Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The first time that it happens, Dick is caught completely off guard.

“Hey chum, can you hold this for me?”

Dick blinks and looks up from the case file he’s examining. Bruce has been messing around with something under the batmobile’s hood, something Dick had only half paid attention to when he'd explained it. He doesn’t quite realize that Bruce is addressing him until he notices the man looking at him expectantly.

“Oh, uh, sure!” He quickly hops up from his seat and jogs over to Bruce, holding the socket wrench in place while Bruce adjusts something or other.

They continue to fiddle with the car, Bruce explaining what he’s doing as they go along. Tonight’s an off night, one of the rare few that they take, to allow for maintenance to be performed on their equipment and also futilely to get Dick in bed to get all the sleep a kid his age should get – not that Dick ever actually goes to sleep on time, he’s got too much energy for that and his sleep schedule been about as messed up as possible for his entire life thanks to his time at the circus.

They finish up and put the tools away, chatting a bit as they go. Dick’s honestly very proud of the chitchat – Bruce isn’t very talkative typically, so the fact that they can even carry on this conversation means that their relationship is loads better than it was when Dick was first taken in.

Dick playfully elbows him after making a pun, relishing in the lightness of their conversation, when it happens again.

Bruce, chuckling, reaches out and ruffles Dick’s hair. It’s not the first time that it’s happened, but it’s also not a frequent occurrence. What really makes it noteworthy is the accompanying, “Good work tonight, chum. You go and get some sleep now.”

Chum… Dick’s fairly certain that that’s a good thing, like a nickname. But he already has a nickname? Why would Bruce call him chum?

Dick decides, however, that he doesn’t mind. “You too, old man! You need sleep, too!”

Bruce’s chuckles follow him up the stairs, and Dick goes to bed smiling that night.

It becomes a thing, much to Dick’s slight confusion. Bruce Wayne, as a matter of fact, is not good at open displays of affection. Getting the man to talk about things that actually matter is like pulling teeth, and the first time that Dick ambushed him with a hug, he froze in place.

So the idea of the man giving him a sort of affectionate nickname seems a bit out of character.

Or maybe not, he thinks as he watches Bruce interact with Alfred at breakfast. The butler clicks his tongue and utters a disappointed “Master Wayne” when he notices the man gently massaging the rib cage that he had assured Alfred the night before was ‘perfectly fine.’

Alfred kind of raised Bruce, right? Honestly, Dick’s not sure of the specifics and they have a weird kind of relationship that mixes family with employer-and-employee, but maybe…

Chum is typically English, Dick remembers. He’d encountered enough Englishmen whenever the circus traveled Europe to know that much.

The pieces of the puzzle start to click in Dick’s mind, and he smiles a bit. Maybe the names are a family thing.

Once he’d come to that conclusion, anytime that Bruce called him chum, Dick felt like his heart glowed a bit.

That time that Bruce had picked him up from school: Hey chum, how was your day?

That one unseasonably hot Saturday: What do you say to some ice cream, chum?

When Dick, who was feeling bored, decided to scale up his guardian and perch on his shoulders: Dick, chum, what on earth are you doing?

Every single time, it makes Dick smile.

One night, about two years after Bruce took him in, Dick is lying in bed after a bit of a rough patrol. No major injuries, really. There was just a period of panic in which their comms had cut out and they’d lost visual of each other in the midst of a fight with a bunch of goons from the gang of the week. Dick hadn’t thought too much of it, honestly, but Bruce…

Bruce had been shaken enough to call patrol early that night. Dick’s not quite sure what caused it, but he suspects it might have been because there’d been more than a few guns pointing at Robin over the course of the night.

Dick’s on the border of dream land when his door creaks open. Blinking against the sleep in his eyes, he immediately recognizes the large figure in the doorway and smiles lopsidedly. “’ey, B.”

Taking that as an invitation, Bruce enters the room and sits on the edge of Dick’s bed. Dick closes his eyes, humming in contentment when the man brushes the bangs on his forehead. They stay that way for a while, Dick falling asleep while Bruce continues to run his hands through Dick’s hair.

Just as Dick is about out of it, Bruce sighs and stands up. Leaning over, he presses a firm, gentle kiss onto Dick’s forehead. “Sleep well, Dick.”

Dick doesn’t bother to open his eyes, but that doesn’t mean there’s not a smile on his face. “Night. Love you.”

He hears Bruce’s breath catch, and then, the almost inaudible whisper of, “Love you too, chum.”

The older Dick gets, the fewer and farther between the uses of chum. As his hero worship of the man who took him in fades, as he comes to understand life a bit more and interacts with other heroes, Dick comes to see just how flawed the man is.

They butt heads more often than he’d like to admit, and sometimes Dick finds himself just itching to stab the man in the eyes with the ears on his own damn cowl. Maybe if the man was literally blind, he’d be able to see the things right in front of him.

“Stop babying me!” he yells one day in the batcave. Bruce had sent him home early after a minor mishap on a fire escape when Dick had done a flip for fun and landed a bit more messily than he would have liked. “I’ve been doing this for years, Bruce, I know what I’m doing!”

Bruce slams a hand on the desk of the batcomputer. “Damn it, Dick, I know that you’re capable, but you need to take this more seriously!”

They exchange verbal blows back and forth for what seems like ages, before eventually parting ways, both of them puffed up with their own version of righteous indignation.

Dick passes Bruce in the family hallway before going to bed that night. He’s fully prepared to just ignore the man, but in a rare show of emotion, Bruce catches his shoulder and stops him in his tracks. They stay there awkwardly for a second, Dick refusing to make eye contact, before Bruce squeezes his shoulder and says in a low voice, smaller than his usual, “Sleep well, chum.”

Dick swallows, still refusing to meet his gaze. “Yeah, whatever. Night, Bruce.”

Heading into his room, Dick hates how much that one nicknames soothes his anger.

The fights get worse.

And then even worse.

Dick’s heard that old marriage adage, never go to sleep angry. He’s never thought too much of it, but it’s hard not to now when that’s all that they can seem to do. They’re sure as hell not married (the thought makes Dick want to gag), but he thinks that maybe it’s applicable to any sort of family or friend relationship too.

They wake up, have silent breakfasts with Alfred giving both of them his patented look of disappointment, go their separate ways, meet up for patrol in silence, kick some bad guy butt with perhaps a bit more prejudice than necessary, have their regular shouting match in the cave, and then head off to bed fuming. It’s in no way healthy, and it’s starting to negatively impact not only their personal health and relationship but also their performance in the field.

And then in all comes to a head.

“If you can’t take this more seriously, Dick, then maybe you shouldn’t be Robin!”

Dick’s fiery anger turns ice cold. He feels his mouth twist into an ugly, unfamiliar sneer. “What did you just say?”

Bruce gets into his space and Dick sees red. “Maybe you shouldn’t be Robin anymore, if you can’t take this seriously enough to protect even your damn self!”

Dick clenches his fist. “You can’t do that, Bruce!”

Bruce doesn’t back down, and Dick refuses to as well. “I damn well can! I made you Robin, and I can take it away!”

Blood roars in Dick’s ears as he roughly shoves Bruce away. “You didn’t make Robin! I did – my mother did!”

Bruce doesn’t shove him back, instead daring to turn his back on Dick. Dick doesn’t think it’s intentional, but he can’t help the feelings of dismissal and condescension the action brings. “You’re becoming a liability, Dick! I can’t focus on the mission if I’m too worried about you not even protecting yourself!”

Dick goes still. “Right. The mission.”

Bruce turns back around. “That didn’t come out right-“

Dick knows his face is blank. Good. Let Bruce read from that what he will. “No, no. You said what you meant.”

“Dick-“

Dick turns his back now, relishing in the vindictiveness inherent in the motion. “Maybe I should just leave, then. Wouldn’t want to get in Batman’s way, after all.”

“Wait, Dick-“

“No, Bruce.” He half turns, glancing over his shoulder. “I’m done. I’m out of here.”

Still fully in uniform, Dick stomps up the stairs, ignoring Bruce’s calls behind him. He heads immediately to his room, shedding Robin’s outfit and pulling on a random set of clothes. Yanking a duffle bag out of his closet, he first shoves in his uniform before forcing most of his clothing into the bag. Tugging the zipper roughly as closed as it will go, he tosses the bag over his shoulder and leaves the room, not even bothering to look back.

At the base of the stairs, he finds Alfred.

They stare at each other for a moment. Reading the sorrow in Alfred’s eyes, Dick knows that Alfred knows.

“And where will I be able to reach you, sir?” Alfred quietly asks.

Alfred doesn’t pick sides, Dick knows. He tries to pretend that it doesn’t hurt when Alfred doesn’t ask him to stay.

“Titans Tower,” he grudgingly offers.

Alfred nods. “Very well, sir.”

Dick closes his eyes, inhales and exhales slowly, before stepping past the butler. He’s almost at the door, heading to his motorcycle, when Alfred calls out, “Master Dick?”

Dick reminds himself that Alfred has nothing to do with his issues with Bruce. “Yeah?” He only partially turns back.

“Do take care of yourself, sir. Don’t hesitate to call me if you need anything.”

Dick swallows and hangs his head. “Yeah, sure. Whatever.”

In not a single one of the many voicemails that Bruce leaves does he call Dick chum.

Chapter Text

Jason always figured that karma would get around to him eventually. He’d been living on the streets long enough to know that what goes around comes around at some point. If you treated the sex workers well, they might occasionally give you a bit of candy. If you protected the little kids, they’d be loyal to you for life.

If you ticked off the wrong person, the rest of your life wouldn’t be as long as you’d like. Shit like that.

So Jason had always expected to face the consequences of the universe at some point.

Being rather forcibly adopted by Batman after attempting to steal the tires off the batmobile wasn’t exactly the consequence he’d imagined, though. Jason never pictured the fucker being a serial adopter, and yet… here he is, staring at the Wayne family library.

He’d always resented Batman before. It was clear the man had money – how else could he afford all those damn gadgets and shit? And how did he use that money? By making things to enable him to punch people better. And then he’d found out that it was Bruce fucking Wayne, and he couldn’t be mad anymore, because half the shelters in the Narrows were funded by the man. He’s literally only man in the top one percent to give a shit about the average person, and now Jason can’t even hate Batman anymore.

Also, he can’t hate the man because he’s finally able to reread Mansfield Park – the copy at the public library had gone missing ages ago.

He’s been with Bruce for a couple of months now – training to be Robin, learning with tutors to get ready for school at Gotham academy, shit like that. Alfred (and if having a British butler doesn’t scream old money, Jason doesn’t know what does) had taken it upon himself to try to fatten him up. Jason tried not to be offended by it – he knew that he was a bit on the skinny side, food can be really hard to come by on the streets – but something in his pride still smarted a bit at it.

Still though, Jason has no desire to go back, so he’s been on his best behavior, and it’s honestly not that hard to do. He adores school, even if it’s been a while since he’d gotten to attend, so that fact that he has entire tutors, just for him? Literally heaven on the damned earth. Not to mention, Alfred’s double chocolate cake is literally to die for.

Jason has just picked a new novel off the shelf and settled down in a ridiculously comfortable wingback chair (seriously, the opulence of this place is just insane) when he hears Bruce calling out faintly from somewhere in the manor, “Jaylad? Where are you?”

Jason wrinkles his eyebrow. Jaylad? Where the hell did that come from? He’s perfectly happy with his actual name, thank you very much. Still though, Jason doesn’t want to give Bruce any reason to kick him to the curb, so he supposes that he ought to just bear with it for now. Slipping in a bookmark, he unfolds himself from the wingback and meanders to the library entrance. “Yeah, B?”

Bruce appears down at the end of the hallway, looking uncharacteristically nervous. Jason raises an eyebrow, wondering what on earth could make the Batman anxious. Jason uncomfortably folds his arms. “What’s up, Bruce?”

Bruce stops right in front of him swallows. “I, uh, just need to talk to you about something.”

Jason shifts his weight. “Yeah, shoot.”

Bruce tucks his hands behind his back. “You know that I have another ward, right?”

Jason raises an eyebrow. Of course he does – it’s likely not a soul in the city doesn’t know that Bruce Wayne took in the circus orphan Richard Grayson, and the odds that people haven’t heard of Robin are even smaller. Not to mention, Robin had kinda been Jason’s hero for a while now.

It’s hard not to idolize a kid who saw the worst of the worst of Gotham and still faced everyday with a smile, after all. Even for the alley kids. Maybe especially for the alley kids.

“Yeah, of course. Richard Grayson – everyone knows that.”

Bruce actually smiles a bit, holy shit. Jason has only seen it happen a few times, and damn, Grayson must have a superpower or something, to make Bruce smile just at the sound of his name. “Yes, though he prefers Dick.”

Jason just nods, unsure of where this conversation is going. He’s noticed that Grayson is a bit of a touchy subject here – for all that the manor is filled with pictures of him, he’s almost never spoken of, and Jason has no clue why the man (still a teenager, really) isn’t living here anymore.

Bruce swallows again, and then sets his hands on Jason’s shoulders. “He’s, ah, coming to visit. This weekend.”

Ah yes, that would explain the anxiety. Even Jason already knows that B isn’t exactly the most emotionally intelligent man – after all, Jason had tried to steal from the man and B had adopted him. “Okay? Cool?”

Bruce just squeezes his shoulders. “Just wanted to give you a head’s up.”

Jesus, could the man be any more awkward. “Thank you?”

Bruce gives him a bit of a smile. “You’re a good kid, you know that, right, lad?” Bruce walks away before Jason can respond.

Jason cocks his head to the side a bit. Seriously, what’s up with the nickname?

Given the fact that both Robin and Richard Grayson always seemed to be smiling, Jason had been expecting some happy-go-lucky teenager with a propensity for physical affection.

That was not what he got.

The second Dick Grayson steps foot in the foyer, Jason could see that his smile was fake. The grip that he has on his duffle bag is tight enough to make his knuckles white, and something in his posture screams defensiveness.

His strained smile eases a bit when Alfred draws him into a quick hug. He wraps his free arm around the butler, muttering a quick, “Hey, Alfie.”

Alfred doesn’t let his break in decorum last long and pulls back. “It’s so good to see you, Master Dick. You look well.”

Dick huffs out a bit of a laugh and scratches at the back of his neck. “Yeah, turns out being with the Titans is pretty good for me.”

Alfred smiles. “Yes, well, from what I’ve heard, you’ve certainly come into your own.”

Bruce picks that moment to step forward. “Hello, Dick.”

Dick tightens his grip on the duffel, and Jason raises his eyebrows. The two have got beef, huh? Very interesting. “Hi, Bruce.”

Bruce takes a stiff, half step forward. “How… how have you been?”

Dick takes a matching stuttering step. “Pretty alright. The Titans have really gotten a lot better, you know.”

Bruce forces a smile. “With you leading the charge, chum, I have no doubt.”

Dick’s eyes widen suddenly, and then, before Jason can blink, the two are hugging, and rather desperately at that. Feeling rather like a third wheel, Jason shifts his weight back and forth from one foot to the other. Dick’s head is tucked tightly into Bruce’s shoulder as he mutters, “I’ve missed you, B.”

Bruce’s hold on Dick isn’t any less tight as he responds, “I missed you too, chum, so much.”

After what feels like forever, Bruce pulls back and clasps Dick strongly on the shoulders, smiling slightly. “It’s good to see you, Dick.”

Dick smiles back softly. “Good to be back.”

Bruce turns toward Jason, directing Dick to do the same, and ouch, the smile goes tight again. Okay, so apparently Dick wants nothing to do with him.

Bruce, oblivious as the man can be, gestures to Jason. “This is Jason, the boy who I was talking about?”

That makes Jason curious. What on earth had Bruce said about him? Jason raises a hand in a slight wave. “’Ello.”

Dick smiles so tightly as to appear pained. “Hi, Jason. It’s nice to meet you.” He offers Jason a hand, and his grip is strong, bordering on too tight.

Trying not to let it get to him (and also fighting back a bit of hero worship), Jason responds, “Yeah, nice ta meet you too. Yer a bit of a legend, ya know, the being the first Robin an’ all that.”

Dick’s gaze goes sharp. “The first Robin?”

Ignoring Bruce’s abort motion in the corner of his eye, Jason plows forward. He ain’t an alley boy for nothing, after all. “Yeah, didn’t B tell ya? He’s training me to be Robin too. ‘Sa huge honor, ya know.”

Dick whips around to look at Bruce, and God, does Jason wish he could see his face, because Bruce looks scared. Dick’s voice is deathly quiet and echoes around the suddenly silent foyer. “Bruce. What is he talking about?”

Bruce holds his hands up in a pacifying gesture. “Now, chum, this is part of what I wanted to talk about-“

Dick snarls, and nope, Jason doesn’t jump at all, where on earth would you get that idea? “Don’t you chum me, Bruce. What right do you have to give Robin away?”

Uh oh. Maybe Jason should have paid attention to Bruce’s abort gesture after all?

The anxiety in Bruce’s body language disappears as he’s challenged, and Batman bleeds into his posture. “You’ve moved on, you have Nightwing, and Jason needs-“

“I don’t give a shit what Jason needs!” Okay, ouch, but fair enough. They’ve exchanged all of like two sentences. “Robin was my mother’s name for me, Bruce! You can’t just give that away to some random kid!”

Jason’s stomach drops.

He’d thought… he’d thought that the name Robin was just in keeping the animal theme, he hadn’t really thought that there would be a lot of meaning to it, honestly. But for it to be a nickname from Dick’s mother…

Shit like that is sacred, man. Jason’s family was crap, as much as he loved his mom, and even he knows that.

The two keep arguing, their voices getting louder and louder, but Jason doesn’t catch any of it. He didn’t ask for this, he didn’t ask to get adopted, he didn’t ask for Robin, and yet, here he is now, weighed down with the burden of having inadvertently stolen the last legacy of someone’s dead mother-

And so Jason does what he does best, and runs.

Jason’s sitting on the roof of the manor, knees pulled up to his chest, when he hears footsteps behind him. He whips his head around and only relaxes slightly when Dick holds his hands up in front on him. “Woah there, I come in peace,” he says. He doesn’t smile. That makes Jason feel a bit better, oddly enough.

Jason turns back around and looks out onto the grounds again, watching the sky turn red in the sunset. Dick steps up besides him and asks, “Can I sit here?”

Jason grunts, and Dick takes it as an affirmative, plopping down beside him, his legs spread out in front with his arms propping him up from behind.

They sit in silence for a few minutes before Jason can’t take it anymore. He clears his throat and hates how shaky his voice sounds. “I… I didn’t know. About Robin being, ya know, yer mom’s thing.” He still refuses to look at the man beside him.

Dick sighs and shifts a bit. “Yeah, I gathered as much.”

Another beat of silence, and then Jason says, “’M sorry.” He hates how small his voice is.

An arm wrapping around his shoulders startles him, and Jason looks up, eyes wide, to find Dick’s arm wrapped around him, though the man himself is still looking out at the sunset. Jason goes stock still, but Dick just says, “Not your fault, kid.”

Another period of silence. Somehow, something in the embrace is oddly comforting, and Jason finds himself wanting to lean into it a bit. Cursing himself in his mind, he resists the urge. “I won’ be Robin, since ya know-“

Dick’s grip on his shoulders tightens. “Now, now, Little Wing, I didn’t say anything about that.”

Jason whips his head around. “What?”

Dick still won’t look at him. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m still pissed at Bruce, but… you’re innocent in all this. And in a way – and I’ll kill you if you tell Bruce this – he’s right. I have outgrown what Robin has become.”

Jason turns back and finds where the amber in the sky fades to purple. “Lips are sealed.”

Dick laughs a bit. “I’m sorry if I’m a bit distant. This is… an adjustment for me, you understand. I’m not sure… not sure that I’ll be able to be around you a lot for a bit. It’s, ah, it’s hard.”

Jason feels himself shrink a bit. “I understand.”

Dick finally looks at him. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m sure you’re a great kid and all that. Bruce has this annoying habit of being able to spot potential in people. It’s just…”

Jason nods and ducks his head. “Hard,” he finishes.

Dick nods.

Jason gives in and leans against Dick, resting his head on the man’s shoulders. They watch the rest of the sunset in silence.

Despite their little rooftop talk, things with Dick remain stiff for a while. After what had to be the most awkward weekend visit in the history of ever, Dick disappears back to Titans Tower. He and Bruce must have worked something out, though, because suddenly Bruce is being a helluva lot less tense and strict in training.

The first night that Jason goes out as Robin, he even ends the patrol with an ice cream break.

They sit on the roof of Wayne Enterprises, Jason with his legs dangling over the edge as he leans against the railing and Bruce crouched next to him. It had been an uneventful night – Jason knows the city well enough to recognize that Bruce had kept them in the safest areas possible, at least as safe as it can be in Gotham – but still…

Something in Jason feels incredible, like he’d been lit on fire, like there was magic in his soul, like he could fly into the stars and stand on top of the world.

And when Bruce stands, ruffles his hair, and says, Well done tonight, lad…

Well, that feeling only grows, and Jason feels like he could take on Superman himself.

Dick starts to visit more and more often, to the point where Jason would almost consider them friends. And if Jason secretly starts to enjoy the man’s hugs and how he calls Jason Little Wing, well, no one needs to know that.

They’re patrolling together one night when Nightwind insists on stopping for chili dogs, and Jason finds himself mildly disgusted at the amount of grease dripping off of his. Damn, if he’s not spoiled by Alfred’s cooking now.

They just talking, now, oddly enough. It’s good. Dick tells him stories of the Titan’s latest exploits, and Jason returns the favor by telling him about Bruce’s latest scolding from Alfred. By the time the laughter dies down, Dick has a small smile on his face and Jason feels unreasonably proud for having been the cause of it.

“Sooo…” Dick drawls. “Has B given you a nickname yet?”

Jason frowns. “Whaddya mean?”

Dick wads up his chili dog wrapper. “Oh, you know, like how he calls me ‘chum’ whenever he’s in a particularly good mood. What’s he call you?”

Jason thinks back on it, before shrugging. “He calls me ‘lad’ sometimes. Dunno why.”

Dick only smiles, fires his grapple and leaps off the building, leaving a cursing Jason in the dust.

The day that Jason brings home his straight-A report card, the unthinkable happens.

Bruce kneels down, looks him in the eye, and says, “I’m so proud of you, Jaylad.” He then pulls Jason into a hug.

No one has ever told Jason that they’re proud of him before. He would later deny the tears that rose up in his eyes as he desperately clutched onto his dad.

Dick disappears for a bit, off on some long-term mission with the Titans.

Jason and Bruce start fighting.

And then Felipe Garzonas happens.

The case is close to Jason’s heart, and Jason has never wanted to get someone locked up so badly. The man is an abuser, both of women and of power, and he needs to be locked up behind bars. When he’s out of the streets after being captured twice, Robin sees red.

And then Garzonas is dead, and there’s no witness besides Robin, and Batman doesn’t seem to believe him when he says that Garzonas fell and died of his own accord.

Things go downhill from there.

Jason can’t help but notice that Bruce has stopped calling him lad.

Bruce takes Robin from him.

Jason thinks, So that’s what it feels like.

He stops speaking to Bruce.

Bruce stops speaking to him.

Alfred won’t talk to either of them.

A few days later, Jason leaves. Just straight up walks out of the manor. He shoulda known it was too good to be true. What goes around comes around and all that shit.

And that’s when he finds out that Catherine wasn’t his real mother.

A few days later, Jason disappears.

At the same time, the Joker escapes Arkham.

A week later, Jason is dead.

Bruce can’t bring himself to say lad anymore.

Chapter Text

Tim likes to think that he’s a pretty smart kid. After all, near as he knows, no one else has figured out the secret identity of Batman, Robin and Nightwing, especially not at the age of nine. Still, being smart does not necessarily preclude one from being dumb, as Tim is being made intimately aware of right now.

“Shit, shit, shit, shit…” he chants on repeat under his breath as he pulls on the ill-fitting Robin uniform. Batman and Nightwing should have checked in ages ago, and Tim’s the only one who knows where they went and so…

He is going out. Batman needs a Robin, and right now, there’s no other option besides Tim.

“This is wrong,” Alfred mutters as he drives Tim toward the fight. “I shouldn’t be doing this.”*

“Alfred, you have to,”* Tim responds. I have to, he thinks.

But shit, this might be the dumbest thing he’s ever done, including following two vigilantes around the most crime-ridden city in the world long past dark. Sure, he’s taken self-defense, he’s not completely defenseless, but this is Two-Face. The Rogue had managed to capture the Dynamic Duo and Tim knew that they needed help. So he’s got to help – it’s not like he’s got the Justice League on speed dial. There’s no one else.

Tim doesn’t think he’s ever known fear like watching a building where he knows Batman and Nightwing to be get blown up.

No.

Gotham needs Batman.

And Batman needs Robin.

Tim goes to fight Two-Face. Two-Face decks him. Alfred wrestles Two-Face. Tim punches Two-Face.

Okay, so that could have gone better. Whatever. He’s still alive. And when he finds an entry point into the rubble that only a Robin could’ve fit into, he can’t help but feel somewhat vindicated in his assertion that Batman needs a Robin. He finds the two heroes easily enough and clears a way out for them, feeling accomplished in a way that good grades or great photographs have never managed to make him feel in the past. He feels alive, and he feels like he’s a part of something larger than himself. Maybe… maybe this could be for him.

Batman, though, doesn’t seem to agree. “One boy died wearing that costume. I’m not taking that risk a third time.”*

Right, okay, that’s understandable, Tim supposes. But they’ve got bigger fish to fry right now. The smile on Tim’s face when he admits to slipping a tracking device on the Rogue carries a bit of pride. Batman needs a Robin. He needs someone watching his back – why doesn’t Nightwing get that?

Somehow, Tim manages to tag along with the Dynamic Duo as they head to confront Two-Face, and by the time that they have him in custody, something in Tim feels like he's burning. This has been the greatest day of his life, getting to work alongside Bruce and Dick (and even Alfred) like this. He didn’t set out to be Robin, but something in the idea has grasped his soul, and he’s still riding on the high of it when the whole group gather back at Wayne Manor.

That soaring feeling only intensifies when Dick smiles as he says, “Bruce, you have to admit he was good.”*

Grudgingly, Bruce agrees to train him.

Tim had never wanted to be a Robin, but God, is he excited to become one.

Tim had been training with Bruce for about a month when he comes down to the Cave one afternoon to hear the quiet rumbling of soft voices. Tim, at his heart, is a stalker (though he typically describes himself as an observer) so he ducks into the doorway to just listen.

“Dick, chum, I don’t know that I can do this.” Oh, Dick’s visiting today? Cool.

A sigh echoes around the cave. “Bruce, I understand, but the kid’s right. Robin helps to keep Batman in check – even you can’t deny the fact that you’ve gotten a bit… unreasonable, out in the field.”

Silence, and then, quietly, “I know.”

There’s some creaking, and in Tim’s minds eye, he uses the sound to arrange the scene. He’s fairly certain that that particular creak only comes when someone leans against the computer’s desk – most likely Dick, in this instance. “So what’s eating at you? I know you pretty damn well, B. I know there’s something you’re stewing on.”

A beat, and then, “I just can’t stop seeing Jason.”

And then there’s the sound of sobbing, and then someone else starts crying, and Tim decides to go back up the stairs.

He forgets, sometimes, that Robin has always been Batman’s son.

It’s impossible to fill those shoes.

Tim ignores the twinge in him at the thought of having a parent that actually loves him enough to mourn him.

It’s been months, now. Tim has taken to going to the manor any chance he can – something about it is so much warmer than Drake Manor.

Especially because there was usually at least someone else there, even if it’s only just Alfred.

He’s sitting at the dining room table doing his biology homework, munching on some baby carrots that Alfred had wordlessly provided, when he hears Bruce come into the manor after a day of work. Tim pays him little mind, as he knows Bruce typically heads immediately up to his study to drop off his business case.

So he’s caught completely off-guard when, all of the sudden, there’s a hand ruffling his hair. Jumping a bit, he looks up, startled like a deer in the headlights, to find Bruce looking down at him, his expression softer than Tim’s seen it since before Jason’s death. “Hey, Bruce.”

Bruce’s eyes seem lighter, somehow. “Hey, kiddo. How are you?”

Tim blinks. Kiddo? Tim hadn’t thought that Bruce was one for nicknames. “I’m doing alright. You?”

Bruce actually smiles a bit. “Good.” He ruffles Tim’s hair one more time before leaving the room.

Tim blinks. What was that?

Shrugging, he goes back to his homework.

The first day Tim goes out on patrol, he can tell that there’s something weighing down on Batman. They only go out for two hours, and Batman keeps such a sharp eye on Tim that it starts to feel stifling.

Still, it’s enough for them to stop a few petty crimes.

The next day, the newspaper headlines read, THE RETURN OF ROBIN.

Dick’s visiting one weekend, and Tim is glued to the computer going over case files. He knows that the recent shipment into Gotham Harbor has a connection to the Penguin, he just needs to find it. Dick’s fiddling with his bike in the background, and Tim honestly has no idea what Bruce is doing.

Ah, scratch that thought. There’s Bruce coming down the stairs now.

Tim spins around on the chair. “Hey B, what do you know about Jonathan Staples?”

Bruce raises an eyebrow. “The international pirate? Why?”

Tim spins back to the computer, humming, fingers flying across the keyboard. “Any chance he has a legitimate reason to bring a shipment in for the Iceberg Lounge?”

Bruce hums and comes up to stand behind him. “It’s not very likely, no.”

Tim feels a smile cross his face and he draws connections. He drags files into a central folder, highlights shipment records and company invoices, checks employment records, cross references with local, state, and federal records, and then…

He smirks and leans back. “Got ‘em,” he breathes out.

Behind him, Bruce chuckles, and Dick must be as taken off guard by it as Tim is, because there’s a metallic cling as he drops the tool he was working with.

Bruce reaches forward and ruffles Tim’s hair, saying with a crooked smile, “Good job, kiddo. Well done.”

Tim… Tim feels loved. It shocks him into a stupor, but Bruce doesn’t seem to notice as he heads over to Dick, who’s sitting on the ground with his mouth open so wide his jaw might as well be on the floor.

Oh, no. Oh no, no, no. He is not thinking of Bruce as his dad. Nope. Not gonna happen.

When Bruce leaves again, Dick comes over, pulls him from his seat, and draws him into a tight hug, whispering thank you over and over again.

Tim just hugs him back.

Tim’s parents go the Caribbean.

Janet doesn’t return.

Jack does only physically.

Bruce assumes emergency guardianship.

Those first couple of nights, there’s always someone at the manor with him. If Bruce is patrolling, Dick’s home. If Dick’s patrolling, Bruce is home.

More than once, Tim wakes up crying, and more than once, Bruce holds him in his arms and rocks him back to sleep, muttering, I know, kiddo, I know, over and over again.

One day, Bruce is forced to stay home, recovering from a rough beating after an encounter with the Riddler of all people, so Dick has come to Gotham to fill in. Nightwing’s been trying to teach him some new flips for a while now, so patrol is both a bit more fun than normal as well as more physically straining. They’re taking a break, resting on a rooftop in the Upper East Side, when Dick brings it up. “So… B calls you kiddo, huh?”

Tim hums and watches the streets around them. There’d been an Arkham breakout last week, and even though they’d manage to put back everyone that had escaped, the general Gotham criminal populace is still lying low in the aftermath. “Yeah, though I’m not sure why. He’s not really one for nicknames, normally. Also, I’m not a kid.”

Dick laughs. “No, of course not. You’re a whopping fourteen years old.”

Tim elbows him in the ribs. “Shut up.”

Dick rubs at the spot and yet keeps chuckling. “You’ve got some bony-ass elbows, baby bird.”

Tim elbows him again. “Shut up.”

That brings on a new round of laughter, and Tim hunches his shoulders in annoyance (and also secret amusement).

When his laughter has died down, Dick slings an arm around his shoulders. “In all seriousness though… him calling you kiddo is a good thing.”

Tim hums and raises an eyebrow. “Yeah? Why?”

Dick releases him and sighs, leaning back on his hands. “The thing about B is… he’s not real good at emotions.”

Tim snorts. “No shit.”

Dick elbows him this time. “Hey, he’s learning!”

That draws a laugh out of Tim. “Right, yeah. Okay.”

Dick gives a crooked little smile before looking back out to the city. “Anyway, B, he has this thing with family. I think that he’s afraid that anyone he claims as family is going to either leave or die.”

And… yeah, Tim could see that. He gives a hum to let Dick know he’s listening.

Dick continues, “And so, he’s not real big on the whole ‘affection’ thing.” God, he even does the air quotes. Tim kind of wants to cringe. “And so, the one way that he lets you know that you’re family is he gives you this nickname.” Dick shrugs. “It’s like a weird christening into the Wayne family, only you get a kiddy nickname instead.”

Tim matches Dick’s posture, leaning back on his hands.  “Really?” He’s a bit skeptical of the idea; it just doesn’t line up.

Dick’s smile softens. “Yeah. He, ah, he calls me chum sometimes.” Dick goes silent, before adding on in a smaller voice, “He called Jason lad.”

But that would mean… that would mean Bruce saw him as family, that Bruce saw him as a son.

Tim doesn’t dare let himself hope.

But God, does he want to.

It finally clicks one night when Bruce comes to check on him. Tim’s not allowed out when the Joker is loose, and always, without fail, Bruce comes and checks in on him whenever he gets back from those particular nights of patrol.

Not feeling particularly up for conversation, Tim feigns sleep when the door opens. Bruce’s footsteps, always shockingly quiet for a man his size, approach the bed, and then there’s a hand on Tim’s forehead, brushing the bangs away.

Tim keeps his breathing steady and deep, letting Bruce draw the comfort that he needs from seeing Tim sleeping safe and sound.

It takes all of his self-restraint to stop his breath from catching when he feels Bruce place a shaking kiss on his forehead. Bruce lingers there for a moment before whispering, “Love you, kiddo.”

Bruce leaves the room, and Tim responds back in his heart, love you too, Dad.

Chapter Text

Cassandra Cain was eight years old the first time she took a life, not that she had the words for it at the time.

She remembers the awful stillness of it, though.

She’d actually been having fun, before she saw it. She’d thought it was a game.

But then she saw the stopping.

She saw his hands stop straining.

She saw his eyelashes stop fluttering.

She saw his chest stop moving.

She watches life stop, and there’s something so horrible in the stopping that something primal is triggered in her, some animalistic understanding that the complete stillness is bad.

That day, she promises never to cause the stopping again.

She runs.

She lives on the streets for years.

She lives through the shaking earth of the Cataclysm. She learns later that the quake was a 7.6 on the Richter scale, largest earthquake in the US outside of the Ring of Fire.

She survives.

The Contagion sweeps through the streets of Gotham, contaminating rich and poor alike, killing all within twelve hours of infection.

She survives.

Through it all, she does what she always does.

She survives.

No Man’s Land happens.

Gotham is completely cut off from the rest of the world.

She remembers watching the bridges blow up.

There was a wild movement of panic. Uneven breathing, shaking hands, upset equilibriums, perspiration.

And then…

There’s people stopping.

This is different, she finds, from the other disasters she’s lived through. This isn’t nature or science doing the stopping. This is humanity doing it.

And even worse, there are people eating those who have stopped.

It’s wrong, and Cass feels the need to do more.

She meets Barbara. She becomes Oracle’s legs on the ground.

She saves the Commissioner’s life.

Something in her sparks.

Suddenly, in the midst of years of survival, she feels life.

Oracle passes her the title of Batgirl.

Cass smiles.

Cass honestly doesn’t know how it happens. She’s a ward of Barbara, and then she’s living with Bruce?

She doesn’t really know the ins and outs of it. She’s just happy to have somewhere to belong.

Even if she has to save an assassin’s life to get Batman to fully trust her.

Cass knows he’s not a bad man. She watches the way his body turns to follow the actions of his sons when he’s not carefully regulating his body language. She sees the tell-tale twitches in his cheek when he sees Nightwing do a particularly showy flip. She notes the reassuring hand he puts on Robin’s shoulder when the teenager is about ready to collapse from overworking.

Oh yes, Cass is quite certain that Bruce Wayne is a good man. The body never lies, after all.

Cass starts to pick up bits and pieces of what they’re saying.

She knows her name, knows words like ‘cave’ and ‘batmobile’ and ‘comm.’

There’s one word, though, that Bruce seems to say when he’s talking to her that she just can’t put a meaning to.

What does princess mean?

He says it again, looking at her where she’s perched on top of the counter in the kitchen, munching on a cookie. “Princess?” He goes on to say something she doesn’t understand.

Pursing her lips, she looks him over. Shoulders relaxed, weight on one hip more than the other, shirt slightly untucked, hands in pockets, socks on the tile…

Overall analysis: at home, relaxed, open.

Shrugging, she hops off the counter and wraps her arms on his waist, letting her head on rest on his chest.

He freezes for a second before chuckling and wrapping his arms around her. Good. Cass likes it when he laughs.

After a bit, she pulls back and pats his cheek, smirking when he raises one eyebrow.

Cass salutes him with her cookie and marches out of the room.

She has this… collection of words that Bruce uses to refer to her.

Angel.

Sweetheart.

Princess.

Firefly.

Sunshine.

She’s fairly certain at least a few of those have another meaning.

She doesn’t quite understand why Bruce calls her those things. All she knows is she reads open-kind-caring in him whenever he uses them.

So when she hears them, she smiles.

A telepath mucks around with Cass’s mind, and all of the sudden, she can understand what people are saying. The words come into her brain, and they’re not background noise, they’re centerstage, and she relishes in the freedom of it.

Her joy doesn’t last long.

She quickly finds out that just because she can understand the meaning behind the words doesn’t mean that she understands the intent. When she thanks a group of women for what she had thought was a compliment and the women giggle, Tim pulls her aside and explains sarcasm. Suddenly, she realizes just how much people lie.

And because of what the telepath did, Cass can no longer read bodies like she used to. The language of human motion and instinctive response has been erased from her mind, leaving her defenseless again the malicious guiles of the Gotham Upper Crust.

And the worst of it… without her knowledge of the language of humanity, she can no longer fight. With so much of her fighting style revolving around response and reaction, the inability to read her opponent has made her unable to defend herself.

Cass cries. Bruce holds her in his arms, assuring her, “We’ll make this right, sweetheart.”

Cass feels subpar. She hates feeling mediocre. But there’s one good side to all of this.

She speaks with her family.

All of the sudden, she finds herself understanding Dick’s puns, and the way he grins when she laughs at his jokes eases her pain.

She finds herself paying attention to Tim’s rambles and theories. The way his mouth gapes open when she asks relative questions eases her pain.

And best of all, she understands Bruce.

You look lovely, princess, when she twirls in a new dress.

Kick their butts, honey, when she’s playing video games with her brothers.

You’ll figure it out, sweetheart, as he teaches her how to hold a pen.

Let’s run it one more time, angel, when she gets frustrated trying to relearn how to fight.

It’s so different from how her birth father always referred to her, how he always interacted with her, that sometimes this incredible, strong, world-renowned fighter’s gentle demeanor makes her just stop and smile.

She’s napping in a living room in the manor when she overhears her brothers talking.

Tim’s voice gets louder as he draws closer. “You ever think that maybe Bruce was meant to have daughters instead of sons?”

Dick snorts. “I swear, I’ve never seen the man dote on anyone in his life before Cass. But that’s okay – I’m self-aware enough to know that I dote on the girl too.”

Tim huffs. “True.”

Cass smiles.

Cass can’t be Batgirl unless she figures out how to fight again. She loves being Batgirl, fighting alongside her dad and her brothers.

So when she hears about a woman who can speak the language of the human body who goes by the name of Lady Shiva, Cass makes up her mind. She’s going to relearn her first language and figure out who she is.

She hugs Bruce, whispering, “Love you, Dad.”

“Love you too, sweetheart.” Bruce tucks her close in the longest hug she’s ever had.

Dick then immediately breaks Bruce’s record. Tim comes close to it himself.

Cass sets out to find Lady Shiva. She needs to learn to communicate again.

As she walks away from what she knows this time, though, she knows she won’t just survive.

After all, she has a home to come back to, now.

Chapter Text

Every single day, Bruce hurts.

It’s not the aching ribs, the throbbing head, the stinging scrapes, the puling stitches. No, it’s none of that.

It’s an ache in his soul, a pain in his heart, and a throbbing in the back of his conscience that tells him every. single. day. that something is missing.

Bruce knows that there’s something wrong with him. He knows that the way he approaches grief and mourning isn’t exactly healthy. He knows that he has self-destructive tendencies. He knows that he dissociates and distances himself. He knows that he doesn’t sleep as much as he could or spend as much time with his loved ones as he should.

Knowing himself, however, doesn’t stop it from hurting.

Bruce has been hurting all of his life. After his parents’ deaths, he remembers feeling just so empty. No matter what he did, he felt empty and angry. Nothing eased.

Nothing except Batman, that is.

And then he took in Dick, and suddenly the emptiness eased a bit. It never went away, not really, but he found it hard to always be angry with a smiling child literally clinging to his back like a monkey. His chum always did know how to make him smile, somehow.

Even when he and Dick fought, even when he drove Dick away, having someone that he loved, someone he knew would come to his aid if it ever came down to it… it helped.

And then he took in Jason, and while it was rough initially, the lad brought so much life into the manor.

Seeing his two boys get along made something come alive in Bruce that he hadn’t even known was still there. Seeing his two boys joke, seeing Dick pulling Jason to his side to give the boy a noogie, it felt like family.

And while it eased the hurt, it also brought a new round of fear, because Bruce… he doesn’t get to have a family. That’s not in the cards for him.

Failing Jason only emphasized the fact.

After Jason dies… the emptiness is gone, and there’s only anger remaining. He pushes Dick further away, ignores Alfred, goes out on the streets more often and for longer periods of time.

Hits harder.

Kicks stronger.

Snarls more.

He knows what the word on the streets is. They say the bat’s lost it. Robin hasn’t been seen in months, and rumors range from the boy falling off a building to the bat himself losing control and killing him.

Bruce doesn’t even remember what happened the night he heard that last one. He came to when he was rinsing the blood from his gauntlets.

He watches the news the next day and is relieved to find that he didn’t kill anyone.

Bruce becomes afraid of himself.

It’s part of the reason why he’s reluctant to take on Tim. Every time he sees the boy move, every time he lands a flip or figures out a new piece of equipment, Bruce doesn’t see Tim – he sees Jason.

Tim is nothing if not persistent though, and soon he worms his way into Bruce’s life and Bruce’s heart. Without realizing it, Bruce ruffles his hair and compliments his work and looks forward to seeing his kiddo in the Batcave.

When Tim loses his parents, Bruce doesn’t hesitate to take him in.

It’s perhaps the best decision he’s ever made.

He starts healing, can feel some of the anger leaving his chest.

God, does he love his kiddo.

All of his children, actually. It’s kind of terrifying how much Bruce loves his sons – including Jason.

And then Gotham goes to shit. It falls apart in the onslaught of natural disasters, epidemics, and politics and corruption.

He comes out of it with a daughter.

Cassandra Cain, his princess, his sweetheart, his angel. A trained assassin, ridiculously smart and yet unable to communicate in a standard way. And sweet, so sweet. He finds his heart absolutely brimming with love whenever she smiles, finds chuckles easier in the face of her simple nonverbal honesty.

Nothing brings Bruce joy like hearing his children bicker on the couch over a video game. Nothing makes him prouder than seeing his kids make a difference in whatever community, team, or occupation that they find themselves in.

But nothing makes the hurt go away.

And so he goes out, night after night, and fights and struggles and tries to help others so that they don’t have to feel the hurt.

Every day, his heart aches.

Every day, he misses his Robin, his Jaylad, his son.

And then the Red Hood comes to town.

Batman follows Red Hood to a chemical plant.

Not just any chemical plant, though. It’s one where he’s had issues with a (different) Red Hood previously. Something in it feels oddly intentional, though he’s not sure how this Red Hood could know about it.

And then Red Hood mocks him about his failure, and something in the way he sarcastically says, “Ah, memories,”* rings in Batman’s head and tells him that he should know the man in front of him.

Then Red Hood blows up the warehouse and all thoughts of familiarity get lost in the need to survive.

When the Red Hood sends a helicopter plummeting off a roof into the traffic below, Bruce spares a moment to be grateful for the fact that Tim is away with the Titans and Cass is still out searching the world. It’s dangerous enough being a vigilante in Gotham even when all the players are known, and when a new player comes rolling onto the field, well… things get dicey.

When Nightwing catches him midair after they manage to stop the helicopter’s fall, he finds himself similarly grateful that his oldest just happened to be in town. If there’s anyone he trusts to catch him when he’s falling, it’s Dick.

Noticing their pursuit, Red Hood takes off across the roofs of Gotham. He runs fearlessly across the precarious surfaces with a grace that has Batman frowning. Very few people that he knows are capable of doing that, even fewer outside of his immediate family. This Red Hood is trained, and trained well.

Then Red Hood flings himself onto a neighboring construction scaffolding and keeps running despite physically plowing his way onto a new path, and Batman is struck again by that eerie déjà vu, like he’s seen someone do something similar before. Tucking it away in the back of his mind, he throws a batarang at the man, who easily dodges it, seemingly without even thinking.

Who is he?

Of course, Batman’s inner musings get distracted again when the man blows up an air tank in an effort to evade capture.

The pursuit continues, and Batman suddenly gets a weird, insane feeling that they’re playing a game of tag all across Gotham, including atop the police dirigible. Nightwing seems to share his sentiments, puffing out a grudging, “He’s good.”*

Batman hates having to agree.

The Red Hood takes a large leap, and Batman sees his opening. He throws out a line, watching as it starts to wrap the man’s legs. This is it, he knows, satisfied, and goes to pull it tight…

Only for the man to flip around in mid air and slice the line before it goes taught.

Nightwing makes a noise of disbelief. “He’s very good.”*

Okay, now Batman’s annoyed. Yes, thank you so much for the commentary, Dick. He grunts out, “Nothing we haven’t seen before,”* as they continue the chase and pointedly ignores Dick’s If you say so.

They finally track the Red Hood to a train station, only to find it rigged with a bomb, because of course, why not, it’s just par for course for the night. It explodes, and Nightwing goes down.

Red Hood watches on, and Batman is starting to hate that damn mask. The man is perched on a motorcycle, offering a snide comment that gets covered by the incoming train. He takes off, but Bruce has more important things to do.

Nightwing lays on the ground, clutching a leg and grimacing. Bruce goes to kneel next to him. “Chum?”

Dick huffs. “Heya, B. I, ah, might need a ride. Fairly certain this is broken.”

Bruce takes a deep breath to calm himself. He hates it when any of his children are injured, and he has to push down the immediate anger response to go and seek out the Red Hood.

Right now, his son needs help.

It’s only after Dick’s leg has been treated that Bruce finds the time to listen to Red Hood’s parting comment.

You haven’t lost your touch, Bruce.*

Bruce feels the ground go out from beneath him.

Whoever this man is, he knows Batman’s identity.

His family is at risk.

Several nights later, Batman gets word that the Fearsome Hand of Four have been deployed. A group of mercenaries with advanced tech at their disposal, it’s not often someone with a large enough wallet finds themselves in need of the Four’s service, and their contracts usually bear investigating.

Batman tracks them through the city to find them all centered around a man in an abandoned yard by the train tracks. Th lighting is poor, and Batman can’t really identify anything about the man through the crowd that surrounds him. The man’s down on the ground, and he hears one of the Four say, “I thought you’d put up more of a fight.”*

Bruce frowns but nevertheless gets in position to intervene, placing his grappling hook in the right spot for the landing point in question. Someone hired the Four to take out one man? Batman’s getting into position when he hears the man in question say, “Oh, the fight hasn’t started yet.”* Batman leaps, and the man raises his head enough for Batman to see that it’s a helmet on his head, and as he’s flying through the air, Batman hears the Red Hood say, “I’m just stalling.”*

Batman lands and stops the incoming blow, but for a second, he’s not sure who he should be fighting. Then he thinks back to his experiences with the Red Hood, how the man always seemed more intent on evading capture than causing harm, how his movements caused those weird flashes of familiarity, and, before he knows it, he’s set his back to Red Hood’s, who mutters a sarcastic, “What the hell took you so long?”*

Batman blames the fact that he gets regularly sassed by his children for his response of, “Shut up and fight,”* that comes off sounding more like something a tired dad would say than it should.

And so they fight.

And they do it well.

Batman has had enough experience between fighting with the JL and various other heroes as well as his children to know that you need experience fighting with someone for it to click, and yet… He and Hood fight seamlessly. Without speaking, they know who to go for, and wordlessly they get to work. It’s better then when he’s fought alongside Oliver or Barry or Clark…

It feels like he’s fighting alongside family, and that unnerves Batman more than he’d like to admit. Add the experience to all the déjà vu that he’s experienced with the man earlier, and a picture is starting to form in Bruce’s mind.

He can’t decide if he wants it to be true or not.

The Four go down in no time, and Hood glances over of him, huffing out, “I gotta say, I missed watching you work.”* Another statement to add to his mental file of the man.

Hood looks at him fully, and then his posture shifts. Bruce prepares himself for an attack.

He is not prepared for the man to yell out, “Look out,” and leap toward him, pushing Batman out of the way energy beam by Shot and taking the beam himself. Red Hood goes flying, and Bruce feels something in him get kicked into gear. If his suspicions are correct… No one gets to treat one of his own like that.

No one threatens his son like that.

There’s a skirmish, and somehow, Shot ends up on top of Hood, his beam centered right on Hood’s helmet. Bruce’s veins run with ice at the thought of the man’s death (is he really a man, though? If Bruce is right, he’s just a kid, a teenager still-). His voice is cold, as he tells shot, “Let him go, and step away.”*

And then one thing leads to another, and Shot is dead.

Bruce gets mad.

Hood gets mad.

When Hood starts to yell, Bruce sees something in him. He hears the desperation in the voice, he sees the frustration and fear in the posture, he feels betrayal and hurt in the words.

He sees his son.

No, not yet, he thinks. Not until he can confirm it for sure. Bruce held his son’s dead body in his arms, he beat the Joker until he was in a body cast for months, he buried his boy. The odds that the man in front of him is Jason are slim to none. He needs to be sure.

But he also lives in a world of myths and magic and science fiction made real. People have come back from the dead before.

And maybe, just maybe, somehow, miraculously, his son is alive.

And maybe that’s what prompts him to say, “Tell me what happened to you. I can help.”*

It’s not Batman that says it.

And maybe Hood can sense the difference, because his shoulders sag and something about him screams hopeless. Hood’s voice drops as he says, “It’s too late.”*

Bruce takes a step forward, reaching out a hand in spite of himself.

Hood turns away. “You had your chance.”*

Hood sets off a smoke grenade.

Batman loses him. Bruce uses all of his personal discipline to avoid immediately searching the area.

He needs to be sure.

His gaze lands on the sword that the leader had used to cut Hood. The man’s blood is still on the blade.

Crouching down, Bruce picks it up by the hilt. He turns it so that both the blood and the blade gleam in the faint light. Nodding to himself, he carefully packages the sword for transport.

Just a DNA test, and then he’ll know for sure.

One DNA test, and he’ll be able to tell if the universe has blessed him or cursed him.

The DNA matches.

Bruce sits back heavily in his chair and runs a hand through his hair.

It’s Jason.

There’s a clatter, and he turns to find Alfred staring at the screen in disbelief, the tray he was holding in pieces on the ground. “How?” the butler breathes out.

Bruce swallows and looks back to the screen. “I don’t know.” He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, trying to process it.

It’s Jason.

His logical brain runs through possibilities. One, it’s his son resurrected. Two, it’s a clone of some kind – unlikely, but not unheard of. Three, it’s just his son’s body, controlled by dark magic – also not unheard of. Four-

A hand on his shoulders startles him out of his spiral. Bruce glances up to find Dick at his side, face pale as he stares at the screen with his mouth open, his crutches resting against the desk. “Is it really-“

It’s Jason.

“Yes,” Bruce whispers in response. Maybe he’s being unreasonable, maybe he’s being hasty and making decisions despite reasonable doubt, but he’s a father, damnit, and that’s his son. A father knows his son. “It’s him.”

Dick wobbles on his one good foot and Bruce immediately stands up to support him. His eldest son leans into his arms, gaze still stuck on the test results. “But… but why didn’t he come home?”

Bruce swallows and gives in, wrapping Dick up in a hug. “I don’t know, chum. I don’t know.”

He says nothing when Dick starts to cry.

Dick says nothing when Bruce himself starts to cry.

Bruce needs answers.

He goes to Ra’s al Ghul.

He probably could have taken a better approach than pinning the man on the ground in the middle of League’s stronghold, but Bruce is angry and needs answers and he was not about to wait for a ‘perfect moment.’

Bruce manages to restrain himself enough for Ra’s to explain his side, gritting his teeth through the whole monologue. When Ra’s admits to hiring the Joker, Bruce clenches his fists. How could Ra’s have ever thought he could control the Joker?

Bruce holds in his snarl. The pride of Ra’s truly knows no bounds.

Still, Bruce gets his answers.

The Lazarus Pit.

He wouldn’t wish it on his worst enemies.

He doesn’t even know what effect it would have on someone it brought back from the dead.

Bruce’s heart aches just thinking about the suffering that his son must have gone through. The pain he felt upon his resurrection, the struggle of being trained by and integrated into the League, the fear of not knowing where he is, what’s going on, or where is family is…

He would have been in a very vulnerable place. Easily manipulated.

Bruce leaves while Ra’s continues monologuing. He has the answers he came for.

Now it’s time to save his son.

On the flight back to Gotham, he sends Dick a message, asking him to tell Tim to stay a while longer with the Titans. Right now, he doesn’t want Tim anywhere near Jason.

He gets Dick’s affirmative text back right as Alfred calls him to give a pep talk. Bruce honestly doesn’t want anything to do with it. “It’s a hell of my own making, Alfred.”* Bruce failed him once. He doesn’t even want to think about failing him again. He thinks of the bright boy with endless potential that he caught that night in Crime Alley. He thinks of how brightly he shone when given care, attention, and the basic necessities of life.

He thinks of his son, and his mind struggles to reconcile that image with his profile of Red Hood.

“Sir, this is not your doing. You loved him, he knows that; it should be enough!”* Alfred argues.

Part of Bruce can’t help but wonder: did Jason know? Before his death, he and Bruce fought. A lot. Could it be that Jason doesn’t know that that Bruce would do about anything to see him happy and healthy?

Bruce is a dangerous person to love, he knows that. Those who love him often get hurt. Odds are, Jason’s one of those people.

Then they get the news feed of what’s going down on the bridge.

If the batplane wasn’t already at its maximum speed, he would have gunned it.

He’s got a son to save.

Bruce loses both Red Hood and Joker as he flies over the Gotham River.

Red Hood’s message to meet in Crime Alley leaves an eerie feeling in the air.

Guided by instinct, Bruce goes to the same spot where he found Jason stealing his tires.  A slight smile appears in spite of the circumstances as he remembers that scrawny little boy, covered in dirt and grease, who had the gall to steal from Batman.

The unexpectedly timid “Hello” from the alley entrance sends Bruce spinning. Whirling around, he sees his son standing there. “So glad you could make it,”* Red Hood says.

Bruce can’t bring himself to say anything.

That’s Jason.

Bruce eyes him. Good, strong build. Likely larger than he would have attained without the Pit, based on the malnourished state Bruce found him in. Broad shoulders, narrow waist. At least he’s physically healthy.

That’s Jason.

Hood’s stance shifts a bit at Bruce’s silence. “Uhm, B? Anybody home in there?”

The slight sass knocks Bruce out of his revelry enough for him to breathe out, “Jason.”

Bruce hates that damn helmet. He just wants to see his son’s face.

He must have startled the boy, because Jason stiffens, then without warning throws a handful of throwing stars and runs.

Bruce doesn’t hesitate. He does what he should have done all those years ago.

He follows his son.

Up the fire escape, across the roof, down onto the top of the church. Bruce won’t let his son run away, not again, not when he needs help.

Red Hood stops running and faces Bruce, stance weary and defensive, hands raised to protect himself if necessary. “This ends now, Bruce,” he yells.

Bruce stops about ten yards away. Slowly, ever so slowly, he reaches up and pulls off his cowl. Without thinking, Bruce drops it to the side. “Jason,” he says again, too overcome by everything to think of anything else to say.

That’s Jason.

Red Hood slowly lowers his hands, though his stance doesn’t change. Reaching up, he takes off his helmet, and Bruce’s breath catches.

That’s his son. Even with the mask still covering the man’s eyes, that’s Jason. It’s Jason’s strong jaw, and his dark hair, and his sharp cheeks.

That’s Jason.

And Bruce hates how unsure he looks. Bruce sees the anger, the frustration, sees himself in it, but looking past the surface he sees the fear and the confusion. “What do you think you’re doing, old man?” Jason barks at him.

Bruce takes a hesitant, careful, slow step forward. “Looking at my son,” he responds quietly.

Jason scoffs and drops his helmet to his feet. “Right, your son. You remember that I’ve killed people, right? You know that I’m a trained assassin? That I’m the fastest up and coming drug lord in Gotham? You want someone like that as your son?” Jason punctuates his speech by kicking the helmet toward Bruce.

Bruce stops the helmet with his foot and grimaces. In the joy of finding out that his son is alive, he’d honestly forgotten the accompanying circumstances. Still…

That’s Jason.

“Jason, please,” he pleads, “I know about the Pit-“

Jason’s expression turns ugly as he snarls. “Right, let’s blame all of my wrongdoing on the Pit, shall we?”

Bruce takes his foot off the helmet and steps forward. “Jason, please, I love y-“

Jason turns his back. “Don’t you dare finish that sentence, old man.” He fishes in his jacket pocket and pulls out a device. “You’ve made it perfectly clear how you feel about me.”

He presses a button, and Bruce sees the eyes the helmet light up. Oh, no. Bruce dives away, protecting his head as the helmet explodes. He looks wide eyed at the burning fire, utterly terrified by the thought that his son has been wearing a bomb on his head. What that tells him about his son’s mental state is perhaps more frightening than the fact that Jason just tried to blow up his adopted father.

Shaking himself out of it, Bruce picks up the cowl and tugs it back on as he runs off after Hood. The man runs across the rooftops eventually ending in the old, abandoned courthouse. Bruce follows without hesitation. Jason seems to be trying to instigate a fight, throwing small explosives and various weapons at Bruce as he flees, but Bruce does give in. He refuses to hurt his son any more than he already has.

“Jason, please!” Bruce doesn’t know what he’s asking Jason to do, not really.

Please, forgive me.

Please, stop running.

Please, let me help you.

Please, come home.

Jason rounds a corner and Bruce loses sight of him for a split second.

That second is enough.

When Bruce enters the room, he comes face to face with the barrel of a 9 mm pistol. “This isn’t about you letting me die, Bruce,” Jason says, gun trained on Bruce. Though his hold is steady, his voice shakes. “I’ve forgiven you for not saving me.”*

Bruce swallows roughly, those words for some reason making him want to cry.

Jason continues, “But why, why on God’s earth, is he still alive?!”* Jason kicks down a closet door to reveal the Joker, tied up to a chair.

Right. The Joker’s still loose, technically speaking. Bruce can’t believe he forgot that little fact.

Then again, he’s literally speaking to his not-dead dead son. There’s a lot going on tonight.

The Joker starts going off on some tangent or another, and honestly, Bruce can’t blame Jason for how he whips the madman in the face with his pistol.

The Joker down on the ground, Jason focuses his gun back on Bruce before letting it fall slightly. “If it had been you that he’d beat to a bloody pulp, if he had taken you from this world, I would’ve done nothing but search the planet for this pathetic pile of evil, death-worshipping garbage and sent him off to hell!”*

Bruce’s heart aches at hearing his son admit how much he used to love Bruce. His hands come slightly forward, palms out. “You don’t understand,”* he pleads.

The pistol comes back up. “What don’t I understand?”

The Joker’s lying on the floor, watching everything that’s going on like it’s the latest episode of his favorite telenovela, but Bruce forces himself to ignore it. “You don’t understand how easy it would be.”

Bruce takes a step forward, and the gun doesn’t waver. “Damnit Jason, but I’m not like you! If I started killing, I wouldn’t stop until every petty piece of scum on the streets was dead!”

Jason’s mouth goes slack, and through the white lenses of his mask, Bruce sees his eyes widen. Bruce wonders if he understood the underlying compliment in that exclamation. “What?”

Bruce swallows thickly. “I know myself well enough. If I killed the Joker, next it would be Bane, and then Penguin, and then...” Bruce looks away and breathes in to center himself. “After… after you died, I went of the deep end. You wouldn’t believe how badly I wanted to kill the Joker. But then Clark said something to me, something that I’ll never forget.”

He takes a step forward. Jason’s attention is riveted to him. “He said, You’re focusing on Jason’s death. How will you honor his life with who you are becoming?”

Jason’s gun is dangling at his side now. Bruce is only a few feet away from his son. “And… and I found that I couldn’t look at who I was becoming and think that there was any way that you’d be proud of me.”

One more step, and Bruce is there, with his son. He raises a shaking hand and places it on his son’s cheek. Jason’s crying, the mask on his face damp. Bruce doesn’t say anything, as he’s pretty sure he’s crying too. “Jason, Jay, Jaylad, I was so angry, still am. I was a danger, a risk, a liability, and I couldn’t look at that person and say that it’s someone I’d want you to call Dad.”

His hand slips down to Jason’s shoulder and Bruce bows his head, placing himself in a position of vulnerability that he knows his son won’t mistake. “If I crossed that last line, Jason, I would have turned into Gotham’s next madman, and I couldn’t let that be your legacy. You deserve so much more than that, lad.”

Jason huffs out a wet laugh that turns into a sob. “There you go again, ruining all of my plans, old man.”

Bruce dares to let himself hope.

“Oh, boo!” the Joker yells, making both Bruce and Jason jump. “There you go again, raining on my parade, Batman! Why’d you have to ruin such a good party, huh?”

They’d forgotten about the Joker.

Careless mistake.

Somehow, the Joker’s managed to get loose. He pushes himself up from the floor and then lunges for Jason. “Every party gets busted when the parents show up!” He cackles madly as he starts grappling with Jason on the floor. Jason hits his head, and Bruce sees red.

“No!” Bruce yells, grabbing the back of the Joker’s jacket and throwing him across the room. “I won’t let you take him from me again.” Bruce plants himself between the Joker and Jason (who’s holding his head and groaning), fists raised. “Never again,” he swears.

The Joker laughs and pushes himself up on one elbow. “Promises, promises! You know what they say about promises?” With his other hand, the Joker holds up the device Bruce had seen Jason use earlier. “Don’t make ‘em if you can’t keep 'em.”

The Joker pushes a button, and then…

Beep.

Beep.

Beep.

Bruce whirls around to find the source.

Beep.

There, in the corner. A bomb.

Beep.

Timer set: 10 seconds remaining.

Jason must have set it when he brought the Joker here.

Beep.

Beep.

There’s no time.

Running, Bruce grabs Jason and pulls him away from the bomb.

Beep.

There’s no time.

Beep.

Let the Joker fend for himself.

Beep.

Bruce throws Jason behind some furniture.

Beep.

He throws himself over the top of his son.

Beep.

He drapes his cape best he can over the two of them.

Beep.

He refuses to lose his son again.

Beep.

Beep.

BOOM.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

It takes Bruce a bit to come to after the explosion. His ears are ringing, his body’s aching, and he fairly certain he’s at least cracked a few ribs. Coughing, he pushes himself up from the ground.

Jason’s a few feet away, his rattling breathing enough to ease some of Bruce’s worry. Bruce stumbles to him, checks his pulse, takes a moment to listen to his breathing, and sighs in relief. Nothing life threatening. He’ll be okay.

Forcing himself to his feet, he tries to locate the Joker. It takes a bit, but Bruce is eventually able to following the cackling and finds the Joker pinned under several large slabs of rubble. He’s not going anywhere.

Bruce leaves him for the police to find.  He has more important things to deal with.

Returning to Jason, Bruce kneels and picks up the teen, cradling him in his arms. He gets a flash to the last time this happened, the last time he got to hold Jason.

For a second, he thinks he might crumble.

Then he hears Jason breathe again, and Bruce snaps himself out it. Jason needs help right now. He carefully makes his way out of the rubble and to the batplane.

He takes his son home.  

Chapter Text

The first thing that Jason becomes aware of is the throbbing in his head. He groans and then immediately regrets it when his body suddenly makes him very aware that everything is hurting.

Jay? Jason?

Jason knows that voice, but now he also knows he must be dreaming. “D-dad?” Jason tries to open his eyes, but the bright light makes him squeeze them shut immediately as a wave of vertigo hits.

Someone grips his hand. I’m here, Jaylad, I’m here.

The next time Jason wakes up, the pain has lessened, thank fuck. He can still feel his heartbeat in his ear drums, but hey, there’s no longer pins and needles in his feet, so he’ll take what he can get.

Scrunching his eyes tight and then forcing him open, he’s relieved to find that the light is dimmer than before as well. Okay, cool.

Now, where the hell is he?

He tries to shift position, move his arms, get a look around, only to find that he’s restrained to the bed.

Well, crap.

He forces down the rising panic. Swallowing, he flexes his arms and legs, testing the bands. There’s very little give, and his anxiety skyrockets.

No, no, no, no.

Jason can feel the Pit rising to the surface, and he tries to force it back down because there’s no way that he wants to lose control right now, but he feels the Pit’s influence running through his veins like acid, can hear it leaking into his voice as he yells. He thrashes against the bonds and screams and-

“JASON!”

There are hands on him, holding him down, restraining him more, and there are voices ringing out around him, but in his panic Jason can’t see any of it, he just wants to get free-

“Jaylad!”

There are hands on his face, strong and insistent, and blue eyes flood his vision, and Jason knows that voice, that voice, it’s safe, it’s home, it’s anger, it’s betrayal, it’s love, it’s “D-dad?”

Holy fuck, it is Bruce. Jason can’t exactly remember what happened, but he never expected to be close to the man like this again.

And Bruce looks… broken. His breathing is uneven, hitching over the tears in his eyes, and yet there’s a small, disbelieving smile on his face. “It’s me, Jaylad, you’re here. You’re safe.”

Jason’s still breathing heavily, and he swallows thickly. “Let me up.” The Pit retreats a bit, but it’s still there and threatening, and Jason needs to get loose now-

Bruce’s smile disappears. “I don’t think that’s a good idea-“

“Let me up now!” Jason hears the Pit in the growl behind his yell, and he starts hyperventilating, and-

“B, just let him loose, damn it, or I’ll hobble over there and do it myself!” someone else yells, and the way that it echoes is familiar and he must be in the cave damnit-

“I’m on it!” Bruce responds, and then the bands on his legs loosen, followed by his arms, and the second that the one around his torso is gone, Jason leaps from the bed and places his back to the closest wall. He spreads his legs out, one foot slightly in front of the other, tucks his head down, and raises his fists defensively.

For a second, the only sound in the cave in Jason’s ragged breathing. Slowly, Jason’s vision clears up and he’s able to see what’s going on. Bruce stands a few yards away, gaze centered on Jason, hands raised up and empty. About halfway across the cave, the first Boy Wonder balances on a pair of crutches, his left leg in a cast. And the cave itself… it looks almost exactly the same. Some technology upgrades, but for the most part, the same.

He forces his breathing to slow, though he doesn’t let up on his defensive posture. “This… this wasn’t part of the plan,” he mutters.

Bruce takes a step forward and then freezes when Jason tenses up. “It’s okay, Jason,” he says, voice weirdly smooth and calm. It immediately reminds Jason of the times when Bruce would comfort him after a nightmare or a rough patrol, and rather than ease his nerves, it sets him on edge.

Bruce takes another step forward, and instinctively, Jason yells, “Stay back!”

Bruce immediately stills, but his face remains carefully calm. “Do you remember what happened, Jason?”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Jason bites back. “I remember that scene on the bridge, and getting the Joker – “

Bruce looks weirdly hopeful when he asks, “Do you remember what we talked about?”

Jason scrunches his eyebrows. “The hell you mean? I was going to make the Joker pay, and you…” Jason pauses, and things start coming to him.

“You…”

Bruce staring at him like he’s an angel from heaven.

“You…”

Bruce being so focused on him that he literally forgot about the Joker.

“You were…”

Bruce crying for him while wearing the cowl.

“You said…”

You deserve so much more than that, lad.

There are arms around him, and Jason finds himself wondering when the hell he’d lowered his defense and when the hell Bruce had gotten to him and when the hell he’d started crying but then-

Hearing his dad’s wet voice say, “I love you so much, lad. We’ll figure this out,” seems to break something in him. His legs give out and Bruce takes his entire weight, and the only thing Jason can do is cry.

Jason’s honestly surprised that it takes Dick a full day to find him.

Jason’s spent the day wandering the manor, fighting back the old dreams and nightmares that come rushing back at odd times and strange triggers. He wants to leave, but at the same time, he dreads it, and so he gets stuck in this wandering limbo like something out of the fucking Twilight Zone.

Dick finds him in the library, fingering through his old, worn copy of Persuasion. Jason hears him enter (hard to be conspicuous on those crutches, after all) but refuses to look away from the book in his hands. “Did you know,” he says, “that all of these books here are in the exact same order that I left them?”

Dick comes to stand beside him quietly, leaning heavily on the crutches. “Of course they are. That’s your shelf.” Dick reaches out and runs a hand down the broken spine of Pride and Prejudice.

Jason’s throat clogs up and he gently slips the book back on the shelf. He walks to the end of the aisle and slips around the corner, fingers running along the spines of the books. “Heard you moved to Bludhaven. Titans tower get too small?” Jason winces as the crutches thud behind him. “Sorry about the leg.”

Dick hums. “Yeah, it felt weird calling myself a teen titan once I turned twenty, you know?” He ignores Jason’s apology.

Jason takes a deep breath and moves down to the end of the aisle. “I, ah, guess I can see that.”

They’re silent for a few minutes, Jason wandering the library, picking up a book here and there, Dick plodding along on his crutches behind him. They end up in front of one of the large windows that overlooks the garden out back. Jason can see Dick’s reflection in the glass, but he does his best to avoid looking at the man.  Jason works up the nerve to ask the question that’s been on his mind for weeks, ever since he came back to Gotham, really. “So, ah, where’s the Replacement?”

Oh fuck, that would be the Pit rising up, making the question bitter. He swallows it down with a grimace, but it leaves a bitter taste in his mouth.

He can feel Dick watching him in the glass as he responds, “Tim’s no more your replacement than you were mine, Little Wing.” Dick ducks his head and looks to the side. “And he’s at Titans tower. Bruce tends to get, ah, antsy whenever a new player comes to town.”

Jason snorts. “Right, nothing like an unexpected guest to kill the mood.” Dick winces, and Jason finally makes eye contact with him in the window. “Sorry.”

Dick shakes his head. “No, you’re not.”

Jason actually smiles a bit at that, even though it’s a little shaky. “No, I’m not.”

Dick laughs, but it comes out as more of a sob, and then he’s throwing himself at Jason in a monster hug, the crutches clattering to the ground. When Jason wraps his arms around the older man, he can’t help but wonder if his family will ever stop crying around him.

Alfred is the easiest to be around.

He makes Jason’s favorite dishes, ensures that Jason knows where to meet him for teatime, points him to his old room.

Even Alfred can’t hide his disbelieving smile and wet eyes when he looks at Jason sometimes.

Jason hasn’t seen Bruce since that night in the Cave.

Jason comes downstairs for breakfast to find a black-haired kid there sipping on coffee and munching a muffin. Jason blinks. “Um, hello?”

The kid looks up briefly before doing a double-take. “Jason?”

Jason shifts uncomfortably. “Um, yeah? Who the hell are you?”

The kid grins and leaps to his feet. “I’m Tim.”

Tim? Why is that name familiar? He’s heard it before, he knows, maybe from Dick-?

Shit.

That’s him, the Replacement, the proof that Jason was nothing special. The Pit starts roaring in his ears.

The kid takes a step forward. “Jason?”

No, nope, no way. If Jason stays here, something bad is going to happen. Jason backs up and feels his back thump into the doorframe.

Thankfully, the kid seems to pick up on some the hints that Jason is oh so subtly dropping and stays where he is, brow wrinkled and head cocked. “You okay?”

Jason is shaking his head and his breathing is getting faster and his fists are clenching and itching to reach for weapons and so-

He runs.

He turns out of the door blindly, keeping his hands away from his body to stop them from reaching the various weapons hidden on his person. He trips on more than one piece of furniture before he finally makes it to the set of glass doors, out onto the back porch and then he’s racing into the trees.

He just runs.

Sometimes Jason forgets just how tiny he used to be.

He stands at the base a red maple tree, his red maple tree, the one he would perch in to read on the rare sunny days that they would get in Gotham. He reaches out a hand and feels the rough bark against his fingers. There’s something grounding (heh) about being in physical contact with nature again after being in that cesspool of a city for so long, so he closes his eyes and leans his forehead against the bark, inhaling deeply.

God, he’s such a fuckup.

Why is he even still here?

Turning around, Jason sinks to the ground and leans against the tree. He tilts his head backward and lets it thunk against the trunk, closing his eyes.

He should just leave, honestly. Go back to building his criminal empire and reinventing the Gotham crime scene.

It would be better for everyone.

A regular thudding click sounds softly and repeatedly on the grass and Jason grimaces. “Really, Dickie? Why the fuck are you out here when you’re on crutches?”

Dick huffs and sounds a bit out of breath when he replies, “’Cause Bruce is an idiot.”

Jason chuckles and cracks an eye to watch Dick gingerly situate himself on the ground beside him. “No arguments from me on that.” He closes his eyes again. “You know you’re going to regret that when you try to get back up, right?”

Dick grunts as he adjusts his position. “Yeah, well, that’s future Dick’s problem.”

Jason snorts and lets himself shift a bit closer to his brother. “So, what’s the big bad Bat done this time?”

Dick keeps wiggling around. “Damn root in my back,” he mutters, before shaking his head. “You mean besides showing all of the emotional intelligence of white rice?”

Jason turns his head enough to catch his brother’s profile out of the corner of his eye. “And this is a new development how?”

Dick just keeps shifting. “Jesus Christ,” Jason mutters before reaching over and bodily moving Dick to be sitting right next to him on a mercifully root free spot, even if it places Dick rather uncomfortably within his personal bubble. “Better?”

Dick smiles and tucks himself into Jason’s side. “Much.”

Jason rolls his eyes. “Heavens above, if you wanted a hug, you just had to ask.” Jason huffs and pulls his arm out from between them to wrap it around Dick’s shoulders.

Dick’s smile turns a bit sheepish. “I’m just… not sure if touch is something you’re okay with, you know?” Dick rests his head on Jason’s shoulder. “You know, I think it just hit me how much you’ve grown. You’re bigger than me, now.”

Jason grunts, then prompts, “Bruce?”

Dick sighs. “Right, yeah. Has he, ah, spoken to you, like at all?”

Jason lets his head rest on top of Dick’s. “Were you honestly expecting him to? The second things get rough emotionally, the idiot starts distancing himself from anyone and everyone. I haven’t been around the man for years, and that still hasn’t changed at all.”

Dick grumbles something unintelligible under his breath before saying. “I know that it doesn’t seem like it, but he’s getting better, honestly.”

Jason snorts and jostles their little impromptu cuddle pile. “Oh, yeah, pull the other one.”

Dick somehow manages to elbow him – Jason’s not sure how. “I’m being serious here.”

Jason rolls his eyes, not that Dick can see it. “Yeah, right, okay, what the hell, why not? Even a positively ancient dog can learn a new trick, I guess.”

There’s the faint sound of someone yelling, and soon enough the person is close enough for them to make out the call of “Dick, Dick, are you out here?”

Jason tenses. It’s… it’s Tim, and his instincts are telling him to run, but Dick is half on top of him with a broken leg that’s his fault, and he doesn’t know what to do. He goes completely stiff, and he knows that Dick feels it, because his brother mutters, “Want me to tell him to go away?”

Jason almost says yes, but then…

He’d thought that he was completely done with his previous family, and yet here he is, sitting with his older brother in his childhood backyard. Jason had never really blamed Dick, actually. His ire was pretty much focused on the Bat himself and the Replacement. He’s perfectly fine being around Dick, and honestly, it’s weirdly like they’ve just kind of fallen back into place. He always knew that Dick was basically goodness incarnate, if one discounted that nasty temper of his, but Dick’s ability to forgive is so large that it borderlines passing from a virtue to fault. Being with Dick is easy and simple, and then there’s Alfred too…

Call him selfish, but Jason doesn’t want to lose his family again. If there’s one thing that he learned while he was with the League, it’s the difference that having someone to watch your back can make. He’s gone years without back up – he doesn’t want it to go on.

And if he knows Dick at all, he knows that this kid Tim is already fully ingrained in Dick’s heart and life.

So swallowing down the Pit’s poison, Jason says, “It, ah, it should be okay. As long as he, you know, doesn’t get to close.”

Dick pulls out of their cuddle pile long enough to look Jason over critically. His eyes roam all over Jason’s face, taking in all the little ticks and twitches of his facial muscles. Jason tries to keep calm and portray nothing but self-assurance, and soon enough, Dick nods to himself.

Dick leans back against the tree. “Over here, Tim!”

Soon enough, the kid comes jogging over to them. “Hey, guys!”

Jason stares at him. “Oh my gosh, Dick. He’s so little. And you’re saying that the Bat actually lets him out?”

Dick snorts. “Not all of us can be massive pieces of muscle, Jason.”

Jason raises an eyebrow. “Massive pieces of muscle?”

Dick just elbows him.

The kid is smiling nervously and fidgeting with his hands when he approaches. His gaze keeps flicking all over the place, and he’s bouncing on the balls of his feet and-

-And he’s just a kid. Gosh, what is he, thirteen?

Just a dumb young kid.

The bitterness of the Pit sinks back, and Jason’s shoulders relax a bit. Just a dumb kid. Right.

Thankfully, the kid seems smart enough and sinks on the ground a good fifteen feet from them. “I’m sorry, Jason, I didn’t mean to startle you.”

Dick snorts. “Timmy here’s not even supposed to be back yet. He snuck away from Titans tower because he wanted to meet you.” Tim’s indignant Dick! makes Dick laugh.

“I’m honored,” Jason says dryly.

The kid grins anxiously, his hands twitching in his lap. Pete’s sake, someone get this kid a fidget cube or something. “I just… I think that you’re the absolute coolest and I really can’t believe that I get to meet you! Dick’s incredible and all that, but you were my Robin.”

Okay, so that’s a lot to unpack. “Your Robin?”

The kid turns bright red and shuts his mouth, but Dick laughs again. “Uh uh, Baby Bird. Go on, tell Jason why he’s your Robin.”

The kid shakes his head, and Jason is intrigued in spite of himself. “I’m sensing a story here.”

Dick gives a shit-eating grin. “You see, Timmy here used to be quite the mini stalker. He would follow Batman and Robin around town and-“

Tim bounces up to his knees and seems to be restraining himself from tackling Dick. “Shut up!”

Jason feels like he’s missing something here. “And what?”

Heaven’s sake, even the kid’s ears are red. “I would, ah, take pictures. You know. Of Batman. And Robin. Meaning, you.”

Jason’s jaw drops. “You – what?”

The kid sinks back down and crosses his legs, burying his head in his hands. “You were my heroes, okay?”

Jason literally cannot even process the thought. “What?”

Dick snorts. “If you think that’s bad, ask how he became Robin?”

Jason has no idea what to expect. “What did you do?”

The kid looks up from his hands to glare at Dick, mouth firmly shut. Dick just raises an eyebrow. When Tim seems unlikely to talk, he says, “Tim stole the Robin suit to follow me and Bruce into a fight with Two-Face.”

Jason doesn’t think his jaw can get any closer to the ground. “Shut up.”

Tim huffs and folds his arms. “They needed help, alright?!”

In spite of himself, Jason finds a grin starting to spread. “Oh my God, you’re a little shit.”

Tim looks scandalized. “Hey!”

Dick just laughs.

Jason’s grin turns a bit mischievous, and he lets himself have some fun. “You know what this means, right?”

Tim cocks his head to the side. “What?”

Jason’s grin goes crooked. “Bruce totally has a type.”

That gets even the kid laughing, and Jason thinks that maybe, just maybe, he can do this.

He can’t do this.

He’s sitting on a window bench in the library, legs pulled up on the seat, reading Pride and Prejudice, when Bruce unexpectedly comes and sits in a nearby armchair.

That was five minutes ago.

Finally, Jason sighs and slips his bookmark in pages. “Alright, Bruce, this is a new low, even for you. Spit it out.”

Bruce swallows and starts and stops a few times, before he manages to say, “How’ve you been?”

Jason clenches the book in his hands. “Alright, no thanks to you.”

Bruce just stares at some spot over Jason’s left shoulder. “Right.”

Grimacing, Jason shakes his head and spins in his seat so that his feet are planted on the ground. He sets the book down beside him and clasps his hands together with a clap. “Okay, so this is beyond awkward for the both of us. You’ve clearly got something to say, so go right ahead.” Jason spreads his arms out wide. “Rail into me. I’m ready. Come on, give it to me. Tell me how much you hate me, how wrong my methods are, how you’re going to save me. Let me have it.”

Bruce grips the arms of his chair tightly, his knuckles white, and doesn’t say anything. Jason stares at him, gives him time, but he still doesn’t speak.

Jason rolls his eyes. “Fuck this. I’ll just leave then, shall I?”

He pushes to his feet and makes to exit the room, but then Bruce grabs onto his wrist. Jason looks down at him, an eyebrow raised. “Well?”

Bruce breathes deeply, and then says, “’There is, I believe, in every disposition a tendency to some particular evil, a natural defect, which not even the best education can overcome.’”

Okay, ouch. At first, Jason just hears an oddly worded insult about his evil tendencies, but then his brain catches up with his emotions, and he realizes…

He recognizes that line.

It’s from Pride and Prejudice, and it’s from one of his favorite conversations between Lizzie and Mr. Darcy. He even knows what comes next. Jason refuses to look at Bruce when he replies, “’And your defect is a propensity to hate everybody.’”

Bruce tugs at his wrist until Jason turns to him. “’And yours is willfully to misunderstand them.’”

Jason stares at the man before sitting heavily back down on the window seat. “You… you read Pride and Prejudice?”

Bruce’s gaze is a heavy weight on Jason’s shoulders as he nods. “Every year around your birthday, and some besides.” The man looks away. “I, ah, practically have the whole book memorized at this point.”

Jason doesn’t need to ask why. He knows how Bruce grieves; the man tends to hyperfocus on one thing that reminds him of those that he’s lost, and apparently his hyperfocus for Jason was an Austen novel.

Alright then.

Okay.

Jason leans back against the window and folds his arms. “Okay, so why that particular quote? Aside from your obvious relation to Lizzie’s observation of Darcy, of course.”

Bruce leans forward and rests his elbows on his knees. “I wasn’t trying to say anything pointed about you, actually.” Bruce hangs his head, and Jason feels his mouth drop, unused to seeing the proud man in such a position. “It was more directed at me.” He raises his head and looks at Jason, face blank. “I know that I have this problem with avoiding my problems.”

Jason raises an eyebrow. “Is that what I am? A problem?”

Bruce huffs. “And you say that I relate to Lizzie’s observation of Darcy, Mr. Willful-Misunderstanding?”

Jason tilts his head in acknowledgment. “Touché.”

Bruce sits up but doesn’t lean back. “I meant, I just… it’s easier for me to just not talk sometimes, no matter how much it hurts me or those around me.”

Oh, someone get this man a medal, he’s finally found a little something called self-awareness. Jason snorts. “No shit, Sherlock.”

Bruce leans forward again. “Lad, I won’t run this time.” He’s so earnest that it throws Jason off. “Let’s talk, please.”

Hearing his old nicknames softens Jason’s heart a bit, so he sits back fully on the bench and pulls his legs up. “Okay, then. Let’s talk.”

Things get better.

They’re not perfect, but they’re better.

Jason goes out on patrol and starts reasserting his position in the Gotham underworld, because he’s not about to let all the progress he’s made there go to waste. Bruce still doesn’t like his methods, and sometimes Jason can’t help but yell back in response to his criticism, but on the whole…

Things get better.

Jason comes into the kitchen one day to find a petite girl sitting on the counter, eating a slice of Alfred’s chocolate cake. Jason freezes. “Um, hello.”

She looks him over, scans him up and down, before setting aside the cake and hopping off the counter. Jason remains planted in place as she marches up to him (she’s so small compared to Jason’s bulky frame) and looks up at his face. Suddenly, she breaks into a grin and pats him on the chest, saying, “Brother,” before heading out of the kitchen.

Jason blinks.

And blinks again.

Then yells, “Bruce, do you have another child you forgot to tell me about?”

From somewhere near the living room, he gets a response of, “Did I not mention Cass?”

Jason sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. “Well, yeah, you mentioned her, but not in a ‘hey, you have a sister who might be popping by soon’ kind of way. More like a ‘hey, there’s this cool girl who helps us out in the city sometimes and also I feel parental toward her’ kind of way.”

Bruce pops his head around the corner. “There’s a difference there?”

Jason stares at the man. “Yes. There is. One is how you talk about your kids like Tim and Dick, and the other is how you talk about Babs or Steph.”

Bruce has the decency to look sheepish. “Sorry, Jaylad.”

Jason shakes his head and waves a hand. “Whatever. Looks like I’m off to go try to bond with this baby sister that I just found out about.” He turns and follows Cass’s trail.

He ignores Bruce’s soft smile.

Jason’s honestly not sure how he got here.

He never intended to reconnect with his family.

He thought he would go the rest of his life hating them, actually.

He shifts in place where he’s pinned on the couch by all three of the siblings. Tim’s on his left and Dick’s on his right, both of them leaning heavily into his side. Cass, the little touch-starved monster that Jason’s learned that she is, is laying flat across all of their laps. All three are asleep somehow.

Jason doesn’t know how they can trust him enough to sleep on him.

They’d been having a sort of marathon of all the movies that Jason missed during his, ah, absence, and somehow, Jason ended up being the only one left awake.

Suddenly, Jason finds himself overwhelm with emotion.

How did he get here?

They shouldn’t trust him like this.

He’s just a poison that will ruin them.

Squeezing his eyes shut, he runs one hand up and down Dick’s arm and turns to press a kiss onto Tim’s forehead. Both of them shift closer in their sleep, and Jason tries to hold in all the emotion that's threatening to overcome him.

“You’re doing well, Master Jason.”

Jason opens his eyes to see the butler standing in front of their cuddle pile with an armful of blankets. “Yeah?”

The butler nods as he starts tucking a blanket around Cass’s legs. “Quite well, Master Jason.” The butler moves to put a blanket around the side of Tim that’s not using Jason as his personal heater. “I do believe it was Austen who penned the line, ‘I must learn to brook being happier than I deserve.’”

Jason swallows and nods. “Persuasion.”

Alfred nods. “Correct, sir.” He moves to place a blanket around Dick. “Might I suggest taking a page out of the good Captain Wentworth’s book, and just enjoy this happiness that the universe has seen fit to grant you?”

Jason’s an alley kid. He learned long ago that what goes around comes around. He always knew that karma would come for him eventually.

So what the hell did he do to earn this?

Jason takes a deep breath and looks up at Alfred. “I’ll try, okay?”

Alfred smiles gently as he places a pillow behind Jason’s head. “That’s all that’s asked of any of us, sir.”

Jason’s nodding off to sleep when Bruce comes up from patrol. He bends down and presses a kiss to Cass’s forehead, then brushes the bangs back from Dick and Tim’s foreheads. When he sees that Jason is still awake, he places a gentle hand on Jason’s cheek. “I love you, lad.”

Enjoy this happiness that the universe has seen fit to grant you.

Jason feels a small smile rise to his face. Things aren’t perfect. The Pit still rises at random times, he still feels angry and frustrated, and he’s not going to stop killing anytime soon, but maybe just for now, he can enjoy this happiness.

He whispers back, “Love you too, Dad.”

Chapter Text

Damian al Ghul Wayne grew up being told stories of his father. His mother always ensured that he knew that he came from the best stock, that his lineage was unparalleled. It’s why his potential was unrivaled, and also why so much was expected of him.

He also was made aware of his father’s ‘other children.’ Psh, as if he would need them once Damian came to him. Those inferior, pathetic approximations of warriors wouldn’t hold a candle compared to Damian.

At least, that’s what he’d thought.

He’d go to Gotham, impress his Father enough to kick the failures to the curb, learn from one of the best martial artists and detectives in the world, eventually take over one of the world’s most prominent companies and, voila, world domination.

That’s not what’s been happening, though.

Damian attempts to get rid of that failure Drake? He gets punished, his swords get taken away, he is forced to apologize, and that imposter gets fussed over. (He makes a mental note to hold off on further removal attempts until he better understands the established hierarchy.)

Damian attempts to aid in the battle against the scum of Gotham? We don’t kill, Damian! Is that a head?!

Damian attempts to show initiative and reveal indicators of corruption within one of WE’s branches? He gets yelled at for running away from his tutors.

Damian is nothing if not perseverant, however. He refuses to give up until he assumes his rightful place at his father’s side as both the Heir of the Bat and the Heir of the Demon.

Batman dies only a few months after Damian comes to Gotham.

Returning to the League of Assassins is not an option.

Damian finds himself left in the care of his father’s oldest ward and Pennyworth.

He’s not happy about it.

Grayson has summoned the other two to the Cave. Cain, perhaps the only bearable member of this so-called family, is away at the moment, and Pennyworth is occupied with attempting to fix the sabotaged wiring to the main lighting in the kitchen, so Damian creeps into the Cave, balancing himself within the rafters to better observe what is sure to be the start of a formal coup or insurrection.

Grayson is already there, pacing in front of the computer, and Todd appears first, roaring into the Cave on his motorcycle. When he pops off that ugly helmet (Damian has determined that all of them need better fashion sense – he refuses to be seen with them as they are), he sets it on the seat of his motorcycle before immediately going and wrapping Grayson in a hug.

Damian scoffs. Weak, the way that Grayson grips him back and sags into the man’s hold. The bugs that Damian had previously planted under the desk of the computer are too far away to pick up what they’re saying, but Damian imagines it to be something unbearably soft.

Eventually, Grayson pulls back, swipes at his eyes, and clasps Todd on the shoulders, gesturing him over toward the console. They move to the computer and, ugh¸ small talk.

Damian rolls his eyes and waits for Drake to arrive. Figures that the man would be late. He can’t even be trusted to arrive to an important meeting on time – how on earth could he be trusted in the field?

Eventually, Drake meanders down from the manor above, and they all pull up chairs, sitting in a weird circle together. How unprofessional – completely unlike any briefing Damian got within the League. If Grayson wishes to assume command in Father’s absence, he’s going to need to do and be better.

They are, however, at least in a position where the bugs Damian planted can pick up on their voices.  Damian reaches up and adjusts the volume on his receiver until he can hear them clearly.

“- just don’t know what to do,” Grayson says, his gaze on the ground, elbows on his knees.

Todd lounges in his chair, legs spread and arms crossed. “Even though I had issues with the old man, he had a point – Gotham needs a Batman, at this point. City can’t function without him. It’s only been a few weeks, and the underground’s already fallen to shit.”

Drake idly uses one foot to twist his chair first to one side and then the other. “Besides that, I’m still not convinced he’s dead.”

Grayson sighs and buries his head in his hands. “Timmy, we’ve been over this-“

Drake scoffs, and Damian raises an eyebrow. He honestly hadn’t thought that the imposter had such impudence in him. “No, Dick, we haven’t! You haven’t listened to me!”

Grayson runs his hands down his face, and Damian scowls. He looks old. “Tim, we have the body-“

Drake stands up suddenly, and it sends the chair rolling back. “And he’s proof that having a body means nothing!” he exclaims, gesturing wildly to Todd.

When Grayson looks at him, Todd just shrugs. “Baby bird’s got a point.”

Drake scowls and crosses his arms. “Don’t call me that.”

Grayson grimaces like he’s in pain, and honestly, Damian does too. This incessant bickering is accomplishing nothing. Grayson scrubs at his face before shaking his head and sitting up, clapping his hands together. “Right, okay. Run me through it.”

Drake freezes. Idiot. “What?”

Grayson sighs. “Tell me why you think Bruce is still alive.” There’s an edge in his gaze that sends chills down Damian’s spine, and perhaps this is part of the reason why Grayson is so venerated by those fools in the hero community. There’s a backbone there, and it unnerves Damian that he hasn’t seen it before.

Drake stands there, mouth open, and glances at Todd, who only shrugs again. Then, Drake’s leaping for the computer, pulling up security camera footage, video from the cowl’s camera, readings from the suit’s vital monitoring system, and more.

By the end of it, even Damian finds himself convinced.

Perhaps Drake’s not quite so incompetent as Damian had thought.

Grayson inhales shakily before pushing himself to his feet. He approaches Drake, who stands tall and proud beside the computer, chin raised defiantly. Grayson lifts a hand and rests it on Drake’s face before moving it back behind the younger man’s head and tucking him into a hug. Drake freezes for a moment, then tentatively returns the embrace.

Damian sneers. Weak.

Drake sound cautiously optimistic. “So… you believe me?”

Grayson’s embrace tightens, and Damian finds himself absentmindedly wondering if that particular grasp could be weaponized. It appears to be unusually strong. Grayson’s voice is wet when he whispers, “I believe you, Baby Bird, I believe you.”

Damian shifts uncomfortably on his perch. How will this useless display of affection continue?

Apparently Todd share his sentiments, as the man stands up, stretches his arms high above his head, before spreading them out wide dramatically. “Alright, cool. Mini-Sherlock here proved he knows his stuff. Can we be done with all this touchy-feely crap now?”

Drake pulls back slightly and rolls his eyes. “If you wanted to join in, Jason, you just needed to ask. You’re just as touch starved as the rest of us.”

Damian pales. No, no way… but then Todd just shrugs. “Yeah, alright.” He then falls into place, wrapping his large arms around both of the other men. Thankfully, he only lets it last a moment before he pulls back and smacks to two on their backs. “Right, okay, that’s more emotions right there than I usually spend in a week.”

Grayson and Drake, honest to God, giggle. Damian’s appalled.

They go on to start making plans. Drake’s adamant that he leave to follow Father’s trail. Grayson reluctantly agrees, and Todd seems ambivalent. They set times for checkups, methods of report, and more, and then finally…

Grayson starts pacing while Drake and Todd move their heads to follow him. Damian is disgusted – they appear to be nothing more than minions. “We need to decide what to do with the cowl.” Grayson looks to Todd, and the man immediately starts shaking his head.

“Uh, uh. Ain’t no way, Dickie. I got my hands full as it is, trying to manage the idiots in the Gotham drug trade.”

Grayon’s shoulders sag. “You’re the closest to his build, though-“

Todd snorts. “Nope, uh, uh, Not happening. I don’t want nothing to do with anything the old man’s left behind, even if I have more or less made peace with the man child.”

Damian’s silently grateful. Todd would not be able to adequately fill Father’s shoes. Damian, regrettably, is only ten years old, and would also be unfit to be Batman simply due to the logistics (not that Damian wouldn’t be able to pull it off, he has more than sufficient skill and knowledge to assume the role). No, the only person here who could possibly fill in for Father is-

“It has to be me,” Grayson whispers.

He goes completely still, and against his better judgement, Damian finds himself concerned. Of course, that’s entirely due to the fact that Grayson needs to be fit to be the regent to Father’s legacy until Damian himself can assume the mantle, and not due to any feeling remote similar to attachment. Grayson is never completely still.

Drake takes a step forward. “Dick?”

Grayson drags both his hands through his hair. “God, I never wanted this! I never wanted to be Batman! I made Nightwing because I didn’t want to be like Batman!”

He starts pacing again, never ceasing in his complaints, making Damian scowl. A true soldier would simply assume the role demanded of him.

After a few minutes of ranting at an increasingly loud volume, Dick stops and yells, kicking at his chair and sending it flying across the floor. “Fuck you, Bruce!” He crumples to the ground. “Why’d you have to leave?” He covers his face, and his voice gets small. “I never wanted this.” Then, even quieter, “Why, Dad…”

Todd pushes himself to his feet and sets a hand on Grayson’s head. “For what it’s worth,” Todd says, “I don’t think he would’ve wanted this for you either.”

Drake moves to sit with his legs crossed in front of Grayson. “Yeah, I know that for a fact. He didn’t want any of us to be Batman.”

Damian shakes his head. This is going nowhere and is a waste of time. He scoots back across the beam that he’s balancing on, intending to leave, but freezes when he hears Drake say, “What are we going to do about the Demon Spawn?”

Damian scowls, hating the fact that he knows precisely to whom Drake is referring, and hating even more the fact that such a title has been applied to him.

Dick laughs wetly and shifts position, sitting back and pulling his knees to his chest. “Yeah, I have an idea on what to do about Dami, but you’re not gonna like it, Timmy.”

Todd barks out a harsh laugh that makes Damian’s hackles raises. There’s something dark in there, something that tells Damian that this man could be utterly dangerous if he wanted. “Oh yeah, if this is going where I think it’s going, you’re going to hate it, Baby bird.”

Drake starts fidgeting with his fingers. A nervous tell, an obvious weakness that any enemy could take advantage of. “I, ah, think that I know what you're going to say.” A pregnant beat of silence, and then, “You want him to be Robin.”

Damian freezes. No, no, no! That’s not how this is supposed to go. He’s not supposed to be handed the title, he’s supposed to take it, to prove his worth.

Another pause, and then, “I do.”

Todd hums, then says loudly, “Hey Brat, you wanna come down here and discuss this with us?”

Damian remains in place, despite his shock, on the off chance that Todd is simply taking a shot in the dark. Grayson lifts his head up. “Damian’s here?”

Drake hums and steeples his hands. “Yeah, he has a mic set up under the computer desk.”

Oh. Well, there goes that hope. Scowling, Damian makes his way quickly down to the floor and over to the group, planting his feet squarely and folding his arms when he’s about ten feet from the men. “How did you know?”

Todd gestures vaguely toward his helmet. “You forget that I’ve trained with the League. Helmet picked up on your tech the moment I entered the cave.”

Drake holds up his phone. “Got an app for that. Made one that detects stray radio waves. Got the notification when I came down.”

Damian frowns. He shall have to get better.

Grayson shakes his head and stands up, walking to retrieve his chair. Setting it upright, he sits in it and wheels himself shamelessly back to the group. “Okay, so about Robin.”

Drake goes back to his chair as well, and Damian stalks forward to stand in the circle. Drake starts, “I’m not… I’m not ready to give up Robin yet.”

Damian scoffs. “Please, I’d do a much better job of it.” Drake shoots him a glare and Grayson gives a scolding Damian, but Damian just tuts. It’s the truth.

Todd leans back in his chair and crosses one ankle across the other knee. “Who says you have to stop? Why can't y'all share the damn name?" Drake and Damian both look at him, not understanding. Share the title? Is that even possible? Would Damian even want that? He thinks about it, surprised to find he's not opposed to the idea, while Todd continues, "Why don’t you just be Robin One and Robin Two?” Both Damian and Drake look at him in disgust. “Short Robin and Shorter Robin? Young Robin and Baby Robin? Red Robin and Green Robin?”

Grayson looks like he wishes to die. “Oh my God, Jay.”

Drake laughs. “Now hang on, that last one wasn’t too bad.”

Damian wrinkles his nose. “I refuse to bear a title with a ridiculous adjective such as young or small or green. If I must share the name, I shall do so in dignity.”

Drake laughs again, but Damian is unsure why. What he just said wasn’t a joke – he was being completely serious. Drake then looks back and forth between Grayson and Todd. “Sharing the title. I hadn't... hadn't thought of that. I… yeah. I think I could be Red Robin. That could work.”

Todd raises an eyebrow. “Yeah, no, that one was a joke. I was not seriously suggesting you name yourself after an American diner chain.” Drake just raises his eyebrow. “Oh my God, you’re actually going to do it. I always forget that you’re actually a little shit.” Drake reaches over and punches him in the arm, but Todd just laughs.

Tt. An ineffective attack with unclear motivation. No wonder Grayson wants a replacement Robin.

Drake turns to look at Damian head on. "No more assassination attempts, right? You've got that out of your system?"

Damian, for some reason he can't understand, blushes. "If you are abdicating your position, then there would be little benefit."

Drake seems to consider that for a moment before nodding. "Yeah, okay, I can accept that answer. But I'm not abdicating. If anything, we're co-Robins." Damian rolls his eyes.

Grayson looks over to him. Standing, he comes and kneels in front of Damian, reaching out and taking each of Damian’s hands in one of his own. For some reason, Damian lets him. Grayson looks into Damian’s eyes, and Damian finds himself mesmerized by the sheer amount of emotion in the man’s blue eyes. “So what do you say, Dami? Will you be my Robin?”

Damian nods without even thinking about it.

Todd goes back to whatever it he does and only rarely stops by the manor, though they encounter him on patrols relatively often.

Drake disappears and reappears in random places around the world. One day it’s Prague, the next it's Cape Town… every week, at the absolute least, he sends a progress report.

And Grayson, Grayson trains him.

They fight and they bicker. Grayson grounds him, Damian sneaks out, Grayson beats him in a fight. Damian hadn’t expected it before, but now that he thinks about it, the man has trained under his Father for years, so of course he must be at least somewhat capable.

Once he realizes that, Damian decides to give the man his respect and give their training his all.

Damian finds that he likes training with Richard, against his better judgment. When he makes mistakes, he doesn’t get beaten. When given a mission, his input is asked for and not ignored. And during the weekends…

“Come on, Dami! I know you wanted to go to the zoo!”

Damian smiles.

One day on patrol, Damian’s off with the Red Hood, something about Batman doing something that he didn’t want Robin around for. Damian’s not sure that staying with Hood would in any way be better for his growing sense of morality than encountering the least savory of the Gotham denizens, but it wasn’t his call to make, and Damian knows when to simply take an order and obey.

Hood seems to be taking an easy night, stopping an assault here and a convenience store robbery there. Honestly, Damian is bored out of his mind and decides to say so. Hood simply laughs and says, “Alright then, brat. Let me show you something you ain’t never seen before.” He takes off, and Damian launches his own grapple with a huff. Todd leads him through first the Diamond District, and then Old Gotham, then Chinatown, and finally… “Brown Bridge? Really, Todd? We crossed half the city for Brown Bridge?"

The man’s chuckle reverberates oddly in his helmet. “Give it a chance, brat. You’ll see.”

Damian frowns but follows him, starting across the bridge before they start climbing one of the suspension towers. Damian wrinkles a brow. What are they doing? Finally, they get to the top, and Todd grabs his shoulders and spins him around so that he’s looking back at the city. “And what do you think of that view, kid?”

In spite of himself, Damian is in awe. The sight of the lights of the city glistening on Gotham River, the gleam of the search lights on the police dirigibles, the dynamic ups and downs of the skyscrapers and brownstones, the noises of music and laughter and yelling and screaming echoing across the water… It’s incredible, it’s beautiful, it’s ugly, it’s painful, and wonderful and bright and dark and alive.

Todd squeezes his shoulders. “That right there is why we do what we do, kid. Because it’s Gotham, and she’s as beautiful as she is ugly, and she needs our help.”

Damian thinks perhaps he’s starting to understand. “Todd?”

Todd pats his shoulders and releases him. “Yeah, brat?”

Damian hesitates, and then looks up at the gigantic man beside him. “Would you… would you tell me about Father?”

Todd whistles. “Hoo, boy.” He reaches up and removes his helmet, balancing it on his hip. “You sure you wanna ask me, of all people, that question?”

Damian nods.

Todd swallows. “Okay, okay, cool.” He looks around before sitting down right there on top of the bridge, patting the spot next to him until Damian joined him. “Okay, so…” Todd places his helmet on his lap and balances his arms on it. “Where to start… Bruce is an asshole.”

Suddenly, Damian regrets asking.

Todd continues, “But… he’s also one of the best men I’ve ever known.”

Damian spends the rest of the night avidly listening to Jason’s stories about Father.

The computer in the cave chimes and Damian immediately drops the staff he was training with and races over to it. He clicks accept call, and, without wasting a greeting, barks out, “Red Robin, report.”

Drake raises an eyebrow. He’s in civvies, lounging in a hotel room. “Hello to you too, Demon Spawn. I’m doing well, thanks for asking. It’s been four days since the last time I nearly died, so it must be a new record.”

“Nearly died?”

Both of Drake’s eyebrows are raised now, and Damian scowls. “Is that concern I hear there, Damian?”

Damian clenches his fists. “Don’t read into something that’s not there, Drake.”

Drake gets a half-smile on his face. “Yeah, we wouldn’t want that. Dick there?”

Damian shakes his head. “Batman was needed downtown.”

“And you didn’t go?”

Damian scoffs. “It’s only Kite Man. I should be concerned if he needs my help.”

Drake laughs. “Fair enough, Demon Spawn. Think you can take the message?”

Damian sits in the chair and sets the computer to record the call. “Of course. You may go ahead with your report.”

Drake goes on with mundane reports of random encounters with random villains and anti-heroes and the like, but then something he says makes Damian sit up straight. “I’m sorry, did you just say that you got attacked by a trio of assassins who put you in contact with Ra’s al Ghul?”

Drake grimaces. “Unfortunately.”

“And you are listening to what he says?” Damian thought that Drake was smarter than this.

Drake sighs. “Right now, he’s the best lead I’ve got.”

Damian stares. “And you are absolutely certain of this?”

Drake closes his eyes. “Unfortunately.”

Damian stands up and stares straight into the camera. “Then listen to me and listen to me well. Ra’s al Ghul is an honorable man who will keep his word, but,” Damian bites back his words. “I’ve come to learn that he’s not a good man.”

Drake nods, taking his every word seriously. Damian swallows and continues. “You can trust him to act in his own interest and only in his own interest, though you might not be able to tell what that is at any given time.” Damian leans closer to the camera, placing as much weight as possible on his words. “He will respect your strength as a warrior, yes, but he will respect the strength of your mind more. Ra’s al Ghul does not tolerate fools.”

Damian can see Drake processing the information. “What else can you tell me?”

Damian breathes deeply and sits back down. “I’ll prepare a dossier and send it over within a few hours. You will need my help if you wish to survive.”

Drake’s gaze softens. “Right, thanks, Damian. I appreciate it.”

They talk a bit longer, and then Drake goes to sign off. Damian hesitates, but says, “Drake?”

Timothy tilts his head. “Yeah?”

Damian swallows. “Take care and be smart. You are more intelligent than the vast majority of the League. Show them what it is that Batman teaches his proteges.”

He closes the call before Timothy can reply.

Timothy misses his next several check-ins. Both Richard and Damian are ready to head out in search of him themselves when he finally calls.

He’s missing a spleen now, the blundering idiot.

Damian finds himself grudgingly impressed that the fool is still alive.

The night that Damian puts his first Rogue behind bars, he expects to feel something. Victory, superiority, something. He doesn’t. He feels… sad?

Back in the cave, Richard pulls of the cowl and works on the gauntlets while Damian peels off his mask. “Richard?”

Richard looks over at him and smiles. “Yeah, Dami?”

“Do you..” Damian looks away, unable to sustain eye contact. “Do you think Father will be proud of me?”

Richard comes and kneels before him. He’s in Father’s suit still, and with the warmth in his eyes, the love in his gaze, Damian feels as if his father is shining out through the unbelievable man before him. “I know he will be proud of you, Dami. There’s not a shred of doubt in my mind.”

Damian thinks that perhaps he’s come to know his father through his brothers.

Richard is Father’s heart. He loves carelessly and unconditionally, and he protects who and what he cares for with a reckless abandon. You’re doing so well, Dami. You’ve come so far.

Jason is Father’s spirit. He curses and fights. He sees the worst of what the world has to offer and he always comes out swinging. Keep fighting, brat. You never let them see that they’re getting to you. Push back against the whole fucking world if you have to.

Timothy is Father’s mind. He thinks and he analyzes, and he sees potential and possibilities where none should exist. I’ve got a lead, Demon Spawn, and I promise you, I’m gonna bring your dad back.

In his free time, Damian hacks his father’s files. He’s managed to find everything from planned upgrades to the batmobile to old formulas of fear toxin. Recently, he’s been making his way through a ridiculously well-protected folder labeled “Confidential.”

The plans to take down Superman and Wonder Woman proved most enlightening.

At the end of the files and folders listed, there’s a folder labeled simply Pictures. Damian thinks that perhaps it is blackmail, or maybe further documentation on the Justice League, but when he opens it, he finds…

Stills from the cowl’s camera?

Damian frowns and sorts the images by date of creation, pulling up the oldest picture. It’s a grainy shot of Robin, back when Richard still filled the role. It’s a still taken mid flip, and the boy’s smile is evident. The attached caption reads, First night out together.

Damian wrinkles his brow and clicks to the next image, one of Richard’s Robin doing a handstand on top of a group of tied up goons. First time stopping a robbery.

Damian clicks through the images at a faster and faster rate. The image quality improves over time with improvements to the cowl’s technology, and the captions get longer as more people enter the frame.

A blurry shot of a young boy, covered in grease, holding a tire iron next to the batmobile.

The same boy, cleaner and healthier, preening in the Robin suit.

Nightwing and Jason’s Robin playing tag on a rooftop.

Gordon’s Batgirl shaking a finger at Nightwing.

On and on…

Timothy in a poorly fitting Robin uniform.

Robin and Spoiler bickering on a rooftop.

Robin catching a ride on Nightwing’s back.

Cain’s Batgirl waving cheerfully from atop a gargoyle.

Batgirl tackling Robin in a hug.

Red Hood’s first appearance.

Nightwing and Red Hood getting late night falafel.

Batgirl and Nightwing fist-bumping in front of a knocked-out Riddler.

Red Hood giving Batman the finger while he sips a cup of coffee.

Robin holding a finger to his lips as he attempts to sneak up on Hood.

Some of the captions are utterly ridiculous.

The lad was so proud of himself for finding this shipment.

Kiddo asked today whether or not Poison Ivy and Harley Quinn are a couple.

Proud of Nightwing, chum’s a good brother.

Princess today saved a young woman and spoke to her. First time speaking on patrol.

Hundreds upon hundreds of photos, documenting their lives as vigilantes and as a family. Perhaps the names are some sort of code? So that if anyone found this, their identities wouldn’t be compromised? But no, this was more encrypted than their health files, even. So why the foolish nicknames?

Still, one thing’s clear. Father loves his adopted kids. Damian feels foolish for ever having thought that he could force his father to choose him instead.

He finds himself wondering if there’s even room left in Father’s heart to love Damian.

Booster Gold, Superman, Green Lantern, and Rip Hunter, following guidance from Timothy, manage to drag Father back out of the time stream.

Red Robin returns to Gotham.

Nightwing goes back to Bludhaven.

Father comes back to the manor.

It’s odd. Damian’s glad that he’s got his Father back, but he finds himself yelling for Richard, waiting for calls from Timothy, looking to meet up with Jason on patrol…

He finds himself missing his family and he curses himself for the weakness.

A month after he’s returned, Father summons him to the library. He sits Damian down in a large armchair and kneels in front of him. “I know that I don’t know you and you don’t know me, sport,” he says, “but I’d like to get to know my son.”

Damian swallows and nods. Father smiles and continues. “I’ve heard a lot about you from the boys. They all had good things to say.” Really? Even Timothy? “So, what do you say to game of chess, sport? Think you can beat your old man?”

Damian folds his arms and scoffs. “Please. It’s a game of elementary strategy. I’ve been playing since I could talk.”

Father stands up, smile still in place, and holds out his hand. “Well, we’ll just have to put that experience to the test then, won’t we?”

As Damian takes his father’s hand, he finds that he can’t help but smile.

Chapter Text

The Justice League has a game. It doesn’t have a name, no rules are spoken, and updates are communicated purely through a group chat that includes everyone except for one crucial member.

The game?

Make Batman break character.

From the time of the original seven members to the present day with dozens of members, every Leaguer quickly learns that to make the Batman break character is a form of a right of passage. If you can do that, you are part of the League irrevocably.

It’s not easy to do – it’s a difficult game for a reason. Many attempts have been made – from ridiculous pranks to cute cat videos to horrendous food recipes. Few of such attempts succeeded. And for a few years a while back (they later learn that it was after the death of the second Robin), no one succeeded at all.

The easiest way to win?

Bring his children into it.

Batman is on monitor duty in the Watchtower when the Flash runs in. “Hey, uh, Batman?”

Batman doesn’t even turn from the screens and systems. He just grunts.

Barry tops his foot at top speed. “Uhm, Green Lantern’s challenged Black Bat to a spar? Though you’d like to know.”

Batman turns in the chair briefly before shaking his head. “What training room are they in?”

Barry speeds over to the chair. “Room 4.”

Batman deftly navigates through the security camera footage in the watch tower and pulls up the images from training room four. On screen, Black Bat and Green Lantern circle each other. Batman sighs and turns on the speaker to the room. “Are you sure about this, Lantern?”

Hal pauses to glare at the camera and nods. Batman pinches the bridge of his nose. “Sweetheart, try not to beat him up to badly. I need him for an intergalactic mission next week.”  Green Lantern pales as Black Bat gives the camera a cheery thumbs up.

By the time Batman turns off the feed, Barry’s already sent to the video of the encounter of the group chat, mentally thanking Hal for his sacrifice.

Nightwing and Red Robin are working together on testing the JL’s computer security when Wonder Woman and Batman walk in. Diana, warrior princess that she might be, sees her chance to mess with her friend and smiles.

She turns to Batman. “Surely, my friend, not even you could break into the Watchtower, let alone these children.”

The two boys’ heads snap up so quickly Diana has to hold in a giggle. The look that Batman gives her says, I know exactly what you are doing, but he just shakes his head and makes a sharp gesture. Immediately, the two boys stand at attention. “Nightwing,” Batman says, “Return to the hanger.” The man nods and disappears. “Red Robin, you may assist him using only your computerized gauntlet.” The boy smirks and nods, moving to sit on the floor in the computer.

Diana spends the next ten minutes grinning in awe, listening to the commands that Red Robin gives his brother and watching the feed from Nightwing’s mask.

She manages to snap a picture of Batman smiling softly, one hand on Nightwing’s shoulder and the other ruffling Red Robin’s hair after the two succeed. She sends it off with the caption, He calls them chum and kiddo 😊

Metropolis is facing a ridiculously large-scale alien invasion that forces Superman to call in reinforcements when it happens. Batman comes, along with his entire brood plus some. They successfully repel the alien forces and are working on clean up when Superman hears a yell.

Superman immediately flies toward the sound but freezes midair when he sees what’s going on. Batman’s talking with the Red Hood, an anti-hero that the rest of the caped community is not quite sure how to handle. Batman’s arms are folded, and Red Hood rubs the back of his neck sheepishly, his helmet tucked under one arm. Morbidly curious, Superman listens in.

“-what have I told you?” Batman lectures.

“Not to risk myself,” Red Hood mumbles.

Batman taps a foot. “And what did you do?”

Red Hood shuffles his feet. “Risked myself.”

Batman nods sharply before reaching up and grabbing Red Hood’s ear, dragging the man towards the batjet (though Superman does note that Batman doesn’t pull hard enough to hurt – just enough to encourage). “You’re explaining this to Agent A.”

Superman is shocked when Red Hood only puts up a token resistance. “Ah, come on now, B. Show some mercy.”

Batman huffs a laugh. “Sorry, lad. You’ll get no pity from me.”

Superman later spends hours going through security cam footage of the street to find the still of Batman tugging a brutal, tall, strong vigilante down the street by his ear.

There’s a full-scale League meeting happening when Batman pauses in speaking. He answers the comm, immediately frowns, and says, “Sport, I said no more pets.” A pause. “No, I don’t care how poorly-“ A sigh. Batman runs a hand down his face before looking out over the assembled heroes. “Would anyone here by chance like a pig? It appears that Robin has rescued one from a research facility, and I have neither the space nor patience for another animal in my home.”

Everyone’s phones blow up.

Batman is mean, and cruel, and sour, and completely mission-oriented, at least on the surface, but the League knows him better.

The man's really a tired dad, and the League loves seeing how much he loves his kids.

Bruce loves his kids, he really does. He knows that they love him too (at least, most of them most of the time). He just wishes they would choose to call him ‘Dad’ without being high on pain or medication or pain and medication.

Not that he would ever say that, no. He would never try to force himself into that role in his kid’s lives like that. It doesn’t matter if that call him that or not, they’ll always be his kids.

He hears yelling followed by the sounding of breaking ceramics and sighs. Even when they break precious, expensive artifacts, they’ll always be his kids.

There are footsteps thudding upstairs in the manor.

Three of his sons are home at the moment, so it’s not altogether surprising; Bruce doesn’t even look up from his phone as he walks under the upstairs balcony, sipping on his coffee.

He does look up when he hears Damian yell, ”Baba!” His son stands on the upstairs railing, a determined look on his face. “Catch me!”

Bruce’s eyes widen and he drops both his coffee and his phone to catch his youngest as he leaps from the balcony down into Bruce’s arms. The second he’s secure, Damian squirms in his arms. “Thank you, Father, but I must go now!” He drops out of Bruce’s arms and takes off down the hallway.

“Brat!” Jason yells from upstairs. “Did you just jump from the second story? You’ve got to be kidding me!”

“That won’t save you, Damian!” Tim adds.

Bruce’s middle two sons come thudding down the stairs and Bruce wordlessly points down the hallway. As they chase after their brother, Bruce simply stairs down at his shattered coffee mug and cracked phone.

He called me baba.

Bruce is sitting in the cave at the computer when Dick walks in, a duffel in his arms and his phone tucked between his shoulders and his ear. “Sorry Donna, but I can’t make it.”

Bruce hums, reminding himself to talk to Dick again about proper security measures to be taken in the cave even with those in the know. He keeps typing up his most recent mission report.

“Yes, Donna, I know,” Dick says, sounding oddly exaggerated. “I know that it’s been forever since we’ve hung out, but I’ve got plans with my dad tonight.”

Bruce freezes.

Dick laughs. “Yes, I know, I know, things haven’t always been good, but they’re good now, and that’s what matters. He’s still my dad, you know?” He laughs again. “Right, yeah. Next time, we’ll hang. I promise. Yeah, love you too, Donna. Bye.”

Dick hangs up and tucks his phone into a pocket. He looks over at Bruce, a shit-eating grin on his face.

Bruce knows that his face is red. “Dick,” he says, for once not meaning his son’s name.

Dick just laughs and gives him a quick hug before he makes his way up to the manor proper.

Not even Superman and Captain Marvel together would have been able to stop Bruce from running when he hears two of his kids yelling “Dad!” together.

He moves so fast that he swears he could have teleported, arriving in the parlor to find Jason and Cass standing nose to nose. Or, well, Cassandra’s nose to Jason’s torso. “What is going on?”

Jason looks down at his sister, face blank. “I need you to tell Cassie girl here that I would make a better Elsa than her.”

Bruce feels his heart starting to calm down. “…What?”

Cass takes a step back, her face just as serious. “Better Elsa. Me or Jay?”

Heaven help him. Why are his kids like this? Bruce runs a tired hand down his face. “Jason. Sorry, princess, but you’re not dramatic enough for it.”

Jason pumps a fist in the air. “Ha! Told you!” Cass pouts adorably in response.

Bruce leans against the door frame. “Dare I ask why?”

Jason laughs and walks out the door, patting Bruce’s shoulder as he goes. “Dontcha worry your pretty little head about it, pops.”

Against himself, Bruce feels a smile creep to his face. The smile only grows when Cass walks to him, pats his arm, and says, “Good dad,” before following her brother.

Bruce just shakes his head. These kids.

Bruce is in a WE meeting when he gets distracted on his phone. One of the JL group chats has blown up -something about someone sending something on the wrong chat? He’s about to scroll to the start of the conversation, knowing that Lucius could fill him in later, when his son’s voice breaks through his distraction.

“-Pete’s sake, Dad, could you pay attention for five minutes?”

Bruce looks up immediately and raises an eyebrow. Tim seems to realize what he said as chuckles roll through the boardroom – the poor kid immediately turns red.

Bruce decides to take mercy on him. “Sorry, son. Phone’s away – continue.”

Tim glares at him before continuing his report, much to the amusement of the board.

One Sunday, the house is suspiciously quiet when Bruce wakes up. He frowns. Jason, Tim, Cass, and Dick all stayed at the manor last night, something about a family dinner? So knowing that, he fully expected to be awoken by the sounds of yelling, running, and, potentially, air-powered projectile weapons. Thus, being able to sleep in late and wake only due to the sun creeping in through the curtains? Something’s up.

But then he hears yelling from down the hallway and immediately relaxes. Okay, good. It was just a fluke.

He pushes himself up in bed, letting the quilt sink down to his hips, as all of his children come busting in through the door. Dick leads the charge, a tray of breakfast food in his hands. Grinning, he sets the tray on Bruce’s lap with a flourish. “Good morning, Bruce!”

Damian yells when Tim accidentally elbows him as the kids all pile in, and Cass giggles from her spot on Jason’s back. Bruce eyes his kids. “What’s going on?”

Dick just laughs. “Nothing, nothing. Just thought you’d like a breakfast in bed for once.” Dick leans down quickly and kiss Bruce on the forehead, making Bruce blink. “You deserve it, Dad.” Bruce gapes.

Jason cackles. “You should see your face, pops.” He hops a bit, prompting Cass to slide off his back. He comes over and punches Bruce lightly on the arm. “As much as your moral code is in need of a software update…” Jason shrugs. “You’re still a decent dad.”

Bruce chokes. “What is this? A coordinated attack?”

Cass giggles. She climbs on the bed and pats his cheek. “Good dad. Lots of love.” She then climbs off.

Bruce feels as if he must be dreaming. He did wake up this morning, right? Maybe he should have taken the earlier silence as a sign that he’s now mentally trapped in a mind prison or something.

Tim comes forward and places a cup of coffee on the bed stand. He hesitates before darting forward and wrapping his arms around Bruce in a quick hug. “Yeah, thanks, Dad,” he mumbles before darting out of the room.

Bruce didn’t even have time to hug him back.

Damian then marches forward. “I hope you enjoy your day, Father,” he says stiffly. He then hesitates and places a card on the bed spread. He looks down at his feet, hands tucked behind his back. “Thanks for helping me, baba.”

Bruce’s heart bursts at the actions of his youngest. He reaches out and takes one of Damian’s hands, squeezing it gently. “Of course, sport.” Damian nods and then flees.

Dick smiles, though it’s gentler now. “I’ll watch the kids today, yeah? Just take your time.” He leaves the room.

What… what just happened?

Bruce runs through the calendar in his head. No, it’s not his birthday, nor is it Christmas or Easter or Thanksgiving or even Halloween. It’s just a random Sunday in June. Bruce shakes his head. Who knows what those kids of his are up to? Probably buttering him up for mischief they’ll make later.

Damian’s card catches his eye. The front is a beautiful hand-drawn picture of their family, and the sight of it makes Bruce smile. When he found out that his youngest likes to draw, he immediately latched onto it, doing his best to show his son that he’d be supportive of his hobbies (hey, he’s learned something over the course of parenting four other children), and he’s never regretted it. Bruce is still smiling when he opens it, but then the inscription inside makes him set the card aside for fear that he get it wet because of crying.

Bruce is not a great father, and often he thinks he’s not even a good father. He’s made so many mistakes, and he continues to make mistakes, and he’s sure that he won’t be able to get through the rest of the day without accidentally making at least one of his kids stomp off in frustration.

Still, to get this card… he must’ve done something right.

Happy Father’s Day, Dad! it reads.

Thanks for building this family!

Love,

Chum
Lad
Sweetheart
Kiddo
Sport