Chapter Text
Dick Grayson woke up feeling like he got pummeled by a truck, got run over by a freight train, and then was the dirt over which a stampede of horses trampled over.
When he rolled over, it felt like his ribs might as well just collapse inside of his chest, letting himself go with no structure to support him. It’s not a very pleasant feeling, to say the least, but he’s dealt with worse.
Though perhaps patrolling for the past six nights in a row and being pushed three stories down and landing wrong on some building scaffolding in hindsight wasn’t the best move. Sure, maybe if he took a night off the little error leading to him absolutely eating it last night might not have happened, but Blüdhaven needed its high-flying, black-and-blue acrobat to soar across and keep its city safe. Or at least safer. Regardless, Dick was mostly regretting 90% of the decisions he had made this past week.
“Come on Grayson,” he muttered, pushing himself onto his elbows, swinging his legs over the side of the bed and pausing to take a deep breath. Yep, something felt off in his chest, but it didn’t feel broken necessarily, which meant it could wait.
Looking around the room and giving himself a moment, Dick realized how cold the apartment felt. His grey sheets were kicked aside and rumpled, since the past three days he had been too busy to properly make his bed, instead opting to flimsily throw his covers and smother some of it down. A chair just a couple feet away served as his catch-all for laundry, with t-shirts and sweatpants hanging on top in an ever-growing pile. There were three empty glasses on his nightstand, forgetting to take them back into the kitchen every time, and an open bottle of ibuprofen next to them.
The alarm clock read 9:07 am.
Shit, he thought, rubbing his eyes. He had to be at work in just under an hour, and he had gotten back last night a little after 4am. He was running off fumes, but he could work with that. He had done more with less in the past.
He swiped the ibuprofen from the bedside, shaking out 2 pills and downing them dry, wincing slightly at the abrasiveness, but gave it no second thought. Getting up, he pulled the top sweats from the laundry pile, sniffed them, figured they were still in an acceptable enough condition (oh if Alfred could see him now, the thought passed through his mind, a very disappointed face flashing before shrugging it away).
The small apartment wasn’t a bad deal for when he bought it– it was a nice, one-bedroom, small kitchen, but he never needed much space anyways. He hopped his way over as he pulled the pants on, wincing only slightly at the residual aches and pains that littered across his body like a car’s warning signals all on at the same time.
The fridge was evidence enough at his lack of being home the past week– the orange juice was half full at least, and there was half an onion, a wilted bag of spinach, a small tub of cream cheese, and a singular sports drink left. Wonderful.
The orange juice would have to do, he thought, pulling it out and hunting down a glass. But nope– the sink was full with plates, cutlery, and the last couple of glasses. Mentally clocking the other three in the room that he did not want to get, Dick settled for just drinking it straight from the carton, another tally against him by the Alfred that lived in his mind. Note to self: Get groceries, and buy some cereal and milk at the least. And don’t let the milk expire this time around.
The rest was a blur– with just the orange juice and some dreams, Dick managed to pack a haphazard bag for his job as a gymnastics coach at a local gym. It was an easy twenty minutes away, but given how difficult it felt to move around and the bus running six minutes late, Dick was lucky he managed to punch in just a couple of minutes before his kiddos came.
Setting himself up, he heard the energetic and high-pitched squeals of a group of children ready to conquer the world on the bright summer day, bouncing off the walls in delight for their lesson to start, and running up to meet him as he grabbed his clipboard for the day. Even some of his coworkers gave him looks of pity as a pair of seven year old twins ran towards him and half tackled him in recounting their sleepover with their nana.
It was going to be one of those days.
A little after one, while on his lunch break (which was peanut butter crackers courtesy of the vending machine that had a 50% success rate of working), a text came up from Damian.
Walking Zoo: Father is in another mood it would seem. A major deal fell through with WE, and Fox has been pestering him all morning with phone calls.
Dick sighed, knowing what that meant as text bubbles appeared, and Damian sent a text in quick succession.
Walking Zoo: Jason pushed Tim into the wall. They were arguing earlier, and must have escalated. Alfred had them go their separate ways, but Drake is still brooding. I suppose I’m the only sane person left in this household, minus Alfred of course.
Dick just punched in a quick reply, assuring Damian that he would be back home for the weekend, and he could tell him all about it then. He didn’t hear back from Damian, so he put his phone face down and rubbed his eyes.
It was Thursday, which meant tomorrow after his 3pm class he would go straight to Gotham as he always did. 24 hours and then he would be thrusted back into the chaos the manor seemed to breathe life into. Most times he didn’t mind, but the way his body was groveling for any inch or ounce of mercy, and his kids had been running him ragged all morning, meant the last thing he wanted to do was play upbeat counselor to everyone back home. No, right now, all he wanted to do was order some takeout, grab some ice cream for back home (and maybe some more ibuprofen just in case), and binge watch reality TV cooking shows until he fell asleep on the couch.
Yeah, that sounded like heaven right about now.
When Dick came home, he let his keys clang in the platter by the doorway, pushed the door closed with his leg, and fought every cell in his being to slump over on the floor and just sit there for a while.
But the groceries had to be put away, and dishes to be done. And while at it, why not do the laundry, and declutter his nightstand, and maybe do some meal prep for the week so he wouldn’t have to drag himself through the pains of cooking for the week.
Well, he thought to himself as he threw his groceries on the kitchen counter and got to work putting them away, it’s not like he would be home this weekend anyways, so meal prep could wait at least. Thank fucking god.
“Okay, cucumbers here, chickpeas can go in the pantry…”
“Hey, Dick–”
“JESUS, JOSEPH, AND MARY!”
Dick jumped and whipped around to the familiar voice of Tim, in the flesh, watching him from the living room couch, head in his hands, observant and still like a cat who had been waiting for its owner to come home.
“Sorry, sorry, didn’t mean to startle you!” Tim said, getting off the couch, hands up in a friendly surrender.
Dick merely put his hand on his heart and breathed a sigh of relief. Okay, okay, just a surprise visit.
“What, you get in through the window?”
“Your security can use a little boost, you know,” Tim shrugged, looking around the place like he had casually just arrived.
“How long have you been here?”
“Not long– just twenty minutes or so. I have your summer work schedule,” Tim said, and started rushing his words when Dick must have given him some kind of look, “the gymnastics studio has all their summer classes and hours up, and your name’s on them! Figured if your last class of the day ended at 7, then you wouldn’t be home much later. I didn’t think you’d go out for groceries or anything– I wanted to surprise you when you were already here, but clearly that wasn’t the case.”
Dick just watched his younger brother and let out a long internal sigh, before taking a few steps and smothering him in a bear hug, which Tim begrudgingly returned.
“So, what graces me with your impromptu visit?” Dick asked, stepping away and returning to putting away his groceries.
“I think if I slept at the manor tonight, Jason might have decapitated me in my sleep, so I’m here,” Tim said with a shrug.
“Relax, he likes you. A sharpied mustache maybe, if you’ve really pissed him off.” Dick continued, shoving the ice cream pints into his tiny freezer.
“I figured I would come by and get to see you early is all,” Tim said, but Dick heard the underlying restlessness of his shifting feet, the quick throwaway explanation. Something was bothering him. And he came to Dick of all people for help (easy enough– if he was pissed at Jason, and he never talked to Damian about these things, and certainly not Bruce, then by default Dick might have been the easiest solution).
Dick felt the combinations of how tonight was going to go through his brain, flicking by like recipe cards until he landed on just the right one. Oh well, the hot, steaming bath would have to wait for another time.
“I can order us pizza from the place down the block, and while I do, you choose a movie for us to watch tonight, and you can tell me all about what’s been going on. How does that sound?”
“Yeah! Sound good,” Tim said with a nod, almost sheepishly. Dick mentally scoffed at his demeanor– he just broke into his apartment and here he was acting shy. Damn him.
“Though,” Tim started, looking past Dick over to the fridge, “Which Ben & Jerry’s flavors did you get?”
“... Pizza and ice cream it is then.”
Dick knew Tim fairly well– sure, he was the Robin he knew the least about all things considered, but he made an effort. He wrote down his pizza order from the last time he came for a visit (planned that time around), he kept the favorite teas of everyone stocked, including Tim’s, even if some went fairly untouched, and he made an effort to ask him about the stuff in his life that wasn’t just about running around at night. He made an effort, and tried, and tried, and tried. No small detail went undocumented in Dick’s mind, no little scrap was thrown away.
It was weird how quiet Tim had been about the reason for his sudden appearance– they ate and watched their cheesy action flick, pointing out the inaccuracies of the special effects when the buildings blew up, and how the fighting felt too dramatic and over the top.
It was… nice. Odd, but nice. The only thing that really bothered Dick was how Tim curled up next to him on the couch, almost cuddling but not exactly. In reality, Dick was torn– it was like having a cat, where once they sit on you you’re legally obligated to not move, no matter what. It was similar with Tim, who tended to not be the one to really initiate much physical contact, so Dick was happy to take what he could get, except for the small fact that he decided to press himself lightly right where it hurt in his ribs.
He could barely concentrate on the movie as his sides flared up in slow, agonizing pain and screamed at him to brush Tim away, to reposition him. But no, Tim was never this cuddly, and damn it he wasn’t going to jeopardize it. He could deal with it, no matter how much he wanted to press some ice into it.
By the time the credits were rolling across the screen, Tim was halfway asleep, mouth open, eyes closed, his head in the crook of Dick’s shoulder.
They sat like that for a while, until Dick heard the soft snoring coming from the sleeping teenager. The pain in his sides was still loud, brash, clashing with the peace of his own thoughts, and some of his arm was now a dull pins and needle sensation from the position Tim had bent himself into.
Dick did eventually move after the aches were becoming near unbearable, softly, slowly, sitting up and stretching, feeling his muscles hiss and wince in defiance. He gently picked up his sleeping brother, half covered by a blanket, and carried him bridal style over to his own room.
Dick nudged the door open with his foot and walked in, not needing the light after so many nights of coming into the room in the dead of night after patrols. It was easy to tuck Tim into the bed, to place his head on the pillow with surgeon-like precision, and be careful with the covers as to wake him.
It hit him then, standing above Tim. When was the last time he put someone to bed like this? Was it with Damian, on one of the rare nights where the nightmares so intense woke him up and he dragged himself into Dick’s room? Or if tucking someone into their own proper bed was the criteria, was it way back with Jason? Back when he was the new Robin, young and fearless and yet so scared?
God, had it really been that long?
Dick shook the lingering, bittersweet thought from his head and left the room, careful to close the door with not even a squeak. Was this what Bruce felt like? Did he ever feel the bittersweet feelings swirling in his chest when he gathered a younger Dick up in his bed after another bout of nightmares?
He really didn’t want to be thinking of his old man– the thought that he was becoming him more and more was enough to make a shiver run down his spine.
Dick resided himself to taking the couch for the night. Who knew what fight Tim had gone through, and he knew the other would appreciate having the bed for himself, some privacy.
As Dick fussed with the decorative couch pillows and blankets, his back was screaming, his eyes could barely stay open, and he was too tired to go crawling back into the room for the ibuprofen.
Fuck, that’s what I forgot at the store, Dick thought, making a mental note for the next time. He let out an involuntary groan, and simply turned over.
A mistake, he instantly thought, and felt the needle-sharp protest of his body. Pressing his lips together, he kept tossing and turning until he could settle on a position that would allow him some rest, even though his eyelids felt like they were made of lead and far ahead of the game.
It didn’t take long afterwards for his mind to melt into a state of slumber, the last lucid thoughts to cross his mind being ones of never-ending grocery lists, and worries about the boy in the room right next to him.
The sun filtered through half-closed blinds before Dick’s alarm had a chance to go off. He sat up, stretching and feeling half his spine pop with audible cracks. For the briefest of seconds, he let himself live in a world where he had a perfectly sunny day off to just relax– take a few cat naps, get some leisurely chores done, maybe visit that new bakery a few streets down.
There wasn’t such mercy, he knew. His bubble shattered as he started going through his day– he had to be at work by 8, out by 3, come home– oh shit it was Friday. That meant swinging home to grab his go-bag, and doing the hour and a half drive to Gotham, and staying there for the weekend. Besides, it’s not like he could bail now after promising Damian.
Dick made quirk work of getting ready, only briefly having to go into his room where Tim was snoring away, spread out like a starfish across his sheets. Dick took a note he had scribbled in the kitchen and left it on his bedside table, explaining he had to be at work, but to help himself out (and if leaving by the windows to make sure they were fully closed this time please).
A quick shower that did nothing to soothe his still aching body and granola bar later, Dick was out the door, steeling himself for another day of paradise.
Well I do like it, he thought, scolding himself, but it’s certainly the burnt-out end of the week.
The familiar smell of chalk when Dick opened the door to the gymnastics studio called to him, a moment of peace where he didn’t have to plaster on the smile that crept on his face. It was just there, a boost of energy.
Damn, maybe all he really needed was some Ben and Jerry’s, a morning shower, and to have done the groceries last night.
“Somebody’s in a good mood,” a high-pitched voice remarked from behind the check-in counter, “Though are you never not?”
“Hey Adrianna,” Dick called to his co-worker. The woman was putting up her hair in a high ponytail, and flicked it over her shoulder, satisfied. “Anything new?”
“Nah, just taking in the tiny bit of silence before the demons come crashing through.”
“As if you’re not one of them?”
“Hey now,” she said, with no real bitterness in her voice.
“Just saying,” Dick said with a shrug, walking past her to the staff room. Adrianna got up and followed him, making small talk as Dick put his things away in his locker.
“I was just checking in on some of the news, seeing what’s new. It’s nothing much really– some former politician is going to trial for embezzling funds, someone broke out of their transport on the way to Arkham in Gotham, and oh! There’s an article reviewing the Lebanese restaurant that just opened that everyone’s been raving about–”
“What was the one before that?”
“Hm? Oh, it’s supposed to have a wait list of like three weeks out already.”
“No, no,” Dick said, gently closing his locker, “The thing with Arkham– who was it that escaped?”
“Oh right, I forget you’re from Gotham,” Adrianna said with a dramatic eye roll, “I never know how you managed to grow up there. Blüdhaven is so much safer anyways, plus with far less smog.”
“Hey, the smog builds character! Gives you some grit and endurance,” Dick said, playfully placing a hand on his heart as if aghast.
“Yeah, yeah, you tell yourself that Gothamite,” Adrianna quipped back, just as the first few energetic shrieks came from down the hall. “Well, guess that’s my queue– and yours. Come on, time to brave the day.”
“Ey, ey captain.”
The wind whipping through Dick’s ink black hair was enough to wash away the stress and aches and pains of the week as he sped on down to Wayne Manor.
When he had gone back to the apartment in the afternoon Tim had been long gone according to the sticky note he left next to the one Dick left that morning.
The drive was sometimes the best part of coming back home. Well, not really– he loved seeing everyone again, their playful tustles, their movie nights, Alfred’s cooking, and of course swinging and flinging himself through the gorgeously dark Gotham streets next to Bruce and the rest. But sometimes it was a lot, especially during his weekends off work, and the drive was always consistent and soothing. He could blast his music, jam out, roll his windows down once off the highway and breathe in the refreshing taste of that bitter Gotham air that always reminded him of home, of comfort. It was sometimes the few times he got true peace for himself– sure, when he got back to his apartment he was by himself, but there were the Titans who often called him, and paperwork to go through that kept him extra busy, and then his own patrols.
But here, just him in the car, there was no work to go over when he was the one driving. Just him, his best playlists, and a car against everything else, even if for an hour and a half.
But that time was ticking down, and as he punched in his code at the front gates of Wayne Manor, he knew he had exactly forty-two seconds between when the gates would automatically open, and when the car would be parked by the front entrance.
The automatic three beeps rang out in quick succession, letting him in as the gates swung themselves open, and he drove through, slow and careful over the gravel road.
Thirty seconds. Twenty seconds. Ten seconds.
Dick came by the front, and parked the car near the front stairs. He gave himself a deep breath and grabbed the duffel bag on the passenger seat before exiting, all big grins and relaxed shoulders.
Just as he got to the top of the stairs, the large front door opened, revealing an Alfred who must have heard through the intercoms that Dick was there.
“Welcome home Master Dick. I take it your drive over went well?” Alfred said, ushering him inside.
“Oh it’s good to be back Alfred,” Dick said, hugging him.
Alfred returned the hug, lingering for a half second before breaking it to close the door.
“It’s certainly a welcome sight to see you here, my boy. I must warn you though, Master Bruce has been in quite a flurry these past couple days, and won’t be back until later. Wayne Enterprise business affairs, as I’m sure you understand.”
“Ah, yes, Damian gave me a heads up yesterday, but that’s good to know. I’ll bother him once he returns then,” Dick said with a smirk, looking around for the one person who was always somehow around on the stairs every time he came back–
“Dick!”
“Damian, hey! Missed me?” He said with his typical charm as the kid came down the stairs, as close as Damian ever got to half bouncing down the steps.
“I’ll leave you boys to it then– if you need me, I shall be in the garden,” Alfred said, taking his quick leave.
“Thanks Alfred– oof!” Dick was caught off guard by the tight hug, Damian’s arms wrapped around his waist.
Dick ran a hand through Damian’s hair, and the other on his shoulder. While Damian was like a skittish cat who was gradually becoming more and more physical as he grew more comfortable, it was still a big jump for him to go straight in for the hug.
“Hey Dames,” Dick said, and Damian took a step back, arms dropping by his side.
“Are you staying for longer this time?” Damian asked inquisitively, head tilted slightly.
“Nope! Just the usual, work’s got me scheduled for a chunk of Monday so I’m headed back that morning.”
“Psh, so what’s taking Drake so long with your luggage? You have your duffel bag, what did he bring?”
“Huh? Tim’s not with me– didn’t he come home?”
The two started making their way up the stairs, and it was Dick’s turn to be confused.
“I assumed since he left last night that he went to you. Did you not bring him back?”
“No, no he did come visit me, but I left for work this morning, and he left a note saying he was catching the 10:20 train back to Gotham. Did he not come back home?”
“Pff, well, that sounds like Timothy. Perhaps he’s couch-surfing– I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s then spending the night with Selina,” Damian said, but waved it away, “Regardless of his current status, he can take care of himself. I however require your assistance in practicing a new combo Bruce taught me earlier this week, and since he’s not here right now, you’re the next best that’ll do.”
Dick reached out and ruffled Damian’s hair, “Awww, did I hear that correctly? You require my assistance? Well, I’d be more than happy to help you out with it.”
“I am more than capable of executing it, and have excelled past proficiency with it. It is always beneficial however to practice with someone else before implementing it out on the field.”
“Oh that’s right, it’s patrol night,” Dick said with a half groan. While he had taken the night off, he certainly did not get around to that scalding bath for his muscles, and when he looked in the mirror that morning, his side was littered with an impressive aurora borealis of colors, from deep purple to green, to blue. Well, nothing that some ibuprofen and some adrenaline through his veins can’t handle in getting his mind off of it.
“I have to finish up a report for school due tonight, but I can meet you down in the cave once I’m done,” Damian said, and Dick nodded.
“Sounds good, and don’t rush it for my sake, okay?”
“I’m not a child Richard, I know to do my work thoroughly,” Damian scoffed, but there was no heat behind his words.
Dick was about to say that actually, he still was, but decided against it. Damian parted to his own room, an extra, barely noticeable pep in his step, leaving Dick to head the opposite way down the hall, to his old room.
Opening the door, he found that it was in pristine condition. Alfred never came through their rooms to clean, having always been emphasized that they took care of their own space, but he knew based on how well pressed the sheets always were that he took the care and time to fix it up every time Dick left.
Honestly none of them deserved that man, but were endlessly grateful to have him regardless. How many vacation days did he take a year, anyways?
Dick unceremoniously dumped the duffel bag at the foot of the bed, and jumped up, letting himself sink into the plush mattress for a moment.
Dick stretched out across the bed and took a deep breath, “Two minutes, I can be here for two minutes.”
He didn’t even last one minute when he heard someone calling.
“Knock, knock, too bad I’m coming in anyways,” Jason’s voice sounded from the door, immediately followed by the door being rudely opened and footsteps coming towards him.
“Hey hey little wing,” Dick said, merely scooting over on the bed and letting Jason flop down next to him, “How’s it been?”
“God,” Jason groaned, face down into the mattress, “Fucking awful like you wouldn’t believe it.”
“Oh trust me, try me,” Dick said, looking at him. Jason turned his face over and scrowled.
“Shit’s just been hitting the fan all week. Do you want to switch places maybe? I can teach your brats how to parkour and do a backflip. It won’t be anything flashy like yours, but hey, you’ll get a vacation and get to be in the crossfire of everyone’s temper.”
“Does that temper include yours?” Dick asked playfully, and Jason reached over to nab a pillow and then throw it at Dick.
“Yeah, right. No, I’ve been in and out all week, business as usual kinda deal.”
Dick didn’t want to push the matters further, even if playfully. If Tim wasn’t talking about the fight he had with Jason, then he wasn’t going to be pushing it right now either.
“You know, I would actually like you to try and teach my kids some stuff. They would think that you’re so cool, and you’re good with kids. Plus, then I could get some blackmail on you,” Dick said, nudging Jason.
“Please, they would be begging by the end of the day for me to replace you.”
“Not in your wildest dreams. As much as you would enjoy chucking them into the foam pit, I don’t know how much I’d want you spotting them when they decide to impromptu switch up the beam dismount and they just go for it.”
“I’ve given the old man enough heart attacks and had to watch you swing around like a ballerina enough to know how to spot a few seven year olds.”
“Oh, you’ve never met Trixie then, or Stasia. Man, for eight year olds they’ve got more guts than all of us I think. They don’t care if it means they eat it on the landing, as long as they get to look cool and be airborne for a second.”
“Man, now doesn’t that remind us of someone we both know?” Jason said, rolling his eyes, and Dick scoffed, though he noticed a small smile creeping on Jason’s face at the thought of it.
“You know maybe I’ll hand them off to you– they’re about as reckless as you were when you were starting off. It’ll give you a taste of your own medicine.” Dick responded.
“Ha, yeah. Honestly, that sounds like a dream right now.” Jason ran a hand through his hair, eyes glued on the ceiling.
Dick recognized the way Jason held his jaw– slightly clamped, tense, the way he always did when he was thinking, his mind racing.
“Hey, I’ve got to help Damian with some new sequence Bruce taught him, but if you want….”
“Down for a sparring round, Dick?” Jason looked over at him, a smirk on his face.
“To kick your ass? Absolutely,” he said back, raising himself up onto his elbows.
“Oh please, you wish.”
Jason peeled himself from the bed and stood up alongside Dick. With the way Jason immediately rolled back his shoulders and let some of his tension drop, Dick knew he had made a good choice of activities with him.
Besides, who didn’t like a little sparring? Nowadays he was mostly getting it when he was already out on the streets of Blüdhaven patrolling, and most of the common thieves and rogues that tended to be out weren’t to the caliber of fighting he was used to with his family.
Nothing like a few punches to get the mind off of things anyways.
A quick leg shot out, heel narrowly missing Dick’s side as he turned away, and instantly ducked into a squatting position. Dick tossed out one of his own legs, almost managing to sweep Damian off of his feet, but only managing a slight stumble.
That opening was enough for Dick to launch forward, springing forward, and while Damian was off-kilter, was able to pin him down onto the ground.
“Gotcha,” Dick said playfully, watching Damian squirm beneath him.
“Come on Damian, you’ve got more than that in you!” Jason shouted out from the sidelines, where he was sitting down and sipping on a water bottle.
“Pf, I was going easy on you Grayson. I’ve already shown you the combo, at this point I’m just keeping my muscles warm for patrol,” Damian said, rolling his eyes.
“Sure you are,” Dick said, rolling off of him and onto his back. He extended a hand up to Damian who was already up on his feet and wiping some imaginary dirt off of himself. “Help your big brother up?”
Damian huffed, but lent his hand anyways, eyes transfixed on the staircase leading down to the Batcave. Dick groaned as he rocked himself onto his knees and just as he pushed himself up, Damian harshly tugged him forward, making the older man stumble and nearly lose his balance.
“Father!”
Before Dick could complain or say something about ruining his kneecaps, he saw Damian make his way towards the stairs where Bruce was descending, evidently, Dick realized, why Damian was looking at the stairs to begin with.
“Damian,” Bruce said with a nod, looking around at Jason who was still laid out on the ground leisurely, and Dick, steadying himself on the matts and smiling. “Where’s Tim?”
“Not here evidently,” Jason said, shrugging his shoulders.
“Thank you for your insightful comments Todd,” Damian said with an eye roll.
“I live to serve,” was Jason’s reply as he sprawled out on the ground, unbothered.
“Dick,” Bruce settled on, finally focusing on his eldest that was making his way off the matts.
“Hey B-Man,” Dick said with a nod, standing by Bruce’s side. Bruce seemed more rigid, and he could see the deeper lines in his face. Whatever this Wayne Enterprise business was, it certainly wasn’t helping his appearance. “Heard you’ve been having quite a week– ready to let off some steam with patrol?”
“It’s not just ‘letting off some steam’ Dick, you know that. Besides, I have a lead we’ll be tracking down tonight.”
Dick didn’t miss how Jason sat up from his position on the ground, suddenly interested. “Is this about that Arkham transport breakout?” Dick asked.
“So you’ve heard,” Bruce said with a slight sigh, “Yes, that’s what we’ll be focusing on tonight. My intel has it that the convoy was supposed to be transporting the Mad Hatter to Arkham, but before they got to the island, it went awry, though they still haven’t figured out how yet. That’s not our job for now– we’ll be instead focusing on tracking him down and escorting him back, making sure a repeat of this doesn’t happen.”
“Which lead are we following?” Damian asked, lips pressed into a thin line, and Dick could already see his mind whirring with the infinite possibilities this mission could have.
“Barbara’s been able to track down some electrical activity that’s similar to some of the devices he used last time, in an abandoned warehouse not too far from where the escort went south. We’ll be starting there.”
“And when do we leave?” Jason asked, now on his feet and leaning against the wall, arms crossed. As much as he was pretending to be casually paying attention to this, Dick knew he was concentrating just the same as the rest of them.
“Right about now. Suit up– the sooner we leave and can follow the trail, the better chance we have that he’ll still be there.”
“What about Tim?” Dick asked, halting the conversation as everyone turned to look at him.
“Tim hasn’t been here all day– if he’s still moping and licking his wounds, brooding elsewhere, then let him. It’ll be his loss when he hears about how we recaptured the Mad Hatter, wishing he were in on the action,” Jason said with a shrug.
“I’ll check to see where his location is,” Bruce said, “But the sooner we leave, the better. Besides, he knows it’s patrol night, and there’s four of us ready to go. If he doesn’t join us within a few minutes, I’ll just deal with him later.”
And that was their queue to get ready. They each went to their respective stations to get ready, Dick always had extras of his Nightwing outfit that he kept stashed back here for such occasions.
It was relatively silent as they all swiftly prepared themselves, and Dick was grateful for the sparring with Jason and Damian, rough as it was at moments, if only for being warmed up and being ready to spring into the action, to whip across the city and soar through the shadows.
The only sound was the occasional rustling of clothes as Jason donned his Red Hood mask and shrugged on the leather jacket, and the occasional tapping of Bruce at the computer.
Dick joined Bruce at the computer, where he was pulling up the locations and files Oracle had helped him to prepare, reading them.
“Quick in and out, huh? That seems simple,” Dick stated.
Bruce just grunted, “Too simple. I don’t trust this.”
“He just broke out of his transport to Arkham– he’s probably recuperating and plotting whatever he has planned next. Probably fixing up his devices and weird hats.” Dick said.
“We’ll see,” Bruce said, swiftly ending their conversation as he continued typing away.
As Dick turned around, he saw Damian standing behind him, committing the route to memory as his eyes darted around, and Jason just a step behind them, arms crossed and watching them. Watching Dick.
Bruce stood up, turning off the monitor. “We’re taking the Batmobile for this,” was all he said as he walked past them.
“I call shotgun!” Dick blurted out, hearing a small scoff from Damian, and a noncommittal grunt from Jason as they all followed Batman out.
The Batmobile’s engine cut off as they parked by the gloomy, domineering concrete warehouse that Oracle had pointed them towards.
“Robin and I will sweep the first floor– Red Hood, Nightwing, you take the second floor.” Bruce ordered, to which they all needed as they stepped out of the vehicle.
It was almost 8pm by that time, the sun a slight pale dot on the horizon as grey clouds swirled overhead, cutting out most of its fading light. It was early for them to be out, but time was of the essence, and they weren’t going to be wasting any more of it.
Dick assessed the side of the building– it was a fairly standard building, not too tall, at five stories from the details Oracle had given them, but Dick spotted some windows dotting the second story that provided them easy access in.
“Seeing what I’m seeing, Red?” Dick asked, looking up at the windows.
“Way ahead you,” Jason replied, running towards the concrete column at the edge of the building, and grabbing it, efficiently shuffling his way up.
Dick followed hot on his heels, though took what he considered was the easier route, and made a running start, before jumping off the same column and grabbing the crack between the concrete blocks on the side of the building. Using his finger strength to pull his body up and swing his legs over, he dislodged the window with one strong kick. Dick slung his body through the opened window, landing gracefully, taking a step away and allowing Jason to crawl his way through.
“Show off,” the other muttered, as they both looked around and assessed where they were.
The floor was empty, dotted with structural support beams throughout. Not even the always-on emergency lights were on, and the fading sun cast the whole floor in a strange grey light.
The pair kept their eyes and ears out for another peculiar, but nothing stuck out. Given how open the whole place was and relatively empty, minus the occasional small pile of cinder blocks or wooden planks, there was nothing indicating somebody had passed by here.
“If the electrical signals were strong enough to detect through a concrete building, I’d wager he’s on the top floor, or even the roof,” Dick said through the comms.
“That’s what I was thinking, but this all feels too easy,” Bruce responded back. “Once you’ve cleared your floor, head up to the fifth– Robin and I will take the third and fourth.”
“Well, you heard the big man,” Jason said, head swiveling as he took in the rest of the floor.
The warehouse wasn’t a relatively large one, and they had cleared the floor in just a couple minutes. There were stairs at the opposite ends of each hall, in a small, cramped stairway that spelled trouble, and probably OSHA violations.
“What’s the use of a grappling hook if we’re taking the damn stairs,” Jason mumbled as they made their way up to the top floor.
As they reached the top, Dick’s hand hovered over the door handle. Jason stopped besides him, and as silent as they were for a moment, they both then heard it.
The subtle, barely audible sound through the door, of something being scraped across the ground.
They looked at each other briefly, and Jason whispered into the comms, “Noise detected on fifth floor north stairwell. We’re barging in– I don’t think we have any other options given the layout.”
“Probably why he chose the fifth floor then,” Bruce said back, “We’ll be up in a minute.”
“We’ll take the front stairwell and go in hot,” Dick whispered back, “It’ll probably cause a scene. Use it as a diversion if you can.”
“Understood, be careful,” Bruce responded, before their conversation ended.
“On three?” Dick mouthed to Jason, and even behind his mask, Dick could detect that glint in the other’s eye.
“Nope,” Jason said, and violently kicked the door open.
The loud bang of the door for a fraction of a second made every nerve in Dick stand on edge, but they both rushed out onto the fifth floor.
As they suspected, the noise they heard was one alerting them to the Mad Hatter. The red-haired man was standing in the middle of the floor, behind a make-shift table made of wooden planks and propped up by the spare cinder blocks that had been scattered around.
But worst of all, at the other end of the table, was Tim waiting for them there as well.
“I was wondering if you’d all ever accept my invitation for my little tea party. It’s rude to keep us all waiting,” the other said with a sinister chuckle.
“Tim, what the fuck,” Jason said, looking at the boy that sat at the Mad Hatter’s side, still in his civilian clothes. The same ones he wore when he came over last night, Dick realized with a drop in his stomach.
“Hmm, looks like we’re still missing our guest of honor,” the madman snickered, jumping up onto his table. Dick and Jason readied themselves, knowing better than to get too close. Jason took out one of his guns, and cocked it straight at him.
“Hmph, your silly little guns can’t scare me. Say,” the Mad Hatter grinned, “Why is a bat like a writing desk?”
“It’s ‘why is a raven like a writing desk’ you pompous asshole,” Jason shouted back, and pulled the trigger.
The other man just smiled, jumping to the side, as if anticipating the firing. Dick rushed forward, jumping up on the table, but just as tried to reach the Mad Hatter, but was thrown sideways when Tim jumped off, having finally moved, and tackled him off the table and onto the ground.
Dick brought his knee up and kicked him square between his legs, and shoved the smaller boy off of him, bouncing quickly back onto his feet and taking out his escrima sticks.
Tim stared back, eyes narrowing, his face drawn tight. Mind control, Dick figured, going through his mental catalog of how the Mad Hatter operated. Tim quickly sidestepped Dick’s lunge towards him, ducking and bending backwards, light on his feet, his face not changing demeanor.
Dick struck out, his stick connecting with Tim’s shoulder, but the other didn’t even seem to notice, not even a flinch coming across him. In a split second, Tim managed to grab onto the baton, yanked it slightly forward, and roundhouse kicked Dick square in the ribs.
Right where he landed just a few nights ago on the scaffolding during his previous patrol.
Dick gritted his teeth, knees buckling. Tim took the opportunity and brought his knee up, colliding it right the side of Dick’s head with enough force for Dick to loosen his grip on the escrima stick Tim was still holding onto, and was sent packing sideways, falling unceremoniously on the floor.
Dick quickly rolled away from Tim’s foot that came down just where his face was, narrowly missing it. Jesus, how long had it been since he sparred with this boy? Too long, evidently.
Dick twisted and did a kip-up, landing squarely back onto his feet and immediately swinging out with his other escrima. Tim tried to go and block it with the one he had ripped away from Dick, but Dick had far more experience with it, parried it, and while Tim was briefly distracted on it, kicked him square in the abdomen.
Tim let out a groan as the air was stomped out of him, falling backwards and hitting the ground with a loud thwack, the other escrima being sent flying out of his grip, clattering a few feet away.
Dick pinned Tim down on the ground, holding him there and keeping the other’s arms under the grip of his legs and one of his hands. The other one stretched out to retrieve the other stick, but while his eyes briefly darted away from Tim, he felt brief pressure from Tim. He looked back and saw Tim biting his arm, but thankfully for his reinforced armor, he barely felt it. Had he still been just wearing spandex, that might have been a different issue.
Dick ripped his arm away, and Tim hissed– fucking hissed– at him.
“Jesus, what’s gotten into you,” Dick said, changing his position on top of him to hold him more securely down.
At that moment there was a loud crash and Dick looked away at Jason being slammed by the Mad Hatter into the middle of the makeshift table, breaking the boards and causing a massive cacophony through the echoing space.
Distracted, Tim took his chance, wiggling a loose arm free, and reaching out for the stick, not too far away from him. As Dick turned to look back down, he was met with the taste of being bludgeoned as the stick struck him right against the side of his face.
He groaned, but kept his weight largely on Tim, and when Tim’s hand went to whack him again with it, he instinctively reached out and caught Tim’s wrist with his iron grip.
He could feel Tim straining against him, and Dick fought back, but was fairly easy to push him back, and pin that arm of his to the ground.
Dick huffed, hearing the struggle that Jason was putting up against the Mad Hatter. Where was Bruce and Damian anyway? Did they not hear the fight?
… Unless someone else got to them first. If they had Tim, who knows what else happened between the time he escaped and now.
“Batman, report your status,” Dick said into the comms, maintaining his position over Tim.
He waited a beat, then two, hearing the continuous rough and tumble somewhere behind him, but no answer came. God damn it.
Looking down at Tim who was still actively struggling against being pinned down by Nightwing, Dick weighed his options, but decided that if Tim was being mind-controlled, there wasn’t much he could do here about it right this moment.
“I’m not trying to give you a concussion, I promise,” Dick said to Tim, who clearly had no care for it, and Dick brought down one of his sticks against Tim’s head, in a practiced manner that he was used to before– enough to knock him out, but hopefully, not enough to cause a concussion.
Dick waited to make sure Tim was staying down, and grabbed the other escrima stick from Tim’s limp hand, before jumping up and twirling around to face the rest of the fight.
Dick knew the Mad Hatter was agile, and had in the past held up pretty well in a fistfight against Batman, but he was going toe-to-toe with Jason, and so Dick leapt across the table to where the two were locked into a fight on the other side.
Dick came up behind the red-haired man, going for a kick to knock him sideways, and when he connected, the other man folded, giving Jason enough time to grab the short man’s head through his hair with one hand, and thrust his knee straight into the middle of his face.
Dick could hear the sound of the crunch of the Mad Hatter’s nose against the force of the impact, and jumped back, readying on the defensive.
Jason stepped away as well, huffing, and Dick noticed that he was clutching his right arm with his left. His shoulder looked dislocated– probably why he had yet to take down the other.
The Mad Hatter looked between the two, and in his indecision, Dick rushed forward, grabbing him by the waist and slamming him harshly into the concrete ground beneath them.
Dick took care of securing him, making sure he couldn’t squirm around. Jason staggered a step back, catching his breath.
“Did you take care of Tim?”
“Yeah, knocked him out– I think it’s mind control,” Dick replied.
“He wasn’t wearing a hat, must have been something else then,” Jason thought out loud, and looked around. “Where’s the Bat?”
“No clue, I tried calling for them, but didn’t get a reply. They might be stuck on the third or fourth floor.”
“Think he brought company?” Jason asked, jutting his chin out to indicate the Mad Hatter.
“I wouldn’t be surprised,” Dick said, looking down at the man below him.
“You think they’ve got it handled?”
“Well, neither of them responded over the comms,” Dick replied, and a silence settled over the room in the aftermath of the fight.
“Yeah, you’re right,” Jason said with a huff.
“How bad’s your shoulder?”
“A bit fucked up, but I’ll be fine,” Jason replied, stoic as usual.
“Want me to head down and take a look for them? We can tie ‘em up here, you can keep watch, and if I need backup, I’ll let you know.”
“Works for me.”
Dick nodded, and picked himself up from the ground, keeping his eyes on the Mad Hatter. Like a dance they’ve perfected, Jason stepped forward, in that slight swap, pressing his knees down into the man’s back. He took out some zip ties (from where, Dick didn’t know), and got to work with him.
Dick stepped back, briefly taking in the scene, and rushed out back out to the shady stairwell that they came in from, half flying down the stairs the way he skipped them, and opening the door to the fourth floor.
Nobody. The hall was empty all across, and he huffed, closing the door and continuing down to the third floor.
When he reached the door, he could hear the sounds of a scuffle, and swung the door open before he registered it. Indeed, Batman and Robin were back-to-back, fighting in a synchronized style that was elegant and powerful, against an assortment of men in gear Dick recognized.
These were the guards meant to secure the Mad Hatter, he thought. He had managed to get a hold of their psyche and get them to come back to do his bidding, most likely not under their own volition.
Nightwing joined in the fray, taking a mental tally of the total: It was three of them now, against twelve guards that moved improbably quick, in slick movements, and not flinching when they suffered a blow.
Dick reached for the one closest to him, who turned around to face him, and Nightwing swung out, landing a solid punch that sent the man scattering across the cold floor.
That drew the attention of two more guards, who turned to redirect their attention to the new intruder. Dick kicked out, hitting one to wear he staggered right into the other one, and with that free moment, Dick pivoted on his heel and gave a strong hook, clocking one across the jaw.
He kept going in a merciless fashion, letting the momentum carry his forward– light on his feet, quick to dodge, and keeping them staggering one after the other. They were quick to get back up, but Dick stayed steadfast in his relentless pace.
Like flowers stepped on, they kept springing back up. It was something curious even to him– Arkham guards tend to be built, but they rarely were this tough from his experience.
However, he kept going, and going, and going, sweat beading across his brow. An uppercut slammed into the chin of the one in front of him, sending him off his feet and clamoring backwards, until he fell backwards, unconscious.
So they could go down. It was certainly not enough to kill a guy, but it renewed the heat in Dick’s veins– he was nearing the end of this fight, he could smell it.
Based on the grunt and moans of pain coming from some of the other guards more focused on Batman and Robin, he could tell the others were there as well.
A final kick to the torso of the guard who thought he could creep up behind him was the last one to fall. Dick looked up, panting, and Robin was finishing off the last one.
Soon, the room fell into silence, and Dick could feel his heartbeat jack hammering in his chest, fighting for air.
“What took you so long, Nightwing?” Robin asked, an edge to his voice.
“The Mad Hatter. Oh, and we found Tim– he was under his mind control. Turned against us.” Dick explained, rolling his shoulders back and surveying the rest of the space.
He saw Bruce’s eyes narrow, “Was he–”
“In his civilian clothes and thus easily identifiable as the high-profile son of some billionaires? Yes,” Dick replied before the question even had to be asked, knowing what Brue thought of them not using their code names when out in the field.
“And Red Hood?” Bruce asked.
“Upstairs, he dislocated his shoulder during his fight, so he’s keeping an eye on them both.” He explained, as they were walking towards the stairwell together.
When they entered the fifth floor together, Jason was sitting on the end of the table that wasn’t broken, holding his arm, with both the Mad Hatter and Tim at his feet.
“What happened?” Bruce asks in his rough, gravelly voice, looking at Jason’s arm.
“It’s nothing, just a nuisance. I don’t want to agitate more than I have to, so I’m just keeping ‘em under surveillance,” Jason said, looking down at the two at his feet.
Dick looked over at Damian, and could feel the heat coming from him. He knew Robin was biting back his comments about Tim being here, and he was appreciative for it. It would have been too much of a headache to have a tired Bruce, a snappy Jason, and a snarky Damian right now.
“I’ll call the GPD and the commissioner, let them know we’ve captured the Mad Hatter and the guards he abducted. I’ll personally escort him back to Arkham.”
“I can come with you–” Damian started, but Bruce shot him a look that quickly shut the boy off.
“You’ve all done enough for the night. Go back, this mission is done.”
“What about Tim?” Dick asked, and he could tell Bruce was sighing under his cowl.
“Take care of him, bring him back. Make sure he remains secure, and incapacitated.” Bruce said, and tossed Dick the keys to the Batmobile absentmindedly.
“Why does he get to drive the Batmobile?” Damian grumbled under his belt, but Dick felt too tired coming down from the rush of the fight to gloat.
“Need us to stay here just in case they act up again?” Dick asked.
“No, go back to the Batmobile. You’ve all done enough damage for the night,” Bruce said sourly.
The tone caught Dick off guard, and one look at the other two and he knew the others weren’t going to meet Bruce’s eyes.
Dick stepped forward, being the one to lift Tim up from the ground and to hold him bridal style. Damn those five flights of stairs were going to be fun. As he positioned Tim in his arms, he was reminded of just last night when he carried him similarly to the bed in his apartment. God, was that really just 24 hours ago?
Turning around, Bruce was already on the phone who he assumed was Gordon, and looked at the other two, who were in sour moods as well he could tell. Nobody liked getting injured while out, and he was sure Damian was trying his best to swallow his pride over being overwhelmed by twelve Arkham guards.
Bruce finished his call, and saw the three about to leave. “Nightwing,” he called out, his voice colder than the concrete of the building, “This won’t happen again, do you understand me?”
“Yes sir,” Dick said with a small nod, doing his best to not let his voice waver.
Dick turned, and saw Damian holding the door open for him, and Jason standing there, looking at the ground and grumbling about something.
The three left in terse silence, none of them wanting to break the stewing, irritated silence that blanketed them.
Once finally out of the building, Dick unlocked the Batmobile and the doors opened automatically for them. He slid Tim’s unconscious body into the backseat, and closed the door.
“I can drive,” Damian said, but Dick quickly shut it down.
“Between the two physically able to right now, I’m the one he gave the keys to, and has more experience,” Dick said, and Damian took the hint, but still sat shotgun.
Jason didn’t bother to protest, instead opting to get in the back and stay as far away from Tim as he could, looking out the window and ignoring the unconscious body next to him.
Dick got the car started just as he heard and saw the lights of GPD coming their ways, and whirled it out, driving back to the manor.
It was perhaps the most awkward and tense car ride he’d had in a long while. Damian had his knees up to his chest on the seat, curling into it like a ball, a thousand yard stare on his face. Jason, in the rear view, was looking out the window like a moody teenager, his mind far away from the car he was sitting in.
Dick opted to keep his eyes on the road, white knuckling the steering wheel, but he didn’t care. Occasionally he looked at the others, but nothing changed as they sat curled in on themselves.
Was Bruce angry at him in particular for not having looked after Tim? For not realizing something was wrong when he came to him and then didn’t come back home? After having another son kidnapped by a villain, did Bruce blame him, even if this one went better than Jason’s? Did it scare him so badly upon hearing that Tim turned on them mind-controlled, that he was deflecting his own guilt onto Dick?
He assumed the last one was one of the major reasons, but it still cut him deeply. It was fine– Tim would be fine, and would recover, and Jason’s injury would be a relatively easy one to recover from, and Damian would throw himself into more of his training in the aftermath. Everything would be fine.
It had to be, or he would make it fine.
As they pulled up into the Bat Cave, Alfred was already there to greet them, prepped medically for them, Dick could tell.
He choked the car, and opened the door, putting at least someone of gentle face on. Compared to the two fuming gremlins in the car with him, he had to be the one to put on a nice face and explain what happened, and without stabbing someone.
A low bar, but a difficult one nonetheless.
“Alfred,” Dick said as he got out, going out to the other side of the vehicle to retrieve Tim, “Did Bruce fill you in on what happened?”
“He did, partially. I’ve been given enough details.”
“I don’t know what he did to Tim and the guards– it seems different. Do you think we should run a panel, see if there’s something in his bloodstream? I didn’t see any devices on him that might make him this way, and the way those guards were acting…”
“Already one step ahead of you. I’ll make sure Master Tim is clear of any possible toxins. For now, you boys take a rest. Not you, Master Jason– I need to make sure your arm is fine and set it.”
Jason nodded, taking only his helmet off and saying nothing.
Damian scoffed, directed more at Jason and Dick than Alfred. “Timothy should be fine– if he got himself into this mess, then he can get himself out of it. Whatever it is will wear off.”
“Master Damian, we still need to check, and you shouldn’t speak about him so flippantly,” Alfred said sternly.
“If somebody had kept an eye on him, this wouldn’t have happened,” Jason said, not looking at Dick but making the very pointed comment regardless.
“And if somebody hadn’t instigated a dispute with Drake, he wouldn’t have gone running away in the first place,” Damian spat out.
“Hm, wonder if there’s someone here who keeps winding him up to the point of making him so tightly wound up,” Jason retorted.
“Enough, the both of you! Master Jason, you will be staying here with me until I dismiss you, and you, Master Damian, I would advise you to return to your room and take a shower to soothe your nerves.” Alfred said, which shut the both of them.
Nobody ever dared argue with Alfred.
Damian just turned on his heels and practically stomped away, or at least, stomped away with no sound coming from his stealthy feet.
Jason turned, throwing his hands up in exasperation, and walked towards where the medical unit was. Dick lingered, not saying anything but carrying Tim to one of the cots, while Jason sat on another, carefully peeling off his leather jacket.
“Thank you, Master Dick, I’ll take it from here,” Alfred reassured him.
“Of course, thank you Alfred. If you need any help at all, just let me know,” he offered.
Alfred nodded, and turned to set Tim up, presumably so he wouldn’t try to thrash out or run if he was still being mind-controlled.
Dick took a step back, making eye contact with Jason who was still encompassed with rage. Jason quickly averted his gaze, and Dick took that as his queue to take him discrete leave.
When he got back to his room, tired and weary, he barely was able to peel off his costume, cursing at the anguish of it, at the tenderness of his whole body.
He sluggishly made his way to the shower, where he mainly stood up in water hot enough to make even Satan flinch.
Everything hurt. He hadn’t recovered from his intense patrolling week, had one night sort of off, and tonight had gone through enough blows that he was sure he was going to be deep purple all over together. Some were already forming– large blobs of dark color that when the water ran over made him inadvertently hiss out and wince at the pain.
God, he felt like through a meat grinder three times over, emotionally and physically.
After just a few minutes, when he started becoming light-headed from the thick steam, he turned off the water and just slumped onto the ground of the shower, head pressed back against the wall.
He let a few beads of water slide down from his wet hair, just letting himself sit there, in agony, tired, defeated, and dreading what would come tomorrow.