick in."

Tim managed to push himself into a sitting position, his eyes watering slightly from the effort. Dick handed him a box of tissues, and he took them gratefully, blowing his nose with a dry sound that made the two of them wince in sympathy.

As the tea began to work its magic, the tension in Tim's face eased a bit. He took a deep breath, the gingery scent of the tea helping to clear his head. The pain didn't vanish, but it dulled around the edges, giving him enough space to breathe and think.

"I hate feeling like this," he murmured, his voice a little stronger now.

"We know," said Dick, perching on the edge of the couch, wrapping his arm around his younger brother. "But you're tough. You'll get through it."

Damian sat on the other side, his expression serious. "We'll manage patrols until you're back on your feet," he said. "You focus on getting better."

Tim's eyes met Damian's, and he felt a swell of gratitude. It was a rare moment of vulnerability between the three of them, but it was moments like these that made the bonds of their makeshift family even stronger. He nodded, taking a sip of the tea, and allowed himself to lean into their support.

The rest of the day passed in a blur of pain, rest, and gentle care. Damian and Dick took turns checking on him, bringing him warm compresses for his face and making sure he stayed hydrated. They didn't talk much, understanding that the quiet was what Tim needed most. They were his brothers, after all, and they knew each other's battles better than anyone else.

As the evening approached, Tim could feel the fog in his head begin to lift, and the pain had receded to a more tolerable level. He looked at the two of them, sitting on the floor playing a quiet game of chess, and felt a warmth spread through his chest. Despite everything, he was lucky to have them.

"Thanks, guys," he said, his voice still nasal, but holding a genuine smile. "You didn’t have to do this, but I appreciate it."

Dick glanced up from the board, his blue eyes meeting Tim's. "You're our brother, Tim. We’ll always take care of you," he said, and the simple truth of his words washed over Tim like a comforting wave.

Damian put down his knight, looking at Tim with an expression of empathy. "We're here," he said. "Always."

Tim nodded, his eyes drifting closed as he leaned back against the pillows. As he drifted off to sleep, the steady rhythm of their breathing and the gentle murmur of their conversation was the most comforting thing he could imagine. Tomorrow, he knew, would be better. For now, he was safe in his bedroom, with his brothers by his side.