Author's Note: Here we are at the beginning of another adventure with the Batfam. This story is a sequel to 'Tectonic Doom', so if you haven't checked out that story you might miss out on a few of the finer details that will go into this one. I will be continuing my usual every-other-day posting, although there may be a couple of missed days due to upcoming events. I will be sure to give you all notice of those as they get closer.

For those of you who are waiting for more in the 'Spark in the Dark' series, we'll be returning to it after the conclusion of this story.


"So," Dick said, peering down at the atlas open before him, "you're saying we should hit these in a big loop?"

"It seems to make the most sense that way," Tim shrugged from across the coffee table. "We can spend those few days in D.C. that you wanted first, kind of get an overview of the war as a whole, and then hit battlefields all the way down and back up." He sketched a vaguely u-shaped route on the map as he spoke. "That way we're not retracing our steps along the way."

"Well, it makes more sense than what I was thinking. I thought we'd go all the way down to Appomattox and then kind of zig-zag back. Your idea is way more logical." He grinned. "There's a shock. But," he turned to the teenager beside him, "you don't look happy. What's up?"

"It should be chronological," the thirteen-year-old groused.

Dick and Tim exchanged a look. "Dami," the elder explained patiently, "look at the map. We'd have to go from Manassas up into Maryland for Antietam, then back past Manassas to hit Fredericksburg and Chancellorsville, then all the way north into Pennsylvania for Gettysburg, and then waaay down south again for Cold Harbor, Petersburg, and Appomattox."

"So what?!"

"So it doesn't make any sense," Tim insisted.

"You don't make any sense, Drake."

"...Dick, remind me why I want to spend three weeks in a car with him?"

"Because he's your brother and you love him," Dick answered promptly. "Besides, you know he's not really mad at you. He's mad at the fact that the Civil War wasn't fought in an order that's convenient for tourism."

"Heh." A tiny smirk had appeared on the youngest of the trio's face. "Yeah. I think they should have thought about that."

"Yeah, it's not like they had anything more important on their minds. Just the future of the country, the question of slavery, not dying a horrible death in combat...little things." Tim rolled his eyes, but he, too, was smiling.

"...You guys are getting so good at not trying to kill each other every time you have a disagreement," Dick beamed. "I'm so proud. This trip's going to be amazing."

Now Damian rolled his eyes. "Enough mush. And enough planning, too. Drake, I need your computer."

"What for?" Tim asked, suspicion plain in his voice.

"Grayson said I could be in charge of the music for the trip. Since he also said I had to make a play list that included some of your preferred bands, I need your computer."

"I'm surprised you didn't just hack in," Tim arched an eyebrow. "Not that you would have been able to, but still. Normally you'd at least try."

"Not even your admittedly decent security would have held for long if I'd wanted in. It's just less of a waste of my time to just ask."

"...I would be mad at your assumption that you could make it past my protections at all, let alone quickly, but considering that you used to try and hack my systems just to annoy me I'll let it go." Tim stood up. "I guess I'll even let you in the easy way, since you were almost nice about it."

"Aww," Dick cooed.

Damian winced. "...I vote we lock him out while we do this."

"We won't have to. He has to work on booking hotels now that we have an itinerary."

"Aw!" A disappointed pout appeared. "But I love it when you two are nice to each other! Can't you just let me enjoy it?"

"Grayson, I'm already concerned about sticking to things while I'm in Drake's bedroom. I don't need your sap upping the risk."

"First of all, that was disgusting," Tim retorted. "You're not going to stick to anything in my room, and if you do it will be your own fault. Second, Dick, you'll get three weeks straight of us attempting to be nice to each other soon enough. You can top your tank off then. Now come on, Damian," he jerked his head towards the hall. "I found this new group the other day that you might actually like."

"If you like them, then I highly doubt that."

"All I know is that they scream a lot and the bass has the potential to make your ears bleed. It seemed like your kind of thing."

"...Mm. That is promising..."

When they had departed, Dick met Bruce's gaze. The billionaire had spent the last twenty minutes watching his sons surreptitiously over his newspaper, but now he folded the journal shut. "...Well?" he asked.

Dick leaned back against the sofa. "Well what?" he smiled.

"How's it going? The planning?"

"Hmm...if I didn't know better, I'd think you'd actually been reading that stock market report in your hands."

Bruce sighed and gave in. "They've made some definite improvements in their relationship," he noted.

"Are you kidding? They're doing great!"

They were, he had to admit. While there had been a few nasty incidents in the year since Tim and Damian had seemed to reach an accord, only one had ended in blows. That altercation had ceased almost as soon as it had begun, with each combatant recognizing what he was doing and backing off before either had landed more than two hits. They'd apologized, albeit a bit begrudgingly, and that had been that. Overall Wayne Manor was more harmonious now than it had ever before been with more than two of his boys under its roof together, and he wouldn't have dreamed of complaining about it.

The only drawback to the younger pair's new-found tolerance that he'd discovered so far was the trip that he'd just witnessed being hashed out. After Dick and Tim's near-fatal sojourn the summer before, Bruce couldn't stand the thought of any of the three being away from Gotham as civilians for more than a night at a time. Had he known that Tim was going to present Dick with another vacation – or 'brocation', as the latter had taken to calling them – for his birthday, he would have taken steps to temper it into something shorter than three weeks and closer to home than Virginia. He hadn't had the heart to step in once he'd seen his eldest's joy at the gift, though, and now he was stuck with it.

"Bruuuuce..."

"You're right," he nodded, shaking himself. "They're doing great."

"They really are. And this," Dick waved his arm to indicate the guide books and maps covering the table, "is going to be an awesome trip."

"...Yes. I'm sure it will be." So long as it didn't involve car accidents, food poisoning, hotel serial killers, or vendetta-wielding scientists, it would be fine. He swallowed hard. Just a safe, fun trip. That's all I want for them.

Dick was at his elbow suddenly. "Bruce," he said seriously, "it's okay. Honest. I know you're not exactly ecstatic about us going away for a little while, but nothing's going to happen. And even if it does," he pressed, squeezing his wrist gently, "we won't be out in the middle of nowhere this time. There will be other people around, and services, and...well, it's going to be a lot different. So stop worrying, okay?"

Bruce took a deep breath. "I can't stop worrying, chum." Turning the hand atop his arm over, he gripped it tightly. "Worrying is my job."

"I know, but…look, at least we'll all three be together. I mean, think about what Tim and I got out of last summer. With Dami in the mix too we could probably stop an asteroid strike."

It was a joke, but Bruce didn't laugh. The events of the previous July had been bad enough, but the thought of all three of them being caught up in something without him was untenable. A sleeping semi-truck driver, a freak hurricane, a mass shooter...there were so many ways that he could find himself with three sons dead and the fourth still refusing to talk to him. So many ways to be alone again, he winced, and shut his eyes.

"...Bruce?"

"I know," he whispered. "It was a joke."

A heavy sigh sounded, and a moment later he felt a weight land on his shoulder. Glancing over, he found that Dick had perched on the arm of the recliner and was leaning against him. "You could still come with, you know," was proposed.

"I've thought about it. Very seriously, in fact. But there's something to your name for these outings that I don't want to interfere with."

"'Brocations'? What do you mean, there's something to it? It's just a name."

"Yes, but it's a meaningful name. You and Tim took your trip last year to spend time together as brothers. It was in that same frame of mind that Tim came up with this trip, first for you and him, and then for Damian, as well." A frown etched itself across his face as he went on. "It's good, Dick. It's very good, to be honest, and I'm...I'm glad that the three of you are doing something special together. My presence would take away from the intent of your journey, so as much as I might wish that you were all going to be safe in your beds at home...you need to go without me. Just be careful," he pleaded, "and come back in one piece."

"You know it," Dick promised. "Don't worry, we'll find you something really awesome as a 'wish you were here' present," he smiled as he pulled away. "A cannonball or something."

"What would I do with a cannonball?"

"It would make a heck of a paperweight. No one would try and one-up you in negotiations ever again; they'd be too busy looking around to make sure there wasn't a piece of artillery pointed at the back of their chair."

He couldn't help but chuckle at that. "I can think of a few people I wouldn't mind using that particular scare tactic on, but...just have fun. So long as all three of you come home whole and with good memories, that's the only present I need."

Dick shook his head and winked. "You're too easy to shop for, Bruce. Now I'm really determined to find you something wicked." Picking up the atlas and the list of battlefields Tim had been referencing, he started for the door. "I guess I'd better get started on these hotels. See you later for patrol?"

"Of course. Are you and Tim taking your motorcycles tonight?"

"Yeah. The car was kind of crowded with all four of us in it yesterday."

"I didn't design it to be a station wagon." But hadn't his design choice stemmed partially from the fact that he'd never imagined he'd be fortunate enough to have so many eager partners in his night work? Using a supercar chassis had certainly helped to make the Batmobile the fastest thing on the road, but he thought he'd be willing to sacrifice a few RPMs in exchange for his children's comfort in the backseat. "...Might have to look into that."

"That would be neat. The...the Batmowagon? Is that what we'd call it?"

"I sincerely hope not. That's a terrible name."

"Yeah...eh, I'll think of something better." Shrugging good-naturedly, Dick headed towards the hall. "See you in a little while."

Bruce's gaze was still lingering on the space where the boys had been working when Alfred entered the room. "...Can I get you anything, Master Wayne?"

"Peace of mind would be nice," he muttered.

"I'm afraid I haven't had any of that to spare since the day you were born, sir. You might be interested to know that I've found a finger of brandy to be helpful in a pinch, however."

Mildly taken aback by the butler's comment, he tore his eyes from the coffee table. "You don't like it either, do you? This trip."

"I am of two minds about it. The last thing I wish to see happen is another incident like last summer's, but I can't bring myself to object to their interest in bonding more closely with one another."

"Right." Rising, he walked over to the guidebooks that had been left out and began to flip through one. "Why the Civil War, Alfred? I don't understand why Tim chose that of all things as a theme."

"I've asked myself the same question. The only explanation I can come up with is that a Civil War tour is something they can do without visiting any areas that still bear the scars of their last adventure."

"Mm..." Alfred had a point, he allowed. So many parts of the world had been damaged by Dr. Tracy Collins' earthquakes that there were few places not still in the process of rebuilding. There was no question in his mind that neither Dick nor Tim would want to see the aftermath of that horrible week so soon after having lived it; as such, traveling someplace that hadn't been shaken to pieces made sense. "I suppose it's the kind of thing they could get into fairly easily, once they'd started," he postulated.

"Sir?"

"Well, tactics. There are a lot of those in any war, and they'd both be into that."

"Very true. There's a sense of social justice wrapped up in the conflict as well, and that would obviously appeal to them."

"True." That didn't seem like quite enough for Damian, though. While the teen evinced a moderate interest in tactics and was developing a more acceptable idea of right versus wrong than the one he'd come to the house with initially, Bruce wouldn't have pegged either as being sufficient motivation for him to spend three weeks straight away from his mask. His fingers paused in their idle thumbing through the guide book. The page he'd halted on bore two photographs, one of a man in a Union uniform, the other of a similar-featured Confederate soldier. 'Jacob and Elijah Brown were but one of many sets of brothers who found themselves on opposite sides of the war,' he read the caption. "...Brother versus brother," he murmured.

"I beg pardon, sir?"

"...Nothing." Shaking his head, he let the glossy tome close on itself, hiding the brothers Brown from view. Was the way the war had torn families apart along ideological lines what had caught Damian's attention? Maybe, Bruce mused, he was trying to figure out how people had reconciled themselves to one another when the fighting was over. Perhaps it was an attempt to understand the horror of coming across your own brother on the field of battle and having to decide whether to hold family or conviction higher. Or, it being Damian in question, he was simply interested in seeing the fields where so many men had lost their lives.

Whatever the reason behind the teen's interest was, he would try to be glad for it. "This will be good for them," he stated, speaking more to himself than to Alfred. "They'll come back better for having done it."

"I certainly hope so. I don't see why they wouldn't, but..."

"Yeah. But." But there was always that worry that they wouldn't come back at all. "...Is it wrong of me to hope that something happens to keep them from going?"

"Provided that the disaster in question doesn't result in anyone being grievously hurt or worse, sir, I would say that your hope is a natural enough one. Your last experience with sending your children off on holiday wasn't exactly positive, after all."

"Yeah, well..." The futility he'd felt as he'd hovered a thousand feet above his stranded sons the summer before welled up in his chest, as it was wont to do from time to time. If it happened again...if it turned out worse, somehow... "You know, Alfred," he ruled, "I think I will take that brandy you mentioned." A beat passed. "Care to join me?"

"I thought you'd never ask, Master Wayne," the butler answered, clearly relieved. "I'll fetch the glasses."


Author's Note: For anyone who is interested, I've posted the driving route that the boys agreed upon on my blog, which is accessible via my fanfic profile page. I've also included Damian's suggested route so that you can see why Tim was right. Happy reading!