The Family Business

by spoileralertitsme

After Bruce's death at the hands of the Joker leaves Gotham City vulnerable, it falls to his family to keep up the fight. As Dick takes up his mentor's mantle, and Barbara regains her mobility, the two senior Batkids face their most harrowing challenge yet: parenthood.

21. Chapter 21: A Night Off

"I'm tellin' ya. Puppy dog. Like, when it's just been adopted?"

Jason considered the idea, and nodded to Steph absently. "Mm-hm, mm-hm. I see your 'puppy dog', though, and raise you one 'little nerd boy who's just been adopted…and found out he gets to live in a cave full-time.'"

Tim stopped chatting with Terry up in front of them. His head whipped back to fix them with a fiery glare. "Well since we're calling each other out, how 'bout a 'hyperactive man-child elbow deep in his fifth round of chili fries'?"

"Yeah, Timbo?" Jason's eyes narrowed. He sidestepped a passing civilian who was too preoccupied with his phone to watch where he was going. After casting an annoyed glance his way, Jason turned back to Tim. "I will never apologize for the amount of fries I can keep down. Never."

Steph shoved her hands into her jacket pockets, smirking wide. "Yeah. 'Sides, I think 'hyperactive man-child's a little too close to the mark, don'tcha think?"

While his siblings giggled, Dick tipped his head back to look up at the towering skyscrapers. It wasn't often that he got to see his city from this angle. A bird's-eye-view was his preferred method of watching over Gotham. Still, seeing everything up close and personal, from the bright shop windows and bodegas and food carts, to the bustling sea of people making their way wherever as fast as possible.

It was chaotic. It was dirty. It was loud.

But it was Gotham. So, Dick loved it.

"You guys realize I can hear you, right?" he demanded, pivoting around on his heel to face the rest of his family. He was walking backwards, now, but he doubted he would bump into anyone. For some reason, people seemed to skirt around their small group. (Which he didn't mind; it'd only be a matter of time before someone recognized them anyway.)

Terry smirked. "He's still smiling. Hey, D-man? How about that time Helena scooped up all those baby ducks on patrol? The look on her face?"

"Ah, yes." The older version of Damian smiled fondly, hands deep into the pockets of his trench-coat (Courtesy of Bruce's closet.) "I think you're right, McGinnis. Grayson does look like that."

Dick threw out his hands, grin never wavering, and exclaimed, "Alright, guys, you got me! I'm happy! I'm ecstatic!" He laughed hard, making his siblings' eyes widen slightly. A few of the passing civilians stared at him with open shock, before shoving past the group of incognito Bats. "Can you blame me, though? I get to show you where I grew up!"

Damian (the smaller one) nodded solemnly. Someone (probably Jason or Tim) had filled him in on Dick's tragic backstory on the drive over. After the incident with the Scarecrow, they'd made their way back to Wayne manor to make a quick change into more 'appropriate' clothing for public settings. They may be going to a circus, but Dick had been pretty sure that showing up in Batsuits wasn't going to fly. There, they'd met up with Terry and Older-Damian, who'd both raided Jason and Bruce's closets respectively. The former, because he shared Jason's affinity for leather jackets and tight black shirts, and the latter because Bruce's clothes were the only ones in the house that even came close to fitting the man's wide frame.

Jason and Barbara had been back at the manor, too. Everyone had stumbled into the kitchen to see Barbara perched on the counter while Alfred stitched up her shoulder. Jason was sprawled on one of the couches, and begged to go with them, because he was 'bored of hanging around doing nothing all day'. (Which had all been part of Dick's master plan. He'd known boredom would defeat the Red Hood faster than any bribery or threat would.) After a promise from his girlfriend to meet them later on, Dick and the rest of the family had jumped into two separate cars and made their way as close to the fairgrounds as they could. But, Gotham being Gotham, the closest parking was a mile and a half away.

So, they braved the streets.

Steph giggled. "I cannot wait to see Grayson in his natural habitat!"

Tim snorted.

"Speaking of, Stephanie," Terry cut in, rocking forward slightly. "Isn't your shirt a little…?"

Everyone's eyes went to Steph's top under her denim jacket. It was a clinging white tshirt with purple and blue lettering that said, in curvy cursive letters: This is My Alter-Ego . She'd seen it on a shopping run with the Birds of Prey a few months ago, and the rest of them had almost had an aneurism when she first wore it to school. Admittedly, it was—

"On the nose? Yup." Their sister smirked. She stretched her arms out lazily to the side and swung her hips. "Buuuut, I've seen at least three other girls wearing this exact same shirt just in the last ten minutes, boys. I think I'm good. And, Terr-bear? You can call me Steph."

Terry's eyes widened, and he shot Older-Damian a side-glance. "Uh…that'll take some getting used to."

The younger Damian hopped up onto a fire hydrant, balanced perfectly, then leapt off. He continued walking as though the obstacle hadn't been there at all. "Why is that, McGinnis?"

"It is so weird to have baby-you say that," Terry muttered to his partner. Then, to the rest of them, he said, "Well, I mean, I guess I'm just not used to calling the Mayor of Gotham 'Steph'."

All at once, everyone froze in their tracks. Five heads swiveled towards Terry McGinnis, mouths open in shock. Tim had gone very, very pale. His eyes fluttered shut, as he muttered, "Oh, #$%% no."

Steph's expression slowly widened into a grin, eyes lighting up. "…What?"

"What," Dick echoed.

"Heh. Nice one, babe." Jason knocked her on the shoulder.

"Tt. I have no idea what the voters were thinking," Damian chimed in with a scowl. "Gotham will surely go to the dogs."

Older-Damian started a little, then actually grinned. "Funny," he said pleasantly, with a fond look at his younger self, "I remember saying the exact same thing. Nearly word for word, as a matter of fact."

Steph whooped and threw her hands up in the air. With a little jump, she shouted, "#$%% yeah! I'ma rule over all you suckers one day!"

"Oh, &*#, why," Tim whispered. His eyes were still screwed shut, and Dick had to reach out with one hand to steady them as they continued walking down the sidewalk. He'd almost walked into a lamp post.

"Think my first law will be…" Steph tapped her chin, then her eyes lit up. "Everybody wears purple on Thursday!"

"It's Wednesday, actually," Terry supplied breezily.

Her jaw dropped. "Really?"

"No."

Steph clicked her tongue in annoyance, then tapped her foot quickly against the pavement as they paused at a crosswalk. When the little white man popped up on the monitor across the street, they moved with the rest of the crowd. Someone brushed Dick's shoulder on their way past. In annoyance, they paused, turned around, and raised an eyebrow. As if they knew his face, but just couldn't remember where they'd seen it. Reflexively, Dick reached up and pulled his jacket's hood down lower.

Steph elbowed Terry eagerly. "So if I'm the honorable Mayor Brown of Gotham City—"

"Who said anything about 'honorable'?" Tim mumbled.

She ignored that. "—then what about everybody else? I want full spoilers!"

Terry's lips twitched. He shot Older-Damian another look. "I'm…not so sure I'm allowed to tell you anything like that."

"C'mon," Jason prompted. "It's not like we're actually gonna remember any of it once we ship you guys back to the future, anyway! I believe somebody mentioned something about me only having one eye? How did I lose it? Was it something awesome, like a back-alley knife fight? Or was it totally lame?"

"Eaten by a crow," Steph guessed.

"Tripped? And fell on a spoon," Damian added with a dry smirk.

Tim shook his head. "Took up needle-point…and failed."

Dick let out a laugh, turning to raise an eyebrow at his younger brother. "Picked his nose and missed?"

Jason scowled as his shoulders slumped. "I hate all of you."

Terry shrugged, shooting them his own smug grin as they turned a corner. "Yeah. Sorry, man. I have no idea. Nobody ever told me…"

"I know how he lost it," Older-Damian chimed in, ignoring Terry's pointed look. When everybody's attention swiveled towards him, though, he only said, "He was an idiot."

Jason scowled.

"But I can tell you that you become the chief of the GCFD and have two kids," Terry finished. "And Drake gets to be the new CEO of Wayne-Powers Enterprises—"

"Wait, Powers? Who the %*&# is—"

"—Stephanie's the Mayor, Grayson becomes the D.A., and Barbara gets to be Commissioner." He paused, considering, then added, "You're all, like, super successful. Go figure."

"And what about you?" Dick nodded to Older-Damian, who considered him with one raised eyebrow. "What's your story, Lil' D?"

Older-Damian tipped his chin up, marching forward with purpose. Dick supposed that the years would pass, and Damian would grow up. But he'd never lose the confident air that seemed to follow anyone who came from the house of Al Ghul. Every move the guy made was with grace and purpose, but if Dick squinted, he could still see pieces of his Damian. Like the way he rolled his eyes, or the evil little smirk he got on his face when Tim stepped into someone's spilled slushie and let out an outraged groan. With a nonchalant shrug of his shoulder, Older-Damian shot Dick a sidelong glance.

"Eventually, everyone retires," he said easily. "I alone keep up the fight. In time, I go to work with the members of the Justice League—"

Terry let out a bark of laughter and jerked forward to plant an elbow in his side. "You mean, you go to work with Jo—"

"—which takes me away from Gotham. All seems well, however, until there is a plot to murder the CEO of Wayne-Powers—"

"Cooool, Timbo. Somebody tries to murder you," Jason cut in with a smirk.

Tim scowled.

"Not…exactly." Older-Damian rolled his eyes to the sky with a soft huff. Clearly not amused with the frequent interruptions. But he shoved his gloved hands deeper into the pockets of the trench coat and continued down the sidewalk at his easy pace. "But a man named Warren McGinnis becomes wise to the plot, along with a series of plans to develop biological weapons of mass destruction." At this, the man's face twisted with well-controlled anger. "An off-the-books endeavor that, if I had been made aware of, never would have—"

"Hey, D," Terry said, waving his hand. "Stick to the story. We all know you would've solved the case in five seconds flat, but you were off with your super-friend, so that was up to moi. Keep it rollin'."

Older-Damian feigned annoyance with a heavy sigh, but Dick didn't miss the fond look the man shot towards the teenager. "Yes. Indeed. But, sadly, Warren McGinnis was removed from the picture."

Terry's face fell.

Dick frowned towards the younger boy, and felt a pang of sympathy. He knew all too well what it was like to lose parents to evil men who decided that their lives were just obstacles in the way of an endgame. So he fell back slightly, moving to step in time with McGinnis. Older-Damian followed suit, until he and Dick flanked the future Batman on either side.

"This doesn't sit right with Terry. So he investigates. Discovers files on his father's computer that detail the plot, and takes it to the only man he figured could help. The CEO."

Terry huffed. "Cranky old skiv. Barely gave me the time of day."

"Yes." Damian and Terry shared a knowing smirk. "But regardless, McGinnis persists. This leads to finding out the…secret endeavors of the Gotham City Waynes. After a long period of argument and dismissal, McGinnis steals the suit."

Steph perked up. "Hold on. The suit? The suit?"

"Yes, Brown. Please pay attention."

Tim laughed, but Stephanie cut him off with a sharp jab to the ribs.

"Through sheer stubbornness, and an inability to understand the English word 'no'—"

"Or 'get off my property'," Terry chimed in, "Ooh, or maybe 'I will self-destruct this suit if you don't take it off now' Or—"

"Anyway. McGinnis elbowed his way into the mantle of Batman." Older-Dami smirked. "And for a few months, he was able to operate without any…interference."

"But then you all found out." Terry nodded with a smug grin, as if he were remembering something. "Came running to complain about 'some kid running around with a billion-dollar suit, what the #$%% are you thinking' and then once you added Damian to the mix…hoo boy."

"Needless to say, we all get used to the idea. Eventually." Older-Damian side-stepped a man hobbling past with a flask tucked close to his chest. "But McGinnis's little shows of defiance spark similar reactions in your children. And now—or, that is to say, in the future—Gotham is once again defended by a new generation of Bats."

Dick nodded. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the rest of his siblings nodding to each other, throwing around skeptical glances.

"Cool, cool," he said, "That was a very vague explanation that didn't answer my question at all. But okay, I guess."

Terry nudged his shoulder. "Yeah. Trust me, man. He doesn't like to share life details. Pretty sure he's allergic to words like 'backstory' or 'boyfriend' or 'what happened in Tai Pei' or—"

"Wait." Dick paused. The others stopped, gathered around as he stared at the McGinnis kid in shock. "What was that last one?"

"Tai Pei? Yeah. I don't know man. But he came back with this schway scar on his—"

"No, I think he meant the other one." Tim cocked his head. "What—"

Older-Damian was shooting Terry a look so filled with heat and venom that Dick swore he could feel the chilly temperature of the air around them heat up by a few degrees. "It doesn't matter," he barked. "My life is my business. But in the meantime—"

He didn't get the chance to finish. Someone stepped out of the alley they'd paused beside, slow and easy. The man was dressed in dirty jeans and a ragged sweatshirt, and had a five o'clock shadow decorating his chin. The kind of shifty character that could typically be found in its natural habitat—lighting up behind a convenience store or loitering in a dark corner of a subway station. They regarded him warily. Then, lightning fast, he snagged Stephanie's throat with one arm, and had a gun pressed against her temple before the rest of them had the chance to blink.

With a sneer, he said, "Let's make this easy, yeah? I know exactly who you are, Waynes. So, you have ten seconds to pony up some cash or I blow the girl's brains out."

He seemed to be proud of his little speech. He also seemed to find his threats to be sufficiently frightening, because a smug smirk curled up his face.

But the other six Wayne kids shared an almost bored glance that made that smile start to melt like ice cream on a hot summer day. In the mugger's firm grip, Stephanie let out a weary sigh, rolling her eyes up to look at the orange and pink sky.

"Oh," she sighed, "Puh-lease tell me you didn't just grab me 'cause I'm the girl."

Tim nodded, bouncing easily on the heels of his shoes. "That is incredibly sexist, man. The kid over there would have made much more sense."

Damian shrugged, not denying that statement.

Jason cracked his knuckles, smiling in a way that usually sent most shifty characters skittering back to their shadows. It sent a shiver up the back of Dick's neck, and he had the passing urge to step between his little brother and the mugger—for the other man's protection. But Jason cleared his throat and said one word.

"Dibs."

"Dibs?" Tim's jaw dropped in outrage. Nuh-uh. You got the last one!"

Dick shook his head, feeling something like a smile pull at one corner of his mouth. "I call dibs."

Steph scoffed. The look on her face screamed annoyance. If she didn't have a dirty sweatshirt sleeve jammed under her chin or a gun pressed to her head, she might as well have been arguing with her brother's over a messy Monopoly board. "Oh yeah? Why's that?"

"Seniority. I am the OG." Dick waved his hands with a smirk, glancing from one outraged sibling to the next. "I outrank all of you."

"Oh, please. I am the largest. I call 'dibs'." Older-Damian huffed through his nose, and crossed his large arms over his even larger chest. The mugger's eyes tracked the movement, and Dick noticed his pupils dilate slightly when he caught sight of the sheer size of the time-traveler's bicep muscles. "Because I can put all of you down, and then this man here. All without breaking a sweat."

"You are forgetting," smaller Damian chimed in with a sniff, "That I am the only biological Wayne here. Excluding him." He nodded to Older-Damian. Terry perked up slightly, like he wanted to say something, but smaller-Damian plowed on. "And he is not even supposed to be here. As such, it is my duty to put down this bumbling fool. Look at him, he doesn't even know the proper way to hold a firearm."

The man's ears turned red. "Hey!"

"I think you're all forgetting something." Steph smiled sweetly. "I'm the one in the headlock, here, people. Don't I get a say?"

"You're the damsel, babe." Jason shot his girlfriend a grin. "Let us have this."

The mugger's jaw was dropping further and further open with every exchange. His eyes tracked each of the Wayne kids, like he was watching some confusing and slightly terrifying football game, and he wasn't quite sure who was in possession.

Steph let out an indignant growl at being called a 'damsel', but she paused to watch her brothers argue with a sly smirk.

"No! Jay, you got the last one! Why—"

"He was my granddad? Duh?"

"You are all being petty and immature. Allow me to—"

"—calm down and just punch him in the jugular. I'm tellin' ya. One jab and—"

"—how can you expect me to stand by while Brown is in such peril?"

Steph whistled, catching everyone's attention. Six sets of blue and green eyes swiveled to meet hers, and she could feel the mugger tense up a little behind her. Waving her fingers, she tilted her head coyly.

"Mmm. Yeah. Like I said. Pretty sure you're all forgetting one vital little detail, boys."

The man holding her in a headlock stiffened as all of his muscles locked up. He shook, convulsing, and making a series of grunting and gargling sounds that made Steph's stomach lurch a little. But when he fell to the ground, twitching, she stepped over his prone form and waved her small handheld stun gun like a victory flag.

"Ha!" She crowed, while all of her brothers gaped down at the subdued civilian. "Bold of you to assume I don't have a taser with me at all times!"

Tim's eye twitched a little. "…why?"

She shot him a look. "I'm a girl in Gotham, genius child. Think about that one for a few seconds, why don'tcha?"

Dick beamed at her. "Great job, Steph." He leaned down to shake the man's shoulder. He was out cold. "Let's get going. We're almost there. Oh, and Jay, would you mind calling 911?"

It only took a few minutes for the cops to show up, since Jennings and Alverson were patrolling the next block over. Once the cops loaded the mugger into the back of their patrol car, they waved the Wayne kids off, and the group continued their trek through the city.

The buildings thinned, then stopped, and they could all see the shimmering ocean on the horizon. The breeze hit them next, carrying the smell off the sea and rifling through their hair and clothes like a street kid searching for loose change. The sun had almost slipped below the thin line between sky and water, turning the world orange and gold. Each of the siblings stared at Dick as his eyes travelled to the cluster of multicolored lights near the shoreline.

Dick glanced back at his siblings with a wide, happy grin.

"We're here, everybody." Their older brother's eyes were alight with the fire from the sunset. "Welcome to Amusement Mile."

#######

#######

"How long is this going to take? I just want a rough estimate, Jim."

Jim Gordon considered Barbara's words carefully. His eyes were tracing over her worried face as he frowned down, pausing to reach up and scratch at his mustache. As he considered the question, Barbara's attention drifted back down towards the plastic bag clutched in the Commissioner's knobbed fingers. Inside, there was a pair of small glass sample slides with a few white specks clamped in between.

During her fight with the Talon in the Wayne family plot, Barbara had managed to get her hand up underneath his mask and rake her fingernails down the man's face. Once she was safely inside the manor, and once she had been worried over by her family members and stitched up by Alfred, she'd stolen down to the Cave for some of Bruce's equipment. Sliding the Talon's skin cells out from underneath her fingernails to the glass slide had been easy. Studying them underneath one of the Batcave's many microscopes had been even more so. (She noticed several anomalies in the formation of the cells. They were human, but…different somehow...)

But the hang-up presented itself when it came time to actually identify the subject they'd been harvested from. With the Batcomputer, the process would have taken five minutes. Maybe fifteen, if the Talon wasn't in any police or government records.

It should have been easy. But the Batcomputer was a smoldering wreck that Batman and Batwoman had yet to piece back together. And Barbara's laptop ensemble was definitely not equipped to handle DNA samples.

So really, that left her only one option.

"I don't think I understand," the Commissioner finally said. His words were slow and careful. "Why are you coming to us for this sort of thing? I thought you and—" He paused as one of his detectives strode past, rifling through a stack of papers in her hands. Once she was out of earshot, Gordon heaved a sigh and leaned back against the vending machine. They were standing towards the back of the GCPD's main building, away from the bullpen and the locker rooms. Barbara had requested that they forgo meeting in Gordon's office, since the frosted-glass door was one of the most visible places in the station. And since she'd come dressed down in civvies, she didn't want to invite the publicity that might come from being seen as Barbara Pennyworth, Gold Digger Extraordinaire, visiting the Commissioner so soon after her boyfriend had been found safe.

Reporters and nosy police officers were just two more bullet points on the list of things she was definitely done with.

"Believe me," she said softly. "If I had any other options, I would have utilized them. But the usual systems are down, and I need this favor."

His eyebrow quirked up. "Ah, yes. Your…technical difficulties. But don't you have another place to go? In Cormorant?"

Barbara grit her teeth. Gordon wasn't supposed to know about her 'other team'. Then again, he wasn't supposed to know a lot of things. And yet, here they stood.

But she couldn't go to the Birds, even if their computer system and setup was one of the best in the world.

"There are certain…factors at play," she said, choosing her words carefully. "And certain people who can't know what I'm looking into. Do you understand?"

He hesitated, but then, Jim Gordon nodded.

"So. How long?"

The old Commissioner considered the question, blinking behind thick glasses, then said, "A few weeks. Maybe a month. We have other cases that—"

"This is a priority, Jim." Barbara's voice took on a pleading edge, and she stepped forward slightly. "I need the results as soon as possible. Isn't there anything you can do to streamline the process?"

She watched his shoulders shrug up and down, his gaze shift to one side of her, and then the other. When he finally met her piercing gaze, he said, "I suppose…I could streamline things. Put a few other cases on hold."

A sigh of relief burst through her lips. "Thank you, Jim. I can't—"

"—But it would still take me a few days to get the results. These things take time."

"I understand." She smiled, then paused. "I…need to ask that the people you put on this are trustworthy."

He nodded. Curtly. Like he'd expected as much. "Of course."

"And…" She hesitated, letting her eyes drift to his left arm, which hung a little differently than his right. "Do you have the other items I requested?"

She didn't need to ask. She could see it in the way he held his arm. Too close to his side, like he was pinning something between his bicep and chest. He started, but muttered an affirmative and drew the objects out of his coat.

Two olive-green files. Thin, but not without substance. The kinds of files that the GCPD had used years ago, before switching over to a different filing method. Barbara's eyes lit up with interest when she saw them. Typically, old cases could be found in the GCPD's database. But in certain instances—such as cold cases or dead-ends—that was wasn't the case. To look them over, she needed the hard copies.

"I don't pretend to know why you're interested in a decades-old cold case," Gordon droned, peeking at her over the rims of his glasses. "Especially when it's…this decades-old cold case. And the other one…" His face pinched into something resembling grief before he recovered. "But I've worked with you Bats long enough to know that questions don't exactly get me too far."

She accepted the files quickly. As soon as the thick paper met her fingertips, she felt an odd feeling rush through her. Cold and electric. A thrill of realization. In her hands, she held two origin stories. At the very least.

And once she cracked them open, devoured their contents and checked them against her own databases…

She'd get her answers. Sure as #$%%.

Gordon cleared his throat, and Barbara looked up. "Thank you, Jim. This means a lot."

He nodded again. His eyes softened, and his demeanor shifted from the grizzled Gotham City Police Commissioner to something more grandfatherly. A kind and vaguely sad smile lifted the corners of his mouth as he said, "Anything for Bruce's little girl. He'd be proud of you, you know."

Barbara's smile froze slightly. But she nodded, and mumbled out another 'thank you'.

Gordon peeled himself off the vending machine, and stuffed his hands into the pockets of his coat. "Should probably get a move on. Bullock and Mendoza are taking me out to lunch, and I can't be late if I want to keep this old head on its shoulders. Besides, I'm sure you have somewhere to disappear off to?"

Barbara's mind flickered back to the concerned frown on Dick's face when his eyes had landed on her bleeding shoulder. She smiled thinly. "Something like that."

"Good, good. Well, I'll call you in a few days when we have the results back." He paused to rifle in his pocket, before drawing out three quarters. He slipped them into the slot in the vending machine, one by one, and Barbara heard the soft series of beeps as his fingers pressed against the number pad. With a small mechanical whir, a cellophane package plunked down into the bottom of the machine. Gordon stooped to retrieve it. "In the meantime, let me know if—"

Barbara's pocket buzzed urgently, and she stiffened. She drew her phone out, and one glance at the screen sent her into high alert.

INCOMING CALL FROM: CAL

Gordon had paused, and straightened. Now, he was looking at her with a mix of concern and confusion.

"I'm sorry," she said quickly. "I have to get this."

"I understand." His head bobbed, and he turned to head back towards the bullpen. "Let me know if you need anything else."

"I will," she said softly. Then, forcing herself to smile widely, she pressed the button and placed the phone next to her ear. Her tone was bright and breezy. "Paulo's Psychic Pizza Parlor. That'll be $15.97. We'll have it there in thirty minutes or less."

There was a pause on the other end. Then a sharp burst of laughter.

"Ah. Some things never change, do they?"

"Nope." She popped the 'p' and took off down the hallway towards the exit. She tucked the files into her shoulder bag and stepped out into the crisp evening air, drinking in the sunset as it reflected off of the skyscraper forest around her. "Interesting thing to note, though, Cal, is that I had your number. But you didn't have mine…?"

"Dina gave it to me," Cal replied easily. "I hope this is okay?"

"Of course." She scanned the curb for her cycle, and hurried over. "Just a surprise is all. Is there something you need?"

He paused for a few seconds, giving Barbara just enough time to pull up the seat on her bike and stash the shoulder bag. "I…heard you found Grayson. Is he alright?"

She put the seat back down and swung one leg up over the side. Once she'd saddled the cycle, she blew a few stray strands of hair out of her face, and said, "Well. As 'alright' as you'd expect, I guess. He and Damian are both a little shaken up."

"Naturally." A beat, then, "I'm sorry. How are you?"

"Me? Peachy." Barbara slid on her helmet, and tapped a button on her phone. Instantly, the call synced to the speakers built into her helmet, and she stashed the phone back in her pocket with a sigh. "Or at least I was, until the Court sicced a Talon on me."

"What?"

She frowned at his tone. Cal had maintained an easy, light air until now. His voice had taken a darker turn, drifting into anger or confusion. Or maybe a mix between the two. Barbara didn't have the chance to think too hard on it, because Cal picked up quickly.

"I…the Court didn't send anyone. Which Talon was it? Do you know?"

Her frowned deepened at the insistent edge. She pulled away from the curb and started to weave her way through traffic. Illegal? Maybe. But no cop was going to pull her over, and her cycle had been built specially for fitting between stationary vehicles for quick street chases. It was in 'incognito mode' at the moment, which meant that no one would question Barbara Pennyworth on the back of a million-dollar piece of Bat-tech. Right now, it just looked like a candy-apple green Vespa.

"No idea," She said flippantly, pausing to glare up at a red light. "He kept droning on about the 'Gray Son of Gotham', though. Had an odd penchant for head-banging. And I don't mean the fun kind. Know anyone like that?"

Calvin's tone was very dark. "I have my suspicions."

Once the light turned green, and she sped forward again, Barbara wet her lips and said, carefully, "You didn't call just to check in on me. That's what our meetings are for. Is there anything you need?"

"Can't a brother just check in on his little sister?"

"Is there anything you need?" she repeated with a smug smile.

"Heh. I was just worried about you. Between the Triple B Killer and the Batcave's systems—"

"How did you know about that?" she cut in, simultaneously cutting off a blue sedan. The car honked loudly, and the driver leaned out his window to shout a few less-than-savory threats. Barbara craned her shoulder to flip him off, then sped away.

"Dina brought it up. Said she was confused as to why you weren't using the Clocktower systems instead." Barbara could almost picture him shrugging over the phone. "And that you're welcome anytime. I think she misses having you around."

"Yeah, well, I miss her, too," Barbara replied quietly. Her eyes scanned the upcoming intersection, and she spun into a tight left turn. "But there's just a few things I need to do that are more…off the books. That's all."

"Might I ask what that's about?"

"Sorry, Cal. If I told you, I'd have to kill you."

She meant it as a joke, but Calvin didn't respond for a minute or two. As the seconds dragged on, Barbara wondered if maybe he'd hung up the phone, or if the call had disconnected. (With her helmet's spotty Blacktooth feature, it happened more often than not.)

But then his deep voice made a reappearance. "I also called…because the timetable's moved up."

Barbara's breathing hitched, choking in her chest. She hit the brakes on the cycle, just barely missing the bumper of the car in front of her. The air around her seemed to buzz with tension as she waited for the light to go green again, and she could feel a cold shiver shaking its way up the back of her spine.

"How soon are we talking?" she asked. Her voice was quiet. Barely above a whisper. "I don't have everything ready, yet. If we're talking weeks, then I might be able to—"

"We're talking two weeks. Maybe three. Tops."

She couldn't draw in a breath. Her chest was tight. "Oh."

"I'm sorry. But there are things happening here that…" He cut off. "We're running out of time. Something's going down, and it's going down soon. Can you be ready in three days?"

Her hand fluttered to the side of her helmet. "Is it…is it going to be that soon?"

"I can't know for sure, so it's just a precaution. But…can you?"

Barbara's head bobbed, even though she knew Cal couldn't see it. She pulled ahead of the car in front of her, and sped off down the asphalt. The tires screeched a little. She barely noticed as she made one turn, then another, then another. Soon, she could see the ocean on the horizon, and the bright lights of Amusement Mile and the Haly's Circus glittering against the dark beach. Just a few more minutes, and she could put everything—the data, the files, the cases, the mission—out of her head completely.

"I can," Barbara finally said. "I just hope you're right, Cal."

#######

#######

Dick almost felt sorry for unleashing his siblings on Amusement Mile.

Introduced to Gotham in the early twentieth century for the World's Fair, Amusement Mile was a gargantuan wooden boardwalk that stretched out over the harbor. Big enough and thick enough to support a fifty-foot Ferris Wheel and an army of food trucks, vendors, booths, and carnival rides and games. At certain times of the year, they even brought in a roller coaster or two.

It was so huge, in fact, that it could support all of that and the entirety of the Haly's Circus. Dick could see the red and white striped tents poking up from the rest of the noise and color, and felt a surge of nostalgia that threatened to, as Steph put it, 'break his freaking face from smiling so much'.

He gave the others instructions—go, have fun, wreak havoc (but not too much havoc, please) and meet up by the Big Top at nine-thirty to find seats for the show. Everyone paired up, Older-Damian and Terry, Jason and Steph (to the surprise of literally no one) and Tim and Damian (to the surprise of literally everyone).

"Are…are you two going to be okay?" Dick asked them, tilting his head to one side. He was already seeing visions of raging fires and screaming civilians play on mental repeat, and he shuddered. The others must have been thinking something along the same lines, because Jason had gone very pale, and Stephanie's eye was twitching slightly.

Dick supposed he couldn't really blame them. Tim and Damian volunteering to be buddies…? It was almost too much to believe.

Damian looked away, down towards the Ferris Wheel. "Tt. Please, Grayson. Drake and I are not toddlers. We can put aside our differences for ninety minutes."

Tim crossed his arms, but nodded casually. "Yeah, Dick. We're good. Damian's never been on a roller coaster before, anyway, so somebody has to show him."

Steph and Jason were still gaping. But when the youngest set wandered off towards the rides, they recovered quickly. Especially once the rich scent of deep-fried carnival food wafted over to envelop them in its warm embrace. Stephanie's nostrils flared, and her pupils dilated.

"Sweetheart?" she mumbled to Jason. "I have a sudden, inexplicable urge to devour anything and everything in my path."

"Cool, cool." Jason dug into his wallet, thumbing through the folded bills inside. "I think we can afford enough to put at least one vendor out of business. And—hold up. Is that fried soda?"

Steph's eyes glowed angelically in the light of the sunset as she gazed reverently towards the food booths. "We have found the promised land, Jaybird. The. Promised. Land."

And just like that, they were off. Dick hoped for the sake of their cholesterol that they wouldn't take things too far.

Older-Damian and Terry waved as they made their way towards a kiosk filled to the brim with stuffed animals and souvenir sunglasses. Dick could have sworn he heard Terry mutter, "How much you wanna bet that Old Man Grayson's head'll explode if we bring him back a prehistoric pair of ray bans?"

He shook his head, and wished his future-self 'good luck.

Then, he turned to the circus tent.

His feet carried him there as he looked up, never taking his eyes off the worn stripes. In some places, the canvas had worn thin, and in others, it had worn so thin that it had needed to be patched up by the circus handymen. Almost mechanically, he pulled aside the closed tent flap, and stepped inside.

A wave of smell and warmth and nostalgia hit him like a truck. People rushed around, leaving trails of perfume or cologne or even the smell of someone who worked closely with animals behind them. They were bustling around quickly, adjusting their sequined costumes and wigs as they went. A few of them spared him sidelong glances, but were in too much of a hurry to do anything more than that.

Dick couldn't help the smile that stretched up his face as he shoved his hands into his pockets and strode forwards. There was something almost familiar about…all of this. Some strange sense of déjà vu that made his head spin like a baton. But he chose to ignore it, and instead took in everything else. Dick's neck craned, looking up at the stands, at the hanging banners and signs and decorations that glittered softly in the faded light. His eyes trailed up to the top of the tent, where his eyes naturally used to go, back when he, Magda and Johnny used to lay out on their backs in the center ring and exchange jokes or stories in musical Romani.

And then his eyes caught the support poles. The trapeze.

'Llllaaaaaaadiiiies and gentlemeeeeen! The Flyyyyiiinggg Graysoooons!'

Cheers erupted in his head as he stared up at the trapeze, making him wince slightly. Other sounds played next. The stretch of the line as it swung, the sound of his mother's hands clapping against his father's. The laugh that jingled out of Magda's throat as she and Johnny swung out to meet the rest of them.

Then a creak. A low, shuddering creak.

A snap.

'John, what was that?'

'MAMI! VATI!'

And then an explosion of terrified screams as the crowd watched six of the Flying Graysons fall from the sky.

Something shook his shoulder, and he snapped to attention.

"Hey, pal! Did you hear me? You can't come in here, yet! You—"

The guy's voice cut off sharply, and Dick swiveled around to get a better look. Curly brown hair fell over half of his face, but Dick could still see the wide hazel eyes staring right back at him, and they both took a step back.

"Zane?" Dick asked, grinning.

"D-Dick Grayson." Zane's jaw dropped, and he reached up to card his fingers through his hair. Then, his face split into a mile-wide grin. "Holy $#*^. Hey! Hey, everybody!" He turned, cupping his hands over his mouth to call out to the rest of the Big Top. "You'll never guess what the elephants dragged in!"

All over the tent, people looked up and over. Some of them raised eyebrows or shrugged indifferently, and Dick found that he didn't recognize any of them. But others…others jerked to attention, grinning and laughing and making their way over, setting aside anything they'd been holding or working on.

The circus strongman chortled, thundering over. "Well, well, well, if it isn't Little Dickie! All grown up and still so small."

The man was tall as an oak tree and twice as thick. Dick remembered him as the kind of man who was strong enough to lift a Volkswagen but gentle enough to help the circus kids rescue a fledgling that had fallen from its nest and place it back into a tree. In his mind's eye, Dmitri Zirkovski had been a giant, and now that he was older (and taller)…that image had not changed.

Dick arched his neck to stare up at Zirkovski, beaming. "'Sup, Big Z? Been a long time."

Zirkovski ruffled his hair, snickering fondly.

"Goodness gracious, me!" An elderly woman reached up to cup Dick's chin in her wrinkly palm. Her fortune teller's robes were a sparkling burgundy, and one of her eyes was forever squinted shut. Dick recognized her instantly as Sidra Antonescu, of the Antonescu Sister's Fantastical Fortunes. They'd joined the circus on an Eastern European tour when Dick had been three, and they'd been fixtures ever since. "You look just like your father, may his soul rest in peace!"

"No, no," the woman's twin sister corrected, adjusting her blue beaded shawl with a huff. "He is the spitting image of Mari. Just look at that nose!"

Dick smiled a little, hearing the old nickname for his mother. But then the first woman yanked him down by his shirt collar and said, "Nonsense! Just look at those eyes! Those are Grayson eyes, Sorina! He—"

"Ladies, ladies," A voice drawled. "Leave the man alone, wontcha?"

Bryan Haly walked up, flanked by two other men. Dick recognized the smiling middle-aged one on his left as Giuseppe Russo, one of the Bullmen who took care of the elephants. The frowning one on his right was Jimmy Clark, Circus Clown.

"Dick!" Bryan's arms wrapped around Dick's shoulders. He sounded surprised to see him. "What are you doing here?"

Dick laughed, patting his old friend's back. "Um…I'm here for opening ceremonies? The flyers all said it was tonight."

To prove his point, he pulled away from the hug, and eased the folded piece of blue paper from his jeans pocket. Sure enough, right there in black ink, was the date and time of the first show.

Bryan squinted at it. "That…can't be right," he muttered. "We're still in the middle of setups and intensives. Jimmy, what does the website say?"

Jimmy huffed and tapped at his phone. Dick frowned a little. "You guys have a website? Since when?"

"Since the internet became a thing?" Jimmy held up the phone, cocking one eyebrow. "Opener's tomorrow."

Bryan smiled, visibly relieved. "Ah. Whoops. Must've been a typo."

Dick's frown deepened. "Yeah. Guess so. Is it a bad time, then, or…?"

Bryan's smile seemed a bit forced. He slicked his hair back with one hand, eyes darting over to Jimmy. "Well, uh. It's not like it's a bad time, per se. We've just got…a lot on our plates at the moment. So…"

Dick could take a hint. He threw a thumb over his shoulder, and turned to leave. "I can stop by later? Catch tomorrow's show maybe?"

"Yeah. Yeah, that might be better." Bryan relaxed a little. So did Giuseppe and Jimmy. The two of them turned to leave and started chatting with each other in low voices, Giuseppe gesturing vaguely, and Jimmy nodding along. As soon as the others had wandered off, Dick turned around, feet already carrying him towards the exit.

Just as he'd stepped out into the open air, a hand on his shoulder stopped him in his tracks.

Bryan sighed heavily. "Listen, Dickie. I'm sorry. There's just…a lot going down right now."

Dick shrugged, unintentionally prompting his old friend to lower his hand. As they both stepped out from under the tent flap, he tried to play it off with a plastered-on smile. "It's good, man. Just wanted to stop in and see everybody. It's been so long."

"Yeah," Bryan said. His eyes roved over Dick carefully, then he wet his lips and said, "But…tell you what. Come by tomorrow. Bring your girlfriend if you want. And your…uh, family, right? I heard that Wayne guy took in a few other kids. Bring anybody you want, and…I mean, if you want…would you want to join us tomorrow night?"

Dick's heart stilled in his chest. "What?"

"Join us. Y'know, like, in the ring." Bryan smiled hesitantly, searching his face. Then, that smile curled into something a little more devious. "That is, if you're still good on a wire."

He scoffed. A hand fluttered up to his chest in mock offense. "Still good on a–? Hey, I'll have you know that I haven't exactly been slouching all these years. If anything, I'm better than ever! I could swing circles around any of your other—"

"Any of his other, what, exactly?"

A smooth voice made Dick's words die in his throat. A hand pulled aside the tent flap, decorated with multiple glittering rings and bangles. As the woman slid lightly out of the Big Top, his mouth went dry. Her eyes shone, almost laughing at him as he took her in. Her outfit was almost blinding, covered in gleaming multicolored sequins, and a blue feather was perched in her hair. Dick wet his lips, and finally regained the ability to speak.

"…Raya?"

Raya Vestri had been a little girl in pigtails the last time that Dick had seen her. Always hanging around his family, and always eager to learn the ropes. Literally. His mother had trained her in aerial performance, and Dick had grown up learning how to fly right alongside her.

Now, she was…

Smiling sweetly, she cocked an eyebrow and placed a jingling hand on her hip. "Long time, no see."

Bryan grinned, and waved her over. "You remember Raya, then? Good. She's one of our flyers, now. Boy, you should see her on the trap's. It's a sight to behold!"

Raya blushed, laughing as she waved a dismissive hand through the air. "Cut it out, Bry. I'm passable. At best."

She sauntered forwards, and Dick was suddenly made very aware just how much his childhood playmate had…grown up. Long red hair hung in waves down to her lower back, and her freckles seemed much more pronounced in the light. She was lean and tall, but her still-substantial hips swung as she walked, until she stopped just bare inches away from him. Her eyes glittered in the waning sunlight as she reached up and cupped his jaw in her soft hand.

"You've changed, Grayson," she muttered. Her lashes fluttered, and so did Dick's heartrate.

"Uh…"

And then, before he had the chance to come up with anything more intelligent, she moved.

Raya's lips locked onto his, her arms sliding around his neck.

The kiss was soft, lingering. But any and all thought in his mind turned to shock. His eyes shot open wide, and he placed both hands under her arms, trying to push her away.

"Mmph!" he protested. "Mph-Nph!"

The kiss broke with a wet pop, and her arms crossed tight over her chest. Raya's eyes were wide as she stared up at him. Something like hurt flitted over her face. "Dick—?"

Dick shook his head, taking one step back. Then, another. "Rai, it is so good to see you again. But I'm not—"

A throat cleared nearby, and all eyes turned to stare at the woman stepping over, eyes blazing. Her hair fluttered in the breeze, and she looked for all the world like an avenging warrior stalking into battle. Here to defend her lover's honor.

"Hi, sweetie," Barbara said, shooting Dick a sweet smile. "Sorry I'm late."

A relieved grin broke on Dick's face. "Babs."

Their fingers brushed in greeting, and Barbara turned to Bryan and Raya. Dick couldn't help but stare; she looked incredible. Her long red hair—shorter than Raya's and much darker—curled around her shoulders. She wore a loose semi-sheer white blouse, covered with a fitted leather jacket that clung to her figure in all the right places. The tight jeans that hugged her hips lovingly were also a pleasant distraction, along with the knee-high black boots.

He didn't miss the knit yellow scarf around her neck, though. Probably to hide the bruises.

The bruises you gave her, he thought with a stab of guilt.

Barbara stretched out a hand, and her smile shifted into something a little more poisonous. "Name's Barbara Pennyworth," she said, smoothly. "I don't believe we've met."

Raya's eyes flicked up to Barbara's, then down to her extended fingers. Then, hesitantly, she grasped the other woman's hand. "Raya Vestri. I'm a friend of Dick's."

Barbara looked like she was baring her teeth, now, instead of smiling. "So I gathered."

Bryan was shooting him a wide-eyed apologetic glance. Dick couldn't blame the guy for his blatant fear; Barbara looked about ready to snap Raya's neck. The two women were chatting airily through their teeth. 'Oh, I love your shirt, where did you get it?' and 'Nice hair, you've gotta tell me how you styled it' and all that jazz.

Dick wasn't worried at all. Barbara had other ways of 'staking her claim', and he didn't mind in the slightest.

After a few minutes, Barbara looked over at him, her expression a picture of grace and innocence. "Babe, did you get us seats for the show?"

Dick shrugged, and locked eyes with Bryan Haly once again. "Funny enough, there seems to be a typo on the fliers. The show's tomorrow night."

Barbara shrugged, and stepped over to his side. "Oh. That's too bad. Guess we've got a lot of time on our hands to kill, don't we?"

She raised one eyebrow, and the corner of her lips quirked coyly.

Dick matched her expression. "That so?"

"Mmm, hmm." She trailed her fingers up the sleeve of his jacket. The gesture was familiar and gentle, and it made his heart beat just a little faster in his chest. "I think, since we're here, we should take a look around. I saw this adorable stuffed elephant on the way in. You should win it for me."

He laughed, and looped and arm over her shoulder. His head dipped down, and she rose on her toes to meet him halfway. Their lips met.

It was a quick kiss, more for show than for anything. But when they pulled apart, Dick could see it had had its intended effect. Raya's eyes were open in shock, and her gaze darted away sheepishly.

"I'm so sorry," she said quickly. "I had no idea you were with someone, Dickie."

She stepped forward, and pulled Barbara into a hug. His girlfriend seemed startled by the gesture and looked to him for help, but all Dick could do was shrug his shoulders. He was just as confused as she was.

"I'm buying you lunch, Barbara," Raya said firmly. She stepped back out of the hug and smiled softly. "To make up for it. Is tomorrow okay? While the boys practice?"

"Practice…?" Barbara was met with another shrug, so she turned to Raya and managed a small smile in return. "That sounds like fun. I'll call you, alright? Here's my number…"

The girls exchanged numbers with shy giggles, then Barbara squared her shoulders and linked arms with Dick. With a small salute the circus performers' way, she led him off down the boardwalk.

Their steps matched stride for stride as they made their way through the colorfully lit carnival. Dick couldn't help the laugh that bubbled out of his throat. A few people glanced over, but they didn't pay them much more attention than that.

Barbara shot him a side glance. "What's so funny?"

Dick nudged her shoulder, grinning. "You."

"Me?" One corner of her lips twitched up.

"Yeah." He huffed out another laugh. They stumbled a little, but righted themselves quickly. "You looked like you were about to breathe fire. How…much of that did you see?"

"Enough." Barbara shrugged her shoulders, and looked off towards the horizon. They'd reached the end of the boardwalk, and looked out on the open sea. The sun had almost completely disappeared, now, leaving the world painted in rich blues and purples. Just above the line where the ocean met sky, there was a slice of yellow-y orange. It caught the blue of Barbara's irises, and made them glow. Dick found he couldn't tear his eyes away.

After a few seconds, she started, and her eyes darted up to meet his gaze. "Um…what?"

In response, he only smiled softly, reaching up with one hand to move a rusty red curl away from her cheek. As he tucked it behind her ear, he leaned close and whispered. "You are so beautiful."

A warm flush glowed on her cheeks, and she bit her lip. "Heh. Well. You're not too bad, yourself, Grayson."

"I know," he shot back, waving a hand. It earned a soft laugh from his girlfriend, but he still sobered a little. "Babs. Just so you know, that kiss back there. That wasn't…" He shrugged helplessly, but she seemed to catch his meaning.

A slow smile lit up her face, and she elbowed him in the side. Gently, but just hard enough that he let out a yelp. Then laughed "Hey!"

"I know, Wingnut" she said, smirking. "Besides, you didn't exactly look like you were enjoying yourself."

He opened his mouth to offer up some witty comeback or quip, but paused when he noticed she'd turned to face him, and there was a look of quiet determination on her features. Slowly, her hands reached upwards, and she gently cupped his face in both her palms.

One of her thumbs traced his cheek, and she rose up on her tiptoes to meet him.

Barbara's lips were impossibly soft and quietly warm. She tilted her head slightly to deepen the kiss, and Dick parted his lips to reciprocate. He placed his hands just above her hipbones, pulling her flush to him, and she let out a soft moan. For an eternity, they tasted and felt and let the chill ocean breeze weave through their hair and over their skin. Something warm and wanting lit up in his chest. Barbara must have felt it too; she nipped at his bottom lip once, then pulled away.

Her eyes were bright. The soft smile on her face was even brighter.

"Wow," he breathed. He reached out and brushed his thumb just under her eye, and her smile widened.

"I want you to know, Dick Grayson," she said warmly, raising a hand to curl her fingers around his wrist. "That I trust you. Completely. No matter what."

At that, his smile dipped slightly, and his hand dropped. He leaned against the metal and concrete railing, and turned to stare out at the lapping waves. "I trust you, too. With anything."

Barbara bit her lip. As she mirrored him, his posture, his expression, and his long gaze out into the harbor, he could almost feel something shifting and churning inside of her. Unsaid things that she wanted to tell him, and secrets that she must not have been sure she wanted to part with.

But Barbara cleared her throat after a few moments. And said, carefully, "I know I haven't been the best at…sharing. Lately. And I've been…a bit of a &*!$#."

Dick scoffed. "Not a &*!$#. Just…distant." And explosive, he thought, and a bit paranoid and self-focused. But it wasn't like he could blame her. He couldn't bring himself to. Barbara was always this way when October rolled around, and this year, with Bruce gone and so many other things on their collective plates… "I've been worried about you."

"I know." Barbara's face fell. Her fingers traced the horizontal metal poles they leaned against, and her eyes contemplated the dying light in the distance. Dick watched her carefully, trying to decipher the look on her face. The line between her thin eyebrows, the carefully (though not completely) concealed circles under her eyes, and even the tired droop of her shoulders. There was something weighing on her mind, and whatever it was, it was heavy. Dick wished that she would tell him what it was. He wished that he could fix it.

He already had a few ideas. Ideas that involved blood and pain and old wounds that hadn't ever healed right. He wasn't exactly oblivious, and he knew more than he was willing to let on. Especially when it came to the person he was closest with in this world. But, he hoped…

"Dick," Barbara breathed, finally. She looked over at him, and her expression was pained. "I'm sorry. There's so much I want to tell you, but there's so much I just can't. Not yet."

On the railing, her fingers tightened. Dick reached over, and laid his hand gently over them, and she stilled slightly.

"Babs. It's okay."

She shook her head listlessly, mouth twisting into something regretful. "No. It isn't. We're a team, and I should be able to—"

"Hey."

Her voice died out when Dick pulled her close. His arms wrapped themselves around her shoulders, pressing her tight to his chest. Her breathing turned shaky, and he squeezed tighter.

"Babs, I don't care, if you don't tell me everything," Dick said, not sure if he was trying to convince her…or himself. "You've been under an unbelievable amount of stress, and you've had to make some hard calls. I promise, I understand."

In his arms, Barbara went completely still.

"I still trust you," Dick continued softly. "I still love you. No matter what it is, no matter what's going on…that's not changing. Ever."

Their embrace lasted a few minutes more as they stood there together, silent and listening. Dick could tell that Barbara was crying, and the thought made something in his heart twist painfully. But eventually, her breathing slowed, and her shoulders stopped shaking. She tilted her head up, and looked him in the eye.

"I love you, too," she whispered, eyes glistening. "More than anything."

And as he smiled, the sudden thought came flashing into his mind.

Now.

Dick reached down to his belt. "Babs. I—" When his fingers probed at one of the loops, he paused. Then he felt a flush heat up his cheeks.

The ring, he thought, is in the belt on the suit. And the suit is in the cave, you absolute idiot.

Barbara sniffed, and wiped at her eyes with her fingers. "Hm?"

"Uh, n-nothing," Dick stammered. He managed a smile, though, and grasped one of her soft hands. "I just think…we've both been working hard and haven't had a lot of time to ourselves. And, look—" He nodded to the carnival behind them. Now that the sun was down, the neon lights had grown exponentially in number, turning the boardwalk into a multicolored, flashing wonderland. Music was blaring from several different speakers at once, and between that and the laughter and chatter of a thousand different people, plus the clacking and clattering of the rides and games, it was all a cacophony of beautiful chaos. "We just so happen to be at a carnival. You know, rides, games, and enough fatty food to send us to an early grave! Let's go enjoy it."

Her expression melted into a touched smile, and she giggled, wiping the last of the tears from her eyes.

"Okay," she breathed. "Okay. That does sound like fun. But…there's something you should know first."

Dick paused. "Yeah?"

Barbara squeezed his hand once. Twice. Three times. Then, slowly, she batted her eyelashes and glanced up at him. "I lied about the stuffed elephant. Total spur-of-the-moment bull$#^!."

Dick gaped, then tipped his head back and laughed. Hard.

"I still expect you to win me a prize, though, Wingnut," she huffed, tipping her nose up.

"Hey, babe." He pulled her towards the brightly colored melee. "For you? Anything."

#######

#######

Tim wouldn't exactly call himself an 'expert' in terms of cutting loose and having fun. It was one thing the Titans had always teased him about. Whenever they got together for movie nights or pizza parties, he usually wound up in front of a screen or off to the side working on one project or another. Even with his family, it was sometimes harder for him to match Jason's or Stephanie's ideas of a good time.

But as much as Tim was a stick-in-the-mud…Damian was so much worse.

He took the kid to one of the bouncy castles they had set up for younger children. It was big enough to fit several adults, too, so a few little kids were inside with one or both of their parents. After enduring a death-glare hot enough to melt concrete, Tim had dragged Damian inside and hopped with him. It took him a few seconds to understand what they were supposed to do…("Drake, what is the purpose of this?" "It's fun, Damian." "How?" "You jump. That's the point.") but eventually, he seemed to get the gist.

After the bounce house, Tim had started to give Damian's bleak childhood some intensive thought. And when he took the kid for a ride on one of the roller coasters—and Damian didn't even flinch—his suspicions were somewhat confirmed.

In the line for the Ferris Wheel, Tim turned to Damian and said, carefully. "You've never done anything like this. Have you?"

Damian was busy squinting at the cotton candy in his hand. He gripped the paper cone like a spear, regarding the fluffy green substance with suspicion.

"What is this?" he muttered, ignoring Tim's question completely.

Tim sighed, and took a bite of his own blue tuft. "'S cotton candy," he managed around a mouthful of blue raspberry flavoring. When it had all melted away, he swallowed down the last of the flavor and said, "It's good. Promise."

That seemed to convince the kid. He plucked off a wispy clump with his fingers, sniffed it, then hesitantly stuck it in his mouth. Damian's eyes widened by a fraction, and he looked up at Tim incredulously. "It tastes like apples."

"Green apples," Tim clarified. "And, yeah. Would you rather have the pink kind? We can—"

Damian stuffed another clump in his mouth. "This is satisfactory."

At that, Tim actually managed a smile. As the line shuffled forward, they exchanged a few clipped pieces of small talk, or comments about the weather or their siblings' eating habits.

"Think Steph'll put herself in another food coma?"

"Tt. I am willing to wager ten dollars that it'll be Todd."

And when their turn finally came, the ride operator held the door open for them, leaned over to check that they'd buckled themselves in properly, then sent them up and on their way.

From up here, they could see the entire boardwalk. Spinning and flickering lights, people shoving and laughing and having a good time. If he squinted, Tim could have sworn he was able to see Jason at one of those rigged carnival games. And he might've caught sight of Terry over by a souvenir kiosk.

Damian, though, was staring out at the ocean.

The waves were dark and flowing. Occasionally, one of the crests would catch the light from the boardwalk and glitter brightly. It was deep and mysterious, and almost peaceful, in a way. Damian was still enough that Tim hesitated to say anything. But, hesitantly, he reached over and nudged his shoulder.

"Hey," he said softly.

Damian hummed, and raised an eyebrow. He never broke eye contact with the horizon. "Yes, Drake? Are you bored yet?"

He sighed. "No, Damian. Just figured you'd wanna talk. That's what people usually do on these rides."

"Is it?" Damian was quiet for another eternity, and Tim noticed his eyes squint slightly. When he finally ripped his gaze away from the ocean, he glared at Tim with venom. "Or is this—all of this—just an excuse to corner me about what my future self said earlier?"

&*^#. Tim resisted the urge to grimace. The kid had always been smarter than he looked, after all. But he swallowed hard and said, "I like spending time with you, Damian. But I just thought…if, you know…you wanted to talk about it…I'm here."

His little brother huffed, and crossed his arms tight over his chest.

The ride creaked as the last of the cars was loaded. Now, the Ferris Wheel could spin at a constant rate. Tim glanced down, and noted with some relief that there was just enough distance between each of the individual cars that it would be impossible for anyone to hear them if they kept their voices down.

"If you don't," Tim said, shrugging. "I get it."

Damian was silent.

"I understand, you know. And I'm sorry. I didn't mean to pry, 'cause it's none of my business. Just in case you needed to tell someone, I'm…here for you, y'know?" Tim mirrored Damian's posture, arms crossed tightly. This was not going well. "But if you ever need—"

"Drake."

Tim shut up. He studied his little brother carefully, taking care to note the line between his brows. The angry and embarrassed way his mouth turned down as he hunched his shoulders. His green eyes darted to the side, to the canopy of their car, then down to the bottom where they'd tucked their feet.

"I…" Damian bit his lip, hesitating. "I don't like to talk about it."

Tim nodded. He expected that to be the end of it. But Damian shifted a little in his seat, and added, quietly, "But…if you promise never to tell the others…"

"Of course not." Tim softened. "I promise."

Damian's expression was fierce, eyes wide as he snarled. "Because if you do, I can assure you that they will never find your remains."

Tim nodded again, not wanting to say anything that would make his little brother uncomfortable. They settled into a strange silence as the ride lifted them higher. The soft swinging of the car combined with Tim's promise of confidentiality both seemed to ease Damian's nerves a little. He deflated slightly, but stuck his chin out.

"It is…true," he said softly. "I began to notice it only a short time ago, but…I have experienced attraction for females…as well as males."

Damian's eyes flicked up sharply once he'd finished, searching Tim's face for any sign of disgust or confusion. But all Tim would give him was a small, gentle smile.

"Okay," he said.

"What?" Damian sat up a little, blinking in confusion. His frown was tight. "Are you not confused? Appalled? Speak to me, Drake."

Tim leaned back in his seat a little. "Why would I be appalled?"

Damian reared back. "Because it is wrong." He spluttered, looking away."If my mother knew, or…or my grandfather—"

"Damian." Tim raised a hand, cutting his little brother off. "First of all, your mom is a world-class &*!$#-no offense—and your grandfather's ranked pretty high up there, too." He leaned forward, and reached, putting a soft hand on Damian's shoulder. "Second of all, your feelings are not wrong. They don't make you wrong. Do you understand?"

Damian hesitated, so Tim went on.

"Third of all, I'm not appalled. And the truth is? None of the others would be, either."

His little brother scowled. "And why is that?"

Tim managed a smile. "You might not have noticed, kiddo, but we all care about you. A lot."

Damian's eyes widened.

"You're our brother, Damian," Tim continued, keeping his voice soft and soothing. "And while it's kinda cliché to put it this way…we all love you no matter what."

"Truly? I was under a much different impression." Damian looked away, and the pout returned full force. "You have never approved of me, Drake."

Tim felt a stab of remorse. Had he and the kid had their differences? Of course, they had. Damian had come into their lives unannounced, and left a trail of destruction behind him. He'd replaced Tim and taken his mantle. He'd tried to pass his transition to Red Robin off as a 'need for change', but Tim suspected he wasn't really fooling anyone. Damian had taken the Robin suit, and there was only room for one Robin in the Batcave. And…maybe it was petty for him to think about it, but…sometimes he also felt like Damian had also inadvertently taken away his older sibling's love and attention to some degree. At least, at first. And Bruce…

But Tim could remember a time, years ago, when he'd been just as desperate to prove himself. When he'd looked at the rest of his newfound family and realized that they'd left him some pretty %*&$^#& huge combat boots to fill.

He'd seen Jason's face, when they'd met for the first time. The anger, the hurt, the betrayal. And he remembered not being able to understand any of it. There he was, a new Robin, just trying to do his best…and his predecessor was out to make him pay for it.

"I know," Tim said softly. His arms tightened over his chest. He shivered. The cold breeze that was skimming off the ocean was bone-chilling. But he caught his little brother's gaze with a sad frown. Then, he let out a sigh, and shifted in his seat.

"Did I ever tell you how I became Robin?"

The kid's eyebrow quirked up slightly. Tim almost let out a nervous chuckle. Where was this conversation going anyway? First they were talking about food, and then they'd made the fluid transition into sexuality, and now they were going to do this? Okay, then.

Tim steeled himself. Swallowed. Cleared his throat. Then, "I was thirteen."

Damian's eyes narrowed, but he settled into his seat, listening patiently.

"My parents were…well, they did their best. But, I mean, let's face it. Between the two of them—the multi-millionaire tech-firm founder father and the lecture-giving-doctor-of-philosophy mother—they didn't have a ton of time for their accidental offspring." Tim chuckled darkly. "I wasn't supposed to happen, you know. But since I did, I was supposed to be the best mistake they ever made. They didn't come to my first school play, but they did get me into the best boarding school in the country. Told me nice things like, 'don't come home for Christmas unless your report card shows us straight A's' and stuff like that."

A line appeared between Damian's brows. "Drake…"

"Nah, it's okay." Tim shrugged. "It's the best thing they could've done for me, turns out. The school was just one town over from Gotham, you know? So all of us used to watch the news and look outside the windows at night hoping to see Batman and Robin." He looked down at the boardwalk. "Sometimes we saw them. And it was awesome. But…a few months into my stay there, the news reports stopped showing Robin. It was just Batman, Nightwing and Batgirl. And they all seemed…they seemed off somehow. I don't think anyone else noticed it, and I used to wonder sometimes it I was looking too much into it, but—"

"Off?" Damian's head tilted slightly.

"Violent. Detached. They were getting sloppy, reckless. Fights that used to be easy almost killed them a few times." Tim pursed his lips, then continued. "It didn't take me long to put two and two together to figure out that Robin was no longer in the picture. Jason had died, and it had almost ripped the family apart. So I did what any concerned, brilliant-yet-unchallenged kid would do. I had to find the Bats, and I needed to convince Nightwing to become Robin again."

"Grayson?" Damian sat up a little straighter. "Why Grayson? Why not demand the mantle for yourself?"

Honestly, vigilante life had been the furthest thing from his mind. Thirteen-year-old Tim Drake had spent his whole life looking at problems and finding solutions to those problems. Mommy and Daddy only gave him their love when he got good grades? Solution: claw his way to the top. Corrupt administration at his old boarding school? Solution: hack the systems and dig up any and all dirt on every single authority figure who beat the kids or took bribes from parents.

Batman almost died in a fight with Mr. Freeze? Solution: Get to his partners.

"Who better to help Batman than Robin?" Tim asked with another shrug. "And I was smart enough back then to figure out pretty quick that Nightwing was the first Robin. Once I started looking deeper, I found out that Nightwing was actually Dick Grayson, because I watched this flip he did off a building that I recognized from old MeTube videos of the Flying Grayson routines. I dug deeper, found out that Dick was living with Bruce Wayne, who, by the way, was not only rich enough to pull off the whole 'Batman' deal, but also incidentally had another young ward who had been killed overseas. When I knew all that, I biked all the way to Wayne manor and snuck in."

Admittedly, not the smartest thing he could have done. But at the time, it had seemed like a great idea.

Tim had made it ten feet past the front door when the all-seeing, all-knowing Alfred Pennyworth had caught him red-handed. And Tim, in a moment of panic, had blurted out that he knew everything and demanded to see Bruce Wayne.

The old butler's expression hadn't changed, but his eyebrows did climb up his forehead.

"Indeed, young man? And how, pray tell, did you sort that out?"

Alfred watched him carefully through his whole explanation, and his expression softened more and more with every word. Maybe he'd looked at the animated teenaged boy in front of him and thought of another enthusiastic, dark-haired young man. Whatever the case, Tim had been led into a hidden elevator behind a grandfather clock. And when he'd stepped out, his life had never been the same.

The Ferris Wheel ground to a halt, and it's blinking lights dimmed before going out completely.

"Attention, ladies and gentlemen." The ride operator's voice crackled over the tinny speaker in the car. "Due to technical difficulties, the ride will be stalled for an undetermined amount of time. For your safety, please remain seated with all limbs inside the car at all times and seatbelts securely in place. Thank you for your patience and understanding."

Damian blinked over at Tim, and shrugged. "Well, carry on, then, Drake."

He told Damian about that moment he stepped out of the elevator. He could still remember the hollow sound of Bruce's fingers flying over the Batcomputer's keyboard. Dick and Barbara had been leaning against the desk beside their mentor, glaring up at the blue screen through narrowed eyes. The first time Tim had seen his older brother and sister, they had seemed like powerful behemoths, larger than life and twice as frightening. Even though they'd been the same age he was now (and that was strange to think about), when Dick and Barbara turned towards him and Alfred, and when he saw the insignias on their chests, Tim had been filled with a jolting mixture of fear and awe.

And then, Bruce had stood up.

"Needless to say," Tim chuckled. "That was a pretty awkward conversation. But Dick was pretty adamant about not going back to the Robin mantle. Bruce decided I knew too much, so it wasn't like they could just let me leave. So, they gave me a mask and a cape, and started training me." Tim threw his hands out to the side and smiled. "And the rest is history."

For a few tense moments, Damian just stared at him. Then, he said, "Drake. That was an interesting monologue, but what was the point?"

Tim's smile didn't waver in the slightest. "The point? The point is this, Damian. Did you know that Dick hated me for the first few months I was Robin? He wouldn't look me in the eye or give me the time of day. And Babs kept telling Bruce that she didn't think I was cut out for hero work. That I was just a little snot-nosed kid who was gonna get himself killed."

Damian's eyes narrowed. "Impossible. Grayson and Delphi adore you."

"They didn't always, kiddo. And Jason? When he came back…" Tim let out a huff of laughter. "Boy, was he just abso-&*$%^#&-lutely delighted."

That one didn't seem to surprise Damian quite as much. But Tim plowed on. "Point is, Damian, that I found a family that loved me even if I wasn't perfect all the time. My dad and I eventually reconciled after my mom died, but honestly? This is the family that was there for me. And we'll be here for you, too."

He paused, then added, "Maybe we're all kinda bad at showing how we feel at first. We need to warm up to people before we let them in. And…" He trailed off for a few seconds, unsure of how to proceed. "No offense, kid, but you haven't exactly made it easy."

Damian's face fell. "I know. I'm just…"

And then, Timothy Jackson Drake witnessed the most terrifying thing he'd seen in the last week at least. Damian's eyes welled up, and the kid actually started sniffling.

"I am afraid, Drake, that…" the kid whispered, his small voice cracking a little. "In my grandfather's house, one must constantly strive to gain their comrades' favor. I am afraid that…"

He hiccupped, unable to finish. His face was turning bright red, and Tim suspected that getting even those words out had been painful. And letting Tim see him cry must have been excruciating.

"You're afraid that if you do something wrong, or don't meet our expectations," Tim finished hollowly, "We'll hate you. Or kick you out."

Damian looked up. A single tear streaked down his cheek, and he wiped it away with an indignant huff.

But he didn't disagree.

Tim took another sharp stab to the chest. "Damian," he groaned. "We would never do that."

"Even if I displayed attraction towards men?" his little brother countered, eyes narrowed defensively. He swiped the back of his hand across his eyes and sniffed.

Tim reached down and unbuckled his seatbelt. With a sigh, he slid across the seat to sit next to the small pre-teen. Damian started, and stiffened when he felt Tim's arms drape over his shoulders.

"You, little bro," Tim said softly as he squeezed Damian's shoulders, "Are still growing up, and have a lot of $#^% to figure out while you do. The best part, though, is that you don't have to do all of that right now. Finding out who you are takes a long time, and knowing who you like is only a small piece of that. You shouldn't let it define you too soon. But I promise you, Damian. No matter who you turn out to be, or what you do with your life, your family's always going to be there for you. We love you, kiddo."

Damian's hand reached up, and he curled his fingers around Tim's wrist. He supposed that was the best he was going to get in terms of a hug from the kid. Honestly, he was probably lucky Damian hadn't ripped his arms off yet. He'd made it clear before that he didn't like uninvited human contact from anyone.

But the kid's voice was soft as he said, "Thank you, Timothy. But you are starting to sound far too much like Grayson."

"Yeah? Well, maybe that's what I was going for?"

"I figured as much. You're usually pretty terrible at this sort of thing."

Tim scoffed, and unwound his arms from Damian's shoulders. The kid was actually smirking up at him. The tears were almost gone, too. And if his eyes hadn't been moist and bloodshot, Tim might never have guessed that his little brother had been crying at all.

With a shuddering creak, the ride's lights flickered back on. Some recording of carnival music that Tim hadn't noticed before started playing again as the Ferris Wheel started to turn again. Their car was close to the bottom when Tim had a sudden realization, and turned to Damian with his mouth open in shock.

"Wait. Did you just call me…Timothy?"

The ride operator unclipped the fastening chain and opened the car's door for them. Damian slid out gracefully, and clasped his hands behind his back.

"Nonsense, Drake," he said airily as Tim hopped out to join him. "You must have been hearing things. Now. Shall we go and procure some more of that 'cotton candy'?"

Damian led him back down the boardwalk and towards the gigantic circus tent. It was almost time to meet the rest of the family for the Circus's opening show, anyway, and Tim hoped the malfunction on the Ferris Wheel wouldn't make them late.

"Thank you, Drake," Damian mumbled. It was just quiet enough that, between the crowds and the music from the carnival, Tim almost missed it. "You are actually a decent older brother."

Tim grinned all the way to the cotton candy cart.

#######

#######

"So…?"

Damian huffed, ignoring McGinnis as he reared back for another pitch. The ball sailed from his fingers and flew into the stacked tower of bottles. The force alone should have been enough to topple the entire structure—his brute strength had won him many battles against superior numbers in the past (or perhaps future, as it were?)—but instead, it was only the top bottle that clattered to the ground.

"Did you see that?" he demanded through his teeth. He turned to his partner, but Terry did not appear to be as outraged as he. The teenager only raised a single eyebrow.

"Sir, are you going to want another round? Or are you going to keep accusing me of 'rigging my game'?" The vendor's oily smirk was insufferable. Had Damian possessed even an ounce less of honor, he would have gladly slammed the man's face into the bottles repeatedly until they all fell.

He wanted that stuffed dragon, &*$# it!

"This," McGinnis sighed, as a slow $#!^-eating grin spread up his face, "is so, so sad."

"I would take great pleasure in seeing you beat this pathetic excuse of a game," Damian snarled.

By way of reply, McGinnis pulled a rumpled five-dollar bill from his pocket and waved it tauntingly in the air before he slammed it onto the booth's plywood surface. The vendor slid it greedily out of sight, and passed Terry three dirty softballs.

The teenager smirked over at him, and palmed the first ball. "Watch and learn, old man."

The ball sailed through the air, and missed the stack of bottles completely. Damian's lips curled up and he turned to his partner. But the taunt died on his tongue as the teenager shot a wink his way, and sent the next ball flying into the canvas backing of the booth.

"You're wasting your shots on purpose," Damian realized with a frown. "Why?"

"Eh, cause I don't need 'em. Watch me get it on the first try, and—if I make it—" Terry held up the last softball like it was a precious gem. His grin was positively evil as he said, "You have to tell everybody when we get back home."

Damian bared his teeth. "They'd never believe it."

"True, true, true." Terry aimed, and reared back. His arm whipped forward, and the ball streaked from his hand. It hit right between the two bottles that made up the bottom layer, and the entire pyramid collapsed with a clamor. His partner whooped, punching a fist in the air, and crowed, "But I still get bragging rights!"

The vendor let out a heavy sigh, and Damian watched with flaring indignation as he passed the stuffed red and black dragon to his partner's greedy fingers. Terry accepted the plushie with a smirk and as they stepped away from the booth, waved it in the air.

"Maybe I'll give this to Dana. Wonder if she'd like it?"

Damian's frown was lethal. "You," he snarled, "Are in sufferable."

"Ha! And you," Terry growled, matching his deeper tone, "Are a sore loser!"

Damian didn't dignify that with a response, and instead, stalked forward with purpose. It was nearing time to meet up with the rest of his siblings. They'd all realize soon that the circus wouldn't be holding its first show tonight, and would instead head out for patrol. While he'd been tempted to inform Grayson of this before they'd arrived at Amusement Mile, he'd opted instead to remain silent.

He could never be sure what he should say, and what would be far better left unsaid.

"So…" Terry prompted. He'd calmed a little, and was no longer taunting him with his stuffed trophy. "Like I was trying to ask before…is it weird? Seeing your family like this?"

At that, Damian managed a bitter-sweet smile. Seeing his older siblings had been an interesting experience, to be certain. "Yes, McGinnis. It has been…'weird'. But at the same time, it has been a positive experience, overall."

Terry nodded thoughtfully. "Yeah, well, I mean it's cool to see 'em all before they get all old and cranky. You know, like you. Though I guess you were always cranky, huh?"

Damian sniffed.

"Seriously, man," McGinnis continued. Amusement sparked in his tone as he grinned out at the crowd. "You looked like an angry little chihuahua. Can't believe you were ever that shrimpy."

"Shall we move on?" Damian huffed. "I doubt that's your only question."

"And you'd be right on that count." Terry's eyes fixed themselves on a fried twinkie stand, and Damian shut that idea down before it ever had the chance to leave his partner's lips. They continued their march through the pressing crowd, and McGinnis shot him a sidelong glance. "So here's my next question. Are Dick and Barbara always gonna be this lovey-dovey?"

"Tt." Damian's features alternated between a hesitant frown and a knowing smirk. "They have their moments, don't they?"

"Yeah? How come I feel like that's all your gonna say about that one?" Terry huffed, rolling his eyes as he clutched the dragon tighter. "Alright, D, how 'bout this one, then. How much do you think they all know about…y'know?"

"I'm not sure I do," Damian replied.

"About…" Terry swirled one hand in the air, prompting him as he raised his eyebrows meaningfully. When Damian did not respond, he snorted in annoyance. "Oh, c'mon."

"Ah," he gasped. "I see what you mean now."

Terry groaned.

"Drake has his suspicions," Damian said, nodding. "And Delphi is closer to the truth than even she knows. But so far, I doubt any of them have worked it out as of yet."

"Delphi—? Oh, wait, yeah. The Commish, right?" Terry pursed his lips and eyed the crowd expectantly. "Alright, here's another one. Where's everyone else?"

"Everyone else?"

"Aw, don't be like that, D. Stop yankin' my chain. The others? Signal? Bluebird? Maven? BlackBat? Crazy-military-Wayne-cousin-lady-I'm-not-suppposed-to-ask-questions-about?" Terry threw out his hands. "I mean, c'mon! The rest of your family's pretty awesome in their prime, I'm not gonna lie. But half of 'em are missing."

Damian tilted his chin up. "McGinnis," he said, "Not only have we landed before the Night of Owls, but we have also arrived before the Night of the Heretic and the schism. Most of the Family is missing because most of them have yet to be introduced. By my calculations, Cassandra is the closest to joining—"

"Ooh, it'd be totally schway if we got to see her here! Could she always kick your #$$? When does—"

"—but the others are still a ways off. At this moment, I suspect Duke is still in high school and looking at prospective colleges. Harper is living with her brother in the Narrows, doing her best to make ends meet. And I believe C—Maven is working four jobs to support her addict parents. As for Katherine… " Damian glanced up at the approaching circus tent. His expression fell slightly, and Terry must have sensed his sadness, because he slowed his steps and studied his mentor curiously.

"Everything alright, man?" he asked softly.

Damian sighed, and shook his head. "Nothing, McGinnis. It's just…" He swallowed and shrugged.

"Look," McGinnis said. He stopped completely and laid a hand on Damian's shoulder. "I know I'm not the most…versed…in the Family History. But…Night of the Owls? And…you called it 'Night of the Heretic'? Pretty sure you're the only one who calls it that, but I know enough from the Commissioner and the old man to put two and two together."

Damian nodded. "Yes. They are truly in for it, aren't they?"

A line appeared between Terry's thin eyebrows, and his concerned frown betrayed his words before he could even speak them.

"What if…we warned them?"

That gave Damian pause. "What?"

"Think about it." Terry waved a hand. "We could formulate some kind of plan with them before we go back, give them time to act on it, and then bam! So many problems fixed if we just open our mouths now, and—"

"We can't, Terry." Damian's tone was drawn, and he felt guilt stab at his heart just by speaking the words. But that didn't take away from their truth. "We can't tell them anything."

McGinnis's mouth fell open. He spluttered. "What? Why? They're your family, D! No, never mind. Slag that. They're our family! What if we could—"

"Because that mind-erasing trick of Booster Gold's does not always work," Damian said. His voice was quiet, and yet just firm enough that he drowned out his partner's protests. Terry reared back, and looked up at him with an expression that warred between confusion and indignation. He ignored it, and continued. "We cannot risk details of the future slipping past the effects of the robot's algorithms. We have already revealed far too much. Anything more, and we could jeopardize the timestream itself."

"But, D—"

"How would you like to never have been born?" Damian asked him carefully. "To never have met Dana Tan? Or Melanie Walker, for that matter? To never have stumbled on Bruce Wayne's Batcave and become Batman? To never have found out who you are? Because all of that could happen if we were to tell them anything."

McGinnis was watching him with a look of horror, so Damian resumed walking. They were close to the circus tent now, and he could already see a few members of his family nearby. Brown was bent in half over the boardwalk railing. She was making miserable retching sounds as Todd rubbed her back sympathetically. Drake and his own younger self were marching through the crowd with twin clouds of pink cotton candy clutched in their hands. He could also see Grayson and Delphi stepping towards the tent, hand in hand. Delphi's face was turned up towards Grayson, who leaned down to plant a quick kiss on her lips.

Damian couldn't help the wistful smile that twisted across his mouth. His family truly had no idea what was coming. But in a way, that was the point of the Mission. He, just like all his family members before him, put on a mask every night, not knowing whether that would be the night a mugger got in a lucky shot, or an assassin's blade landed true.

His eyes landed on Delphi, and in a fleeting moment of remorse, he was tempted.

But he cleared his throat and shook his head. "I ask for your trust, McGinnis. Say nothing."

Terry frowned, but nodded.

"I just hope you know what you're doing, old man."