A/N: Oops.

Also, this chapter is more fluff than anything, so enjoy. Or don't. Sorry? You're welcome?

Rated T: For language, courtesy of, plot twist: Mostly Tim, but still, Jason too.

"Back to the drawing board," Bruce said not turning around, and together they walked back to the Bat-computer to continue their mission: Find Crane.


The toxicity results were already displayed on the computer as the three bats reentered the cave lobby.

The Batman, sans the cape and cowl, took his place in the chair in front of the main computer and opened up a few files that lit up the screen.

The blood test displayed a series of three-dimensional circles varying in colors with lines connecting to them. Beside it on the same screen displayed previous compositions of Crane's known toxins, as well as formula files gathered throughout the years.

"Is he clear," Jason asked, still standing near the entrance of the med-bay.

Clicking a few keys, two screens popped up, side by side. One showed a sample in it's cellular level of Dick's blood before the toxin, and one after the incident. Both appeared to be similar, which meant the toxin likely left his system entirely. All the bats silently studied it for a few moments.

"It would appear so," responded Batman as he closed the tabs and returned it back to the previous screen of files.

Tim walked up beside him, looking up at the screen. "This formula is almost identical to Crane's previous ones," he gestured to the blood test results.

"Yeah, fine," Jason began as he walked up to the computer opposite of Tim. "But why did this one take so long to take effect, and if it's identical to his old ones, why the fuck did this take so long to hammer Nightwing?"

Wordlessly, Batman began typing commands into the computer. Multiple pages piled onto the screen and all the present bats stared intently studying their contents.

After a moment, Bruce spoke up. "It looks like there is an agent in the toxin that only triggers when the amount of serotonin in the brain decreased to a certain level," he said, eyes not leaving the screen.

"In other words," Jason said, stepping closer to the screen. "As soon as Goldenboy stopped being his excessively exuberant self… AKA, the debrief…" The anti-hero trailed off, leaving Bruce's reaction to the debrief unsaid.

"So," Tim began. "There must have been some suppressing agent within the toxin that would keep the toxin at bay until it was able to take full effect. The decrease in serotonin had to have been gradual."

"That would make sense," Jason said, his hand rubbing absentmindedly on his chin. "I'll be willing to bet that gas wasn't just a distraction. Maybe it hid the suppressing agent."

"I agree. There are other means to distract us, and Crane couldn't have known what Damian was likely to choose when he activated that machine. For all he knew, Robin could've gone straight for him if he saw that the gas wasn't an immediate threat. He knew we were close behind. Damian must have known that too, and Dick was intravenously exposed to the toxin. If Robin wanted to, he could've still gone for Crane. Gas was a risky distraction," the young detective deduced. Tim was pacing back and fourth, his brain working on overdrive.

Tim paused from his pacing. "Can we create an antidote based on Dick's blood sample for when we run into Crane again?"

"Negative," Batman answered. "We took Dick's blood sample after he was already exposed to the toxin, and after his body already reacted to it and changed its composition. We would need a live sample: one in the initial state before it was injected."

"What exactly did this toxin target?" Jason asked, his brow furrowed in thought.

"What do you mean?" Tim asked, looking curiously at his older brother. This was Jonathan Crane. Scarecrow. Of course it would target the subject's deepest fears.

"I mean, we've seen what Scarecrow's toxin does, right? And it certainly doesn't do that." At the last word, Jason gestured back to the center of the room where the examination table was previously located. Alfred had already managed to move everything back to their rightful locations, and clean up the blood that had previously decorated the floor.

It was a good point. All of them had their run with Scarecrow's fear toxin at least once in their career, but never before had it driven any of them so far past the line of rationality. They've had incidents where they almost hurt other people, but never themselves. Without a doubt, if Dick actually had the means to do so, they would've lost him. The two proteges of Batman looked at him expectantly.

Without looking back, Bruce addressed his boys. "I'll look into it more. For now, I want both of you to hit the showers and get some sleep."

Jason cleared his throat, "I'll see you all tomorrow then," he said as he stepped towards the loading area where his bike was located.

"Nonsense," Bruce said, still not looking away from the screen. "I already had Alfred prepare your room."

Behind the Batman, Jason smiled. Of course he would never admit that he wanted to stay, but he was glad for the offer.

"Are you sure you don't need any help?" Tim asked exasperatedly, already expecting the answer.

Bruce paused from typing and looked up at his son, who was leaning against the console. "No. I'm fine. Go get some rest."

Jason let out a deep, exaggerated sigh. "Well, in that case, I'll be in the gym. I didn't get to bust as many faces in as I had hoped tonight." The Red Hood stretched his arms out wide and began to head towards the weight room. "Night B. Burgerboy."

Tim rolled his eyes at the nickname. Walking up next to his adoptive father, Tim watched as Bruce's hands moved rapidly across the keys of the computer.

"Actually, I think I'm going to go check on Dick. See if Alfred needs help with anything," Tim said already making his way to the med-bay.

"Boys," Bruce's deep tenor voice echoed throughout the cave.

Both boys stopped in their tracks, looking at Bruce expectantly.

"Good work today. Both of you."

The two brothers exchanged a look with each other, before nodding once in acknowledgment to their surrogate father and going their separate ways for the night.


Tim quietly made his way to the med-bay recovery room that two of his brother's were currently occupying. He was glad that he had changed to comfortable sweatpants and a t-shirt prior to the initial debrief, because he was too physically and emotionally exhausted to change now.

Normally after big missions like this, Tim seemingly spends the whole night running on adrenaline from the excitement of a mission. Now, the rush of excitement was finally wearing off and the young vigilante simply felt drained. Not only Dick, but Damian was injured. Luckily, they weren't life threatening injuries, but still enough to warrant the constant worry ebbing in his stomach. Of all outcomes of the mission that he and the World's Greatest Detective predicted, this was the least likely.

They were unable to apprehend Crane.

They were unable to collect a live sample of his new toxin.

They were unable to stop him before he injected that toxin into Nightwing.

The night was full of failures.

Maybe if I had gone after them as soon as I lost signal to their tracers, the teenager thought. Maybe if I had worked faster clearing the upper levels, I would've gotten to them on time before they engaged.

Neither of them wouldn't have gotten hurt.

Dick would't have almost…

Now, Tim was standing in front of the closed door to his brothers were sleeping in. He was going to check on his older brother. He was on the other side of the door, sleeping. Breathing. Alive. Dick isn't going anywhere, anytime soon. He's fine. Everyone is fine.

Grabbing the door handle, he shook his head. You can't change it what happened tonight now. Get over it. The important thing is, you didn't lose anyone tonight.

Your family is breathing.

Your family is alive.

They're safe.

He couldn't help but feel like this was his fault: that Dick almost… killed himself. It was semi-irrational to think that Tim was responsible for Dick almost dying at his own hand, but he could come up with a million different ways this night could've turned out differently, and Dick… that had been completely unexpected. Tim was terrified, but unlike Damian, he hid it better. He had never even seen Damian so visibly shaken by tonight's outcome.

A larger part of him wanted to blame Jason. It was Jason's gun after all. Tim never supported Jason's choice of weapon. It was how he was raised, how Batman taught him. He only tolerated the fact that he knew they were no longer loaded with actual bullets, and Jason hadn't killed a soul in months.

Sighing heavily, Tim opened the door and was greeted with the sight of Alfred finishing up wrapping a white gauze around Dick's newly injured left hand.

"Hey, Alf," he greeted with a small smile.

"Master Timothy," his surrogate grandfather's old, British accent always provided him comfort and Tim felt himself relax a little more.

"Mind if I sit in," Tim asked, pulling up a large leather chair and bringing it by the bed where his oldest brother slept.

Alfred smiled tiredly. "Of course not, my dear boy. I was just finishing up here," he said as he wrapped up the excess bandages and put away in it's respective cabinet. "If you would alert me if anything changes, I have a few more matters to attend to before retiring for the night."

"No problem, Alf," he responded, sitting down.

The elder butler nodded once. "Very well. Also, if Master Damian awakens, please suggest he go to his room. That couch looks far from comfortable, and it is uncertain when Master Dick will awaken, as well." With that, he exited the room, quietly shutting the door behind him.

Tim scooted his chair closer to the bed and watched the steady rise and fall of his brother's chest. The evenness of Dick's breath and the light snoring from Damian from the couch behind him should have helped ease the worry that buried itself in his mind, but it didn't.

Shouldn't we restrain him, at least, he thought. Just in case he wakes up and tries something again? I mean, that makes sense, right?

No. That wouldn't make any sense. Bruce had said the toxin was completely out of his system.

Wait, no. Bruce had said, "It would appear so," as in maybe there is something they couldn't see.

He shook his head. Now you're just being paranoid. Dick is fine. He isn't going to hurt himself. You're right here. You're watching him. You're not going to let him get hurt.

He buried himself deeper in the chair, closed his eyes, and let his shoulders fall slack in an attempt to quiet the rapid progression of thoughts in his mind. Like always, his brain was still chasing after Scarecrow: where he could possibly be hiding, what he is currently doing, where did he find all of his associates, all of the equipment, the money, the -

His thoughts were cut off by the opening of the door. The teen vigilante shot up in his chair, now alert.

"It's just me," Jason said in a whisper, his hands up in a placating gesture.

Tim allowed himself to relax. "Sorry. You just violently derailed my train of thought."


The older boy snickered. "Eh, I tend to do that a lot." Jason walked over to the IV stand positioned beside the bed and his eyes grazed over the label on the bag. After reading it, he let out a low whistle. "Alf has him on some heavy meds." He turned to Tim. "Won't be feelin' a thing."

The other Red rolled his eyes. "Weren't you going to the gym?"

Jason shrugged. The older took the time to change after the brief meeting with Bruce and was now wearing fingerless exercise gloves and a loose black t-shirt with matching sweat pants. "I was just heading there now. Thought I'd check up on the little replacements. Otherwise known as, you and demon over there," he whispered, gesturing to Damian still asleep on the couch.

His brows furrowed in confusion. "Why are you checking on me?"

A small, sad smile found itself on the anti-hero's face. The Red Hood has seen it all in his life. And death. And life again. He can tell when you're hiding something. Like, when you're hiding pain behind a smile, or a burden you don't want shared. He may have picked up a few skills from Cassandra, too.

If one thing he knows for sure, it's how to read his brothers.

"You're scared," he stated simply.

Jason watched as the younger boy visibly tensed, and his face subtly grew with anger.

"Of course I was scared! Dick almost died - by your gun! Don't give me that 'I know you're scared' bullshit! Of-fucking-course I was scared," Tim whispered angrily as he stood up from his chair, now facing Jason.

The taller boy didn't even flinch as Tim came closer. Instead, he stood his ground, looking down at the slightly shorter boy.

"No," he shook his head. "I said, 'You are scared.' You still think he's going to hurt himself."

Tim's eyes widened, and he was physically taken back. "No… no, I don't. Bruce said the toxin is out," he said in a small voice, as if trying to convince himself more than Jason.

"Not only that, but you obviously blame me," he continued calmly. He did just mention that it was his gun that could have potentially killed their brother.

The younger boy looked down at his feet as if he'd been caught.

Jason crossed his arms and continued looking at his brother, even though he was no longer making eye contact. "You know, Tim? When Bruce came back and he let me keep working with you all, he made me keep a promise, remember?"

His younger brother looked off to the side. "The rubber bullets. No kill shots. Yeah, I know," he huffed out.

"Did you also know that I'm not allowed to bring loaded guns into the cave," Jason asked raising a brow, arms still crossed.

The younger, multi-city vigilante finally met his brother's eyes, and paused in thought. There had always been the "No Guns," policy in the Wayne household, but of course, Jason was an exception to that rule now, because he used them all the time. Prior to missions, during briefings, Tim had always seen Jason fully equipped with heavy weaponry.

"The clip was empty," he said meaning to be a question, but it came out as a statement.

"Bruce would have singlehandedly beat my ass to the Narrows if I even thought about bringing a loaded gun into the cave. Yeah, I load them in safe houses on the way to places," he stated casually, not even bothering to whisper. Tim glanced at the couch. Damian still looked sound asleep.

"And Dick," Jason said, continuing to speak in a conversational tone. "You heard B, and you saw the test results. He's clean. The toxin naturally left his system. All we gotta do is let it run it's course whenever, or if ever, we run into it again." The older was walking to the side of the room towards the sleeping boy.

The rational reasoning that was voiced outloud by the older boy was admittedly easing Tim's troubled mind. Of course, he knew this, but naturally, he was paranoid. Bruce always taught them to expect the worst, and plan for it.

"And you know Bruce," Jason continued. "He's probably already trying to find an antidote with what little information we have on it," he said casually as he made a move to sit on the sleeping boy on the couch.

"Jason," Tim whispered in warning. "What are you doing? You'll wake him up," he said studying Jason as he approached Damian. The youngest had his back facing up, covered in a blanket, with his head resting peacefully on a pillow and his hands folded underneath it.

"What? He probably woke up, like, five minutes ago," Jason said, looking at his wrist at an imaginary watch. "Isn't that right, Demon?"

Smirking mischievously, the older, much larger, man sat on the small couch that was already occupied by a small boy sprawled across it.

"Todd, get off of me immediately, or I will decapitate you in your sleep," came Damian's muffled voice.

Dramatically spreading his arms out wide, and moving to lay on the couch as well, Jason continued to be an obnoxious older brother. "Sorry, Batbrat. Didn't quiet hear that. Sounds like you have a 220 pound mass of muscle sitting across you."

"Oh shiii-," Jason began flailing his arms dramatically as he was shoved off the couch and onto his feet.

"I said," the Son of Batman said, now sitting up. "'I will decapitate you in your sleep,'" he repeated again, emphasizing each word.

Jason waved his arm dismissively as he headed toward the door, "Yeah, yeah. I don't hate you either, kid."

Tim watched the scene unfold with his hand across his face, a fond smile hidden underneath. He expected that the older knew the youngest bat was awake, probably trying to give the same reassurances to ease their paranoia. He knew Damian would need to be reassured that Dick was fine, and the joking atmosphere would've helped with normalcy to really convince him that everything was relatively okay at the moment.

"Oh," the older Red said before exiting the room. "I ran into Alfie on the way here. He wanted me to tell you it'd be safe to wait for Dick in your room. He's not waking up anytime soon."

"Yeah," the other Red began. "He told me that too."

Still seated, and his eyes tired from sleep, Damian crossed his arms and huffed in annoyance. "You are all fools for thinking I am leaving this room."

Both boys glanced at each other and smirked conspiringly.

"We could always force you," Tim said with a shrug.

"Yeah, get the bolas and tie you down," Jason suggested.

"Touch me and you die," Damian half-heartedly said wiping the sleep from his eyes. He's pretty much gotten used to his brothers sarcastic vernacular over the past few years.

Jason shrugged and began heading out the door again. "I don't really care where you sleep, to be honest. Just relaying a message. Do either of you need anything before I head to the gym? I might be feeling nice enough to get it for you. Might."

"My MP3 player would be a sufficient medium to drown out Drake's attempt at conversation, seeing as he doesn't appear to be leaving anytime soon."

Tim rolled his eyes and ignored his comment. "My laptop would be awesome, Jason, thanks. I need to look more into the case."

"If it's not already in the cave, I'm not getting it. Just a heads up," the second oldest said as he closed the door behind him.


A/N: I pretty much already have the next chapter written out, so the wait will not be nearly as long.