Author's Note: Slightly shorter chapter this time. I felt like it was time to revisit Dick and Bruce both. Especially considering the content. Big moment here! Let me know how I did!
Unlike Bruce and Jason, Dick was a social creature. Good friends are cheaper than therapy, as the saying went. Not that money was an issue – or like he'd never had therapy – but Dick couldn't imagine spending so much time on his own the way some members of his family did. The company of Vic, Garth, and Raven along with the younger Titans was a welcomed sight the moment he arrived at the tower.
"Yo!" Victor Stone threw a massive metal arm around his shoulders. "It's good to see you, man."
Garth tackled him with a full-body hug that would have had Dick on the ground of Beast Boy if weighted a little more. "We heard Roy was coming too. Gonna have an old-school Titans reunion."
"Yeah," Dick smiled. "We saw him in Vegas. I just flew in from there, but he's driving so it'll be a few hours."
"'We' as in... you and the queen of England?" Garth guessed. "Come on, give it up. Where've you stashed your baby brother? Thought he was supposed to be coming with."
"He…" Dick thought of the best way to phrase it, "had an errand to run in L.A.. Kind of spur of the moment, but he should be here sometime late tonight, I think."
They went on talking animatedly as they entered the tower but soon grew more somber. Dick hadn't spent much time in the tower lately, but whenever he visited his first stop was always the Hall of Fallen Titans to pay his respects. He briefly wondered if Roy had been right: if his guilt over not attending Jason's funeral somehow drove him to view the loss differently after that point. The others left him in the hall for a bit to be alone with the statues of the fallen. He walked over to the statue of Donna Troy, regal but as lifeless as the amazon herself, and placed his palm on the base.
"He really misses you," Dick spoke softly, imagining his friend could hear him.
Upstairs in the open kitchen and dining space the atmosphere was much lighter and more relaxed. Conner Kent, Cassie Sandsmark, and M'Gann M'orzz were discussing something by the kitchen counters. Dick plopped down on the couch between Garth and Bart Allen who was madly flipping through channels until he settled on Cartoon Network. He grabbed a fist-full of popcorn from his bowl, sighed contentedly, then folded his hands behind his head.
"I miss this," he grinned at the green youth.
"Watching cartoons?"
"No one back home appreciates the relaxing simplicity of it," Dick complained.
"Not even that new little kid you guys got?" the speedster looked shocked. "Isn't he like... eight? He doesn't watch cartoons?"
Dick tried not to wince. "No, Damian watches the History and Discovery channels."
"Huh, another nerd," Conner snorted from his place at the kitchen counter. "He and Tim must be getting along."
"Ah, he mostly still sticks close to Jason."
Conner exchanged a look with Cassie and Miss Martian then shrugged and went back to talking to the girls about something else. Dick was relieved that the topics of Jason or Damian weren't really as interesting to the younger team members who only knew Tim as Robin. He was more patient, but even Dick was getting almost as tired of the gossip as Jason had been.
A few hours of cartoons, pizza boxes, and sodas later and he was completely at ease, laughing and chatting with both new and old team members. He barely felt the phone vibrate until the third ring. Must be Jay. Finally! Dick fished it out, and his smile instantly fell. He frowned at the caller I.D.. Bruce?
He swallowed, suddenly apprehensive, but slid his thumb across the screen and unlocked it.
"Hello?"
At times like this, Bruce wondered if he was cursed. He'd had no reason to think that way for months, not since Jason returned and brought Damian into his life. His sons were back, his sometimes tense relationship with his eldest had improved dramatically, and Tim was perfectly happy both while as Robin and to just hang out with the two older boys. Bruce had honestly thought that this time things would be alright.
It took hours to coax Tim out of his house, to clean up the blood, make all kinds of arrangements, and – as much as he hated to even think so clinically now – collect the evidence. All the while a mantra kept running through Batman's mind. Not again, not another dead father, not another orphan. Tim was supposed to be different. This wasn't supposed to happen. Not again... By the time he could even think about stopping, it was nearly dawn.
He stood outside the Drake house for a long moment, hidden by shadows of trees and his own suit. Then he swallowed and gave a single command to the cowl.
"Call Dick."
There was a pause and several rings before his eldest finally picked up. "Hello?"
"Are you on the road?" He didn't want to give them this kind of news if they were driving, especially in a city.
"No." Bruce could hear a note of caution rise in his voice. Dick really did know him too well.
"I need you both to come back to Gotham immediately. Take the next flight out of Los Vegas or San Francisco, wherever you are now. Leave the car. We'll have it shipped back later."
"What happened?" Already he sounded nearly panicked. "Bruce, what's going on?"
There was no way to hide it. Batman took a breath and tore off the proverbial band-aid. "Jack Drake is dead. Murdered by Digger Harkenss."
"Fuck!" He could hear startled gasps in the background then Dick take several deep breaths. "Where's Tim?"
"I took him to the manor and asked Alfred to take care of him while I..." he swallowed, "secured the crime scene. You both need to come home now, Dick."
He had to return to Watchtower, had to work with the others to catch whoever was responsible for these atrocities, but there was no way he was leaving Tim or Damian alone tonight. Alfred was a miracle worker with traumatized children, but Bruce wouldn't risk them being without someone trained around, someone who could protect them. After this, he needed both of his eldest home in the manor. Even Titan Tower didn't feel safe anymore.
"I hear you," Dick regained some of his composure even though Bruce knew he had to be reeling from the news. "Next flight out, and we'll take a cab home. Don't bother Alfred."
"Yes," Bruce agreed. "I'll see you soon."
He cut the connection, made his way across the short distance between the cave bellow Wayne Manor and the Drake house, and went straight for the showers in the locker area without bothering to go upstairs to the admittedly much more comfortable one in the master bathroom. Not that the no-costumes-upstairs rule had never been ignored before, but Bruce was not about to face either of the boys in the suit that was still stained in blood and Jack Drake's blood.
The first floor of the manor was eerily quiet but he met Alfred on the grand staircase. The old man's face was crestfallen, and Bruce guessed he had just finished seeing Tim off to bed. They paused a stare apart, and with a deep sigh his oldest friend placed a hand on his shoulder.
"Bruce." Alfred's voice was heavy with sadness, and the rare name-only address made him feel eight years old again, "this is not your fault."
He frowned at that, as if the thought that it could be anything but his fault was completely foreign. "You said that with my parents. And then with Dick's parents, and when Jason..." he couldn't force the words out of his mouth. That horror is done, he reminded himself. My son is alive. No one will take any of my children from me ever again. Bruce swallowed. "It keeps happening, Alfred."
"But it is not your fault." The old man stressed. "Even Batman cannot be everywhere at once, hard as you might try. The only thing you can do now..." He turned his head and his eyes traveled up the stairs. "I have made Master Timothy drink some warm milk and saw him to bed."
"How... how did he seem?" It was a stupid question but Bruce asked it anyway.
"Like a traumatized child, in shock. I gave him a mild sedative to help him sleep. I pray he does not dream."
"Me too." He still had nightmares about Joe Chill decades later. What Tim had just witnessed... the way he'd found his father... Bruce ran a hand over his face.
"If I may make a suggestion," Alfred spoke softly. "Timothy will sleep for several more hours at least. You might like to check on Master Damian."
Bruce's brows rose. "He should definitely be asleep."
Alfred said nothing. Right. 'Should' is a very convenient word. Bruce nodded and made his way up the rest of the staircase. A dim light could be seen from under his youngest son's bedroom door. He turned the knob slowly and entered.
Damian was sitting cross-legged in the middle of the floor still in his pajamas, yellow bat symbols scattered over a black background. Jason had bought those for him before he left with Dick, Bruce remembered. The boy had protested at first, but he'd finally worn them the night before the two eldest left. Jason had been grinning. All around the boy was some sort of complicated construction made out of a combination of K'nex, Legos, and a few mini engines that were definitely not toys. Bruce suspected some of them came from the cave.
"Hey." He lowered himself on the floor next to his son. "What do you have here?"
Damian shrugged. "Started building a roller coaster, added a some pulleys and wires, and..."
He flipped a switch, sending some of the small engines to life. Bruce didn't see what was happening at first until he looked up. Two Lego TIE Fighters were chasing a sole X-Wing around the ceiling on wires. Their front lights were flashing.
"That's really good." Bruce was impressed. When he was eight he'd been playing with Gray Ghost action figures. "Did you stay up all night building it?"
Another small shrug. Damian looked distinctly uncomfortable now. "I heard when you brought Dr... Tim in. Something happened, didn't it? Something bad."
Bruce bit his lip, then reached over to stop the humming contraption and pulled the boy into his arms. Damian squirmed a little, then gave in and tucked his head under his chin. For a moment he was content to simply hold his son. Kids are resilient, he reminded himself. But Bruce was so damn tired of explaining death to children.
"Tim's dad is gone," he said softly. "He... died a few hours ago."
Damian was silent for a while, chewing on his lip. "I met him a few times," he spoke up finally. "He made us popcorn when we watched the first Star Wars. He was... nice. Did you catch who killed him?"
Bruce tilted his head to get a better look at him. "How do you know someone killed him?"
"He wasn't sick or old." Another shrug. "Unless it was an accident like... like with Mother."
The fleeting thought of, huh, another little detective, was overshadowed when he possessed the last part of Damian's sentence. Like with Mother. Bruce was not at all sure that allowing Damian to continue to believe his mother was dead was the right thing to do. Actually, he was certain it was not, but there was so much else going on at the moment that he simply didn't have time to deal with the potential fallout of that revelation. Damian was smart, but impulsive and emotional as all children tended to be. Once again Bruce couldn't help but think of the way he'd lost Jason.
"I didn't catch them," he answered the boy's original question. It was true. Digger Harkenss was just a pawn, Bruce knew that. "But I will, and in the meantime, Dick and Jason will be back sometime tomorrow to look after you and Tim until all this is over."
Damian's face instantly lit up at the mention of his brothers, then suddenly turned morose again. He looked down at his hands, and Bruce frowned.
"What's wrong? I thought you'd be happy they're coming back soon."
"I am!" The boy looked up at him hesitantly. "Is... is that alright?"
Bruce gave him a reassuring smile and pressed his lips against the top of his head. "It's okay to be happy to see family, even when something very sad just happened. Maybe especially when something sad happens."