Warning: This is a SEQUEL! If you want to know why certain characters act the way they do (mostly Tim and Jason), read House of Lies first.
Affect (v): to give the appearance of; pretend or feign; to use, wear, or adopt by preference; choose; prefer. –Dictionary. com
Chapter 1
Homecoming
Dick almost didn't see the gray blur detaching itself from the tunnel walls in time.
He'd been away from the manor for several months, he was thinking about seeing Tim again, and Bruce, the warm reception that always came with going home. He definitely wasn't expecting to be tackled off his bike before he'd even made it fully inside the cave. Not expecting it at all.
There was a glint of silver in the sterile glow of the headlights. That was his only warning. Dick twisted, spine arching back, fingers letting go of the handlebars. The sching of a blade whirled inches above his nose. Then it was past and he snatched at the arm of the wielder to keep it that way even as the bike roared out from underneath them. The wrist he caught was thinner than expected, the face above him too young.
Dang, it was just a kid.
Dick had just enough forethought to jerk that wrist down, pulling the kid tight against his chest, curling protectively around that tiny body as he braced for impact. The boy struggled at first, shoving at Dick's hold on him with a strangled "What are you doing? Get off me!" But then they hit—a bone-crunching collision with the cold stone of the ground that nearly dislocated his shoulder—and the kid ceased struggling in favor of holding on. Good, at least he had some sense of self-preservation.
They tumbled together, a ball of gray and black and blue, before coming to one final, wrenching impact with the wall. He might have blacked out for a second—there was a worrisomely blank spot between the sickening crack of hitting the wall and waking up face down on the cold floor.
"Get off me!" It was actually the shoving at his chest that pulled him out of it. He groaned, vision swimming. The shoving became more insistent, knees and elbows jabbing into him. "Get off me, you lout!" The kid, pinned underneath him. Dick rolled off, coming gracefully to his feet despite the truly remarkable number of bruises he would have tomorrow.
"Are you alright?" He reached down to help the kid up, only to have his hand slapped haughtily away.
"I'd be better if some moron hadn't just dragged me through the dryer's spin cycle." The boy—he couldn't have been more than twelve or thirteen—had short-cropped black hair and blue eyes—Bruce's blue eyes. Even with his arms folded petulantly, he was really kind of… cute.
Still, a sense of the severity of the situation needed to be instilled.
"I could have left you for pavement pizza," Dick replied, "pulling a stunt like that."
"I would have been fine if you hadn't grabbed me. I don't need your protection. Anyway, don't think just because you've disarmed me that you've won." He pointed dramatically. "You will not succeed in your designs!"
"Going home?" Dick asked skeptically. What had the kid thought he'd been doing?
"You were trying to infiltrate Father's base!"
Oh. Well. Wait…
"Father?!"
By the time they reached the cave proper, Damian had mostly given up on trying to get free and had stiffened into the personification of sullen rage. If Grayson wouldn't release him, then the man would have to drag him. It was only right he suffer in some small way the same indignation Damian was suffering. It was a small payback quickly forgotten when they came to a stop in front of Father and Drake.
The two of them had obviously just returned from patrol, both still in their suits minus the cowl and mask, and they both blinked almost identically surprised expressions—perhaps a little more wide-eyed excited in Drake's case, a little more slant-eyed pleased in Father's case—when Grayson came to a stop in front of them.
"Dick!" Tim exclaimed. "What are you…?" His joy turned into mirth at the sight they made. Yes, that breathless laughter was definitely the replacement snickering at his predicament. "I see you've met Damian already."
"Yeah, he belong to you?" Grayson asked, hefting Damian by the scruff of his neck. Damian stiffened with renewed outrage.
"Unhand me!" Grayson might have done a thorough job of disarming him, but he was far from defenseless, and he would not tolerate the shame of such undignified treatment in front of Father or Drake—Drake, who was still standing smugly by Father's side in his rightful place! He was the rightful heir! Not that usurper of a next-door neighbor. And as such he deserved respect and dignity, not this manhandling, and he wasn't going to stand for it any longer. He would get the reverence he deserved, even if he had to take it by force.
Grasping at the hand holding him up, he used it for leverage to hook a leg over Grayson's arm, a foot behind his skull, to take him down, possibly break his arm, and… Grayson twisted somehow—Damian had never seen anything like it—rolling his neck, and Damian's leverage failed, grip lost. He blinked to find himself once again dangling above the floor, a most unwelcome and undignified position.
"Welcome back, son." Father seemed unfazed by the demise his youngest was suffering. Clearly no help was going to come from that direction—not that Damian needed it. Father's folded arms might even have been stifling the urge to embrace his oldest son. Like Drake clearly wanted to do. "Damian, this is…"
"I know who he is!" Damian snapped, flushed and floundering. Grayson was proving a formidable foe.
"Can't say the same. Why didn't anyone tell me there was a new addition to the family?!" Grayson shook him again for emphasis.
"We knew you'd rush down here to see him," Drake quipped, grinning mischievously, "and we haven't housebroken him yet."
"Harsh, Little Brother."
"Damian has only recently come to live with us," Father said, arms still folded evenly. "We've… had our hands full."
"I'll bet. He come included with that katana he tried to use on me or were the accessories sold separately?"
"Katana?" Father's mouth thinned into a line. "He attacked you?"
"You didn't walk here, did you?" Drake asked near-simultaneously, looking around. "Where's your ride?"
"In a dozen pieces up the ramp." Grayson winced, rotating one arm in a stiff semicircle. The idiot had probably come dangerously close to dislocating one of those shoulders in his foolish attempt to rescue his assailant earlier, Damian suspected. An unnecessary rescue attempt, of course. Damian could have landed safely without the man's foolhardy assistance. He didn't know what to make of the action either, whether to feel indignant at being treated like an incompetent child or flustered by the amount of effort the man had put into saving him. People weren't supposed to do nice things like that.
"Damian! He's your brother!" Father's eyes narrowed in dangerous exasperation at the same time Drake asked, "Are you all right?"
"Just bruised." Grayson waved them off. "I'm going to get this little porcupine patched up really quick."
"I do not require medical attention." Porcupine indeed. Damian scowled.
"Then we will be discussing your behavior thoroughly." Father was still glaring, and on second thought, letting Grayson manhandle him didn't seem like such a sacrifice of dignity compared to facing Father.
"I get first dibs!" Grayson declared, already herding him toward the medical bay with a firmly guiding arm around his back. "You can have him afterward." Damian allowed the guidance only so far, snapping once they'd reached the safety of gleaming sterile counters reeking of disinfectant.
"Remove your hands or I'll break your wrists."
"That depends. Do I have to tie you to the table or will you stay?" Insufferable. Really. He was just insufferable.
"I can get out of any bindings." Damian crossed his arms. Grayson hummed thoughtfully, as if to say, "Is that so?" but let him go in favor of retrieving supplies. Damian watched him opening drawers for a moment with utmost suspicion. Grayson was still an enemy after all, and it wouldn't do to let his guard down.
"Father may be unconcerned about your unsolicited entrance, but you aren't fooling me with this act."
"I was coming home." He closed the drawer.
"You were infiltrating a secret entrance." But Grayson only laughed—laughed!—amused smile widening as he set the supplies down on the counter and pulled a stool over. Damian frowned. He didn't have time for this. He had training to do, replacements to kill. All this attention was ridiculous. Such a fuss over a few scrapes! And why did Grayson have to look so hopelessly dopey while he did it?
Damian huffed as the man rubbed antiseptic into the cuts with gentle pressure, and turned away, even if the brush of fingers against his elbow, pushing up under his sleeve to check for additional abrasions wasn't completely detestable. He allowed the inspection patiently.
Father didn't need all these replacement sons now that he had Damian. But maybe Grayson wasn't so bad. If he had to share Father's affection with another brother, better Grayson than Drake. Despicable Drake. At least Todd wasn't actively vying for the position.
"Be more careful next time, Little D." The man ruffled his hair as he stood, and Damian took back everything he'd thought and consoled himself with the image of going for Grayson's throat.
"Dick, you're hurt!" Tim had followed them in, standing in the doorway when Dick looked up. He was still standing close enough to Damian to feel the younger boy stiffen as though threatened, and that didn't make any sense at all. Tim was harmless. The boy adored them, had practically idolized Batman and Robin. Eyeing him now, Dick thought Tim would be satisfied working beside Bruce forever if someone didn't give him a gentle push out the door soon.
"Nothing I'm not used to." He smiled disarmingly. His back felt like hamburger, one shoulder had been severely damaged, his arms scraped up, but as long as he didn't obviously limp or favor one limb over the other, Tim need never know…
"The idiot pole-vaulted off his vehicle in an attempt to rescue me." Without revealing the nature of his own role in the mess of course. The little traitor. So much for keeping Tim from unnecessary worry. Tim's eyes narrowed on him in that same way Bruce's did, and Dick's smile turned sheepish.
"Sit down." Of course nothing would do until Tim had thoroughly checked him over. Dick didn't even try to protest that authoritative tone—his future-ruler-of-Wayne-Industries tone—just sat meekly down on the stool in Damian's place. The little rat smirked sharply at him from behind Tim's back. And if he didn't outright mouth "revenge," it was implied.
All of this meant he was stuck for the next five minutes while Tim made disparaging noises and washed the blood out of his hair with a damp cloth. Dick accepted the pampering tamely and helped by rubbing antiseptic into the abrasions on his arms. He might even have gotten away with just that if he hadn't winced when Tim patted him on the back.
"Honestly, Dick!" Tim said, pushing his shirt up to ascertain the extent of the injury. The cool touch against his raw skin was the boy's hands tracing the damage. "How many times did you hit?!"
"It was more of a roll…" Dick ducked his head guiltily. "I came out in one piece though, didn't I?"
"Barely," Tim murmured, getting more bandages and wet cloths.
Damian clucked disparagingly. "Idiot."
Dick considered his new brother for a minute while Tim was busy: the upward tilt of his chin and shoulders squared against the world, the blue eyes so like Bruce's. He was the picture of defiance and haughtiness, and yet… Had Damian told Tim on him because the boy wanted to make sure he was cared for? There was an underlying insecurity there that made Dick want to just wrap him up.
His thoughts were broken by Tim's return, murmuring things while he washed the blood away with careful caresses of a cold, wet cloth. The gentleness made Dick smile, even if the soft words he picked up sounded more like threats to his freedom than worries. Eventually Tim declared him fit and Dick was allowed to escape.
After so long away in Bludhaven, he didn't want to call it a night quite so soon—he wanted to pull them all into a hug and never let go—but as good as it was to see Bruce and Tim again, Dick was hungry after a night on patrol, and with that in mind, suggested continuing their conversation upstairs in the kitchen.
"I'm coming too!" Damian said, hurrying not to be left behind. "Somebody trustworthy has to keep an eye on the interloper, after all!" Dick chuckled, waiting for his youngest brother to catch up before continuing up the stairs to the manor proper.
Apparently though it couldn't be quite that simple. They passed one of the first-floor guest bedrooms on the way to the kitchen, light spilling into the hallway. Dick glanced in and stopped. Jason lay on the bed inside, one hand cuffed to the headboard.
Oh. Dick felt his eyebrows hike up.
"Dickie! Thank goodness!" Seeing him, Jason sat bolt upright with all the desperation of the dying. "You have to get me out of here!"
"Uh-huh." Dick wasn't so easily fooled. "What did you do this time?"
"He's our prisoner!" Damian stepped up beside him, feet together and back straight, with all the air of a warden, and it was kind of cute that he was taking such a game so seriously.
"Don't listen to them!" Jason shouted, straining at his cuff. "They're the enemy! They're on his side!"
"You won't free him, will you?" Tim asked seriously, and Dick wrapped an arm reassuringly around the younger boy's shoulders and started to guide them away.
"I wouldn't dream of it."
"Dickie! Dick! You can't leave me here!" Jason's desperate pleas followed them down the hall. "They're reading me bedtime stories, Dick! Bedtime stories! THEY'RE BRAINWASHING ME WITH CINDERELLA!" His shouts dissolved into cursing as they passed out of hearing range.
They reached the kitchen without any more surprises and Dick went to drag sandwich ingredients out of the refrigerator. Tim ducked around him to pull out a Zesti with an "On your right!" Even if the younger boy had recently developed the grace and deft skill of maturity, some things never changed. Dick tried to elbow him teasingly, but Tim merely swiveled out of reach, taking his prize and setting the can down on the counter. Grace, indeed. Damian hopped up beside their mutual brother as Dick placed the sandwich parts down and started combining them, shutting the refrigerator deftly with a flick of his foot.
"How long are you staying?" Tim's smile was brilliant—earnestly happy, but… wrong somehow. Maybe too happy. Tim had always been a bit reserved. Dick wondered at it, but let it pass. He wasn't going to complain about his brother's happiness.
"A few days." He grinned back. "Have to get to know my new little brother."
"Tt." Damian lifted his chin. "Your pathetic attempts to ingratiate yourself to me will not win you a place at my side once I have assumed my rightful position at the head of Father's organization."
"Those are quite the aspirations you've got there." It was almost cute how hard the kid tried to make a place for himself. Dick fought the urge to tousle his hair fondly, if only because he thought the kid might actually bite, involving himself with layering the top slice of bread onto his finished sandwich instead. "Anyway, if you're going for Wayne Industries, you'll have to beat Tim first. He's the best."
"Dick, really…" Tim protested. He had flushed a flattered pink though, just the faintest coloration high along his cheekbones. It was utterly endearing. "I don't think…"
"Drake?" Damian sneered while Dick took a mouthful of lettuce and ham and onions. "The stand-in? No, Father's company needs a real leader."
At Damian's side, Tim rolled his eyes, the corners of his mouth tightening just a hair unhappily.
"If you want to spend quality time with him, be my guest. But," Tim warned, "it'll have to be on the driving range."
"What? Why?" Dick nearly choked on his mouthful in his dismay, swallowing hurriedly. Even Damian frowned.
"Bruce has decided it a fit punishment to make Damian repair your bike." Tim leaned back impassively, and that… that seemed downright cruel, unless...
"You're good with mechanics?" Dick looked at the youngest curiously, but Damian only waved him off.
"Mother made sure to train me in numerous valuable skills."
"Mother?"
"Talia," Tim replied, and the furrowing of his eyebrows was definitely disapproval. Dick must have looked dangerously close to a hug, because Tim's eyes narrowed knowingly. "You can fawn all over him as much as you want tomorrow."
"But… there must be fawning tonight!"
Tim laughed at his pout, reaching for the forgotten Zesti and lifting it to his lips only to pause. He blinked down at the can before setting it back down, seeming to think better of it.
"You will keep your hands to yourself!" Damian threatened, but Dick's attention was now elsewhere. Tim hopped down and walked around to pour the contents of the can into the sink. Dick watched him curiously, raising an eyebrow when Tim turned back around.
"Didn't feel like it after all." He smiled disarmingly. Dick was about to call him on the lie, but when he opened his mouth, he yawned instead.
"Guess it'll have to be tomorrow after all," he replied sheepishly.
After Dick disappeared up to his room for the night, Tim was left alone with Damian. Still staring into the empty doorway where their brother had vanished only moments before, he raised an eyebrow.
"Did you think I wouldn't notice?" The room was colder without Dick, filled with the chilling hum of the refrigerator and the bleak blue glow of electrical indicator lights. His own voice was as sterile as the gleaming counters. "Your attempts are becoming obvious." Beside him, Damian shifted angrily.
"I was working with time constraints," he snapped, displaying teeth. "With Grayson around, I can't afford to waste all my time on you anymore."
Tim turned finally to regard him, staring back coolly, considering. The threat was minimal, but still…
"If you touch Dick," Tim smiled, "you'll wish you'd never heard of Batman and Robin." He turned on his heel, leaving Damian alone in the empty room.
Author Notes: This is one of those I'm-going-to-hell-for-writing-this fics. If you are one of those brightly optimistic people who retain hope this sequel is somehow magically going to "fix" the damage of the previous installment or make it all better, you should not be reading this. That said, in re-reading HOL, while I still like the concept a lot obviously, it was my first fic in the Batfam verse and there were a lot of cliché or repetitious elements. In comparison, now that I've read more fics in this fandom and know the pitfalls a little better, I hope you'll find the sequel more… streamlined. Less annoying backstory.
There isn't really any mention of Alfred in this story. Mostly because I'm using his responsibilities (tending to the wounded, bringing food to the prisoner) to knit the boys together. Maybe he's still around, strongly disapproving somewhere, but we won't talk about him.
Also, Dick is not a dork. I think he gives his family more leeway with explanations and secrets than others, so he hasn't quite realized how serious things are yet. He will.
There will be more serious Jason next chapter. Apparently he isn't in the basement. XD
Question: Do you get my title? If so, did you get it before or after you read my definition?