A/N:

Since it's referenced in this chapter, the comic pages referencing Bruce's rape by Tarantula are in Batman and Son, Part Two: Man-Bats of London for those who didn't read/don't remember and want to look it up for a refresher on what exactly happened.

~*~

A couple days later, Tim had finally contacted Black Canary and made an appointment to meet with her.

He only made it three minutes in the Watchtower before Bruce stormed up to him, a bemused Superman trailing behind.

"Red Robin. Just what are you doing here?"

Tim sighed and turned to face him, looking beyond exhausted, even with the mask hiding his eyes.

"It's none of your business."

"Of course it's my business, you're—"

"Fine," Tim cut him off. If just telling Bruce would get him off his back quicker, then he didn't really give a shit about arguing right now. "It still isn't, but I'm going to talk to Black Canary."

"Is this about a Birds of Prey case you're somehow involved in?"

Tim stuck his chin out petulantly, his anger bleeding through the fatigue that weighed him down.

"No. It's not," he said firmly.

"If this has to do with what happened on Sunday—"

"Of course it has to do with Sunday!" Tim burst out.

"Then absolutely not," Bruce shouted right back. "You don't get to make decisions about other people's personal information!"

Tim stomped right up to him, and pointed a finger in his face. "I haven't slept since then. I've not been able to sleep for four fucking days because I can't stop hearing it. And I'm not the only one either!"

"Red Robin," Bruce warned, but Tim ignored him, plowing on.

"Batgirl, Signal, and Black Bat are all hearing it too still, they're all having awful nightmares every night. And you know what? I told them to get some fucking therapy too, but they won't because of you."

"Black Bat is in therapy," Bruce interrupted.

"You know what I fucking mean, the others! And what about Robin, huh? How do you think he's fucking dealing with it? He's barely left his room since he finally came back after patrol Monday night — don't think A doesn't talk to me about that sort of thing.

"I know you and Oracle think you can just pretend it didn't happen and throw yourselves into the case, but how are the rest of us supposed to deal with this? Have you thought about Red Hood? Do you even give a shit how extra fucking horrible that must have been for him? That he probably hasn't even taken a second for himself because he's too busy worrying about Nightwing?

"And I don't even want to think about how Nightwing's probably dealing with it. Have you even reached out? Or done fucking anything besides yell at him for going out on patrol, and yell at Hood for being on his fucking side?

"We all need help. We've all needed help forever, and you're fucking delusional if you think we can all just move on from something like that!"

Tim panted as he finished his rant.

"Are you done?" Bruce asked blankly.

"Yes."

"Good. Go into the conference room. I'm not having this discussion in company."

For the first time, Tim noticed that several Justice League members had arrived to investigate the yelling, and were standing around looking on in shock.

His blood boiled. Really? Bruce wanted to save face in front of them? Well fuck that.

"No! You're just too chickenshit to admit you're a bad father—"

"You do not get to speak to me that way," Bruce interrupted.

"Well fuck you, I'm going to! You're a bad fucking father—"

"Red, I know you're angry right now—"

"No!!! Fuck you, and listen to me: you don't know how to deal with anything, and you would clearly rather prioritize your fucking secrets over your children's wellbeing like always!"

"And how do you think Nightwing would feel about you telling Black Canary everything that happened without his permission?" Bruce asked.

"I THINK HE'D CARE ENOUGH ABOUT MY FUCKING WELLBEING TO FORGIVE ME!" Tim screamed. "I've been fucking useless all week and you know it, I've been injured way more than usual on patrols because my response time is shit — and it's not just me either, it's most of us.

"The moment I try to sleep I hear it happening again, the moment there's any silence, the moment I try to even read a goddamn thing I can't stop hearing it. Do you? Or are you too busy going over the same stupid fucking feeds with Oracle to think about your own son?

"Do you even care about everything that's led up to this happening the way it did? How something like this has happened at least twice before, by my count, and apparently none of us fucking knew about it? Do you give a shit? Or was that all just no problem for you to listen to?!"

Tim's mouth twisted, and he continued, his voice harder. "You so badly want to be in charge? Well here's your fucking decision: You either let me talk to Black Canary about Nightwing, or I find some civilian therapist and tell them about your son, how's that?"

"You wouldn't do that to Nightwing, you know those things have a way of getting out," Bruce said calmly.

Tim let out a hysterical laugh. "Really? You really think I wouldn't?! Because right now I'm feeling like I might do just about anything! So how about you let me talk to Canary before this turns into my fucking supervillain origin story!" He whirled on his heel, cape fanning out behind him, and stormed down the hall.

The assembled members of the Justice League were silent.

"So...things not so great at home right now, huh?" Hal piped up awkwardly.

"Shut your mouth, Lantern," Bruce growled, and whirled away in a fashion quite similar to Tim. Clearly that was where Tim had learned it.

"Am I the only one with more questions than answers now?" Hal asked. "Like what the hell happened on Sunday?"

"I think it would be a breach of trust to pry. This is clearly a deeply personal matter," Diana said. "I will make sure Red Robin gets to Black Canary without further incident. Kal..." She sighed. "Go find Batman. Clearly his children are hurting, he must see that."

Clark nodded. "Yes. The trouble is getting him to listen." But he disappeared down the hall after Bruce nonetheless.

When Diana caught up with Tim, he immediately went on the defensive.

"Here to lecture me for making a scene and yelling at Batman?"

"No," She said. "I think you are brave for telling him what you know to be the truth, and seeking the help you need. I'm here to escort you to Black Canary without further incident."

"Oh. Thank you."

They walked the rest of the way in silence.

"Thanks, Diana," Tim repeated when they arrived outside of Dinah's office-of-sorts.

"Of course, Red Robin."

He paused for a second. "Could I have a hug?"

She smiled, and bent to embrace him tightly.

"Call for me if you are still unable to sleep tonight, and we will solve this together."

"Okay. Thank you." He let go, and knocked on the door.

"Red Robin. I heard you had a bit of a hang up," Dinah greeted him. "Martian Manhunter messaged me."

"Yeah. Sorry I'm late. Batman and I kind of...got into a little argument."

"Well, come in. Thank you for bringing him here, Wonder Woman."

"Of course." Diana nodded to both of them, and walked back down the hall.

"So. Red Robin," Dinah said, closing the door behind them, and taking her seat. "Let's talk about what brings you to my office."

~*~

By the end of the week, Jason finally managed to corner Damian in the Batcave. Thankfully it was otherwise empty, save for Bruce at the Batcomputer, far enough away that he likely wouldn't be able to hear them. And even if he did, it wasn't like he didn't already know.

"We should have that talk," Jason said.

Damian looked annoyed at being cornered, glaring down at his boots as he laced them. "Whatever. Talk, then."

Fuck, Jason hadn't thought this far ahead. Winging it was a supremely bad decision. "So..." he finally said, shifting uncomfortably. He crossed his arms. "I fucked your mom."

Damian's face twisted in distaste, but before he could say anything, Bruce whirled around in his chair.

"You what?!" he demanded.

Oops. Apparently Bruce could hear them.

Jason blinked at him, slowly taking in his shocked tone. Ah. He had severely miscalculated.

"Did you... Did you not know that?" he asked carefully.

"Why would I know that?"

Jason's brain felt like it was buffering like a video with a weak internet connection. "That was...sort of her whole plan? To make you mad?" It came out like a question. He was still stuck on the fact that Talia had never told him.

Bruce's jaw clenched. "How old were you?" questioned sternly.

"Uhhh...eighteen?" Jason's brain still felt like it was buffering, and he couldn't figure out why Bruce cared about his age, of all things. He'd fucked Bruce's ex, the literal mother of his child, that seemed like plenty for him to be angry about.

"Eighteen?" Bruce looked murderous.

"Um." Jason said. "Sorry?" he tried. He didn't know what Bruce wanted from him.

"Don't apologize," he said, closing his eyes for a moment. "This isn't on you." The last part came out in a growl, and he got up, pulling out his cellphone as he stalked toward the elevator, already scrolling through his contacts.

"Talia," Jason heard him hiss as the doors closed behind him. "How dare you—"

Jason turned back to Damian slowly, wondering what the fuck had just happened. He couldn't tell if Bruce was...upset with him? Or...?

Damian was looking faintly green. Eighteen. That was only two years older than him, and Todd had been out of his mind for a good chunk of that time before he'd been dunked in the Lazarus Pit. The Pit, which had then addled his brain in other ways.

He also knew that his mother had been acting as a caretaker and a mentor to Todd. That would be like if Richard...

When he'd heard Todd mention her during his conversation with Richard, heard what he was implying, his knee jerk reaction had been to assume it was a lie and get angry on his mother's behalf. And when Richard had said what he'd said, Damian had had to believe he was exaggerating, or misinformed, that he didn't truly know the situation.

Damian wasn't stupid, he knew his mother had done plenty of awful things — she had tried to kill him, after all. And he knew how he was conceived, remembered vividly the moment when Bruce had popped Talia's rose-tinted bubble, her oft-repeated story of love and passion, by spitting at her that all he remembered was being drugged out of his mind. But...but Damian knew that he was created specially to be a warrior in a class above any other, and he thought that maybe, maybe she had been overcome with some sort of madness, desperation to complete her vision. It was a weak excuse, but one that he clung to, because she was still his mother.

But this...this implied a pattern.

"Um," Jason said. "So..."

"It's fine," Damian croaked out. "I don't— it's fine. You don't have to talk to me. I...understand."

He practically fled the Cave, leaving a very off-balance Jason by himself.

~*~

The next morning, Jason found himself laying in bed, staring up at the ceiling as he listened to Dick crying in the bathroom.

It was only just past eight — they hadn't been asleep for long — but, of course, Dick had woken them both up with another nightmare.

He sat up, and grabbed his phone from the bedside table, quickly scrolling through his contacts and pressing the call button.

"Hello?" a tired voice picked up after three rings.

"Barbie."

"Jason? Everything okay?"

"Um, nothing...urgent. But not really. Sorry if I woke you up."

"No, I...hadn't gone to sleep yet, actually. Got caught up in work. What's wrong?"

"Can I come over? I'm sorry, I just don't know who else to talk to. I can't talk to anyone outside the family, because I don't feel right telling them about everything that's happened without asking Dick. And you know I can't talk to Bruce for shit, and everybody else feels weird because he's like their big brother," he blurted out.

"It's okay," Barbara sighed. "How soon can you get here?"

"Fifteen?"

"Perfect. I'll make tea."

"Thanks Barbie."

She hung up, and Jason quickly got dressed. He dug around his desk, trying to find a loose piece of paper to leave a note on.

As he scribbled out a quick 'Going out for a little bit. Be back before noon. I love you', he heard Dick start retching. Lovely — it was that part of the morning now.

He taped the note to the bedroom door, and left the flat quietly.

When he got to Barbara's place, she must have been waiting for him, because the door opened almost as soon as he knocked.

"Hey. Thanks for letting me come over."

"Yeah. It's been a hellish week for all of us."

He followed her into the living area and sat down in a cushioned chair.

"So," Barbara said, picking up one of the mugs from the coffee table. "Spill."

Jason sighed. "I just...I don't know what to do. It's been six days now, and every morning," his voice cracked. "Every morning he wakes up panicking and scrambles away like he's terrified of me. And then he goes in the bathroom and cries for fucking hours until he sobs so hard he literally makes himself sick. And I don't know what to do!

"I've offered to sleep on the couch — I've even offered to go stay somewhere else for a bit, but he just insists that it's fine, and that he doesn't want that, even though it could not more clearly not be fine!

"But he refuses to talk to me. Literally beyond saying it's fine and that he doesn't want that, he will not talk to me about anything else at all important. He just leaves the room if I try. And I don't want to push him, that's not good either, but this can't be okay!"

Barbara sipped her tea. "Shit. Okay." She was quiet for a moment, thinking.

Jason dropped his face into his hands, unable to stop spilling his guts now that he'd started. "I can't even comfort him, it's so fucked up. I'm afraid to even talk to him when he's upset, because the bastard used my voice, my face — he used my own words while he was doing that. And I just don't know how it's ever supposed to be okay again."

He sighed, looking back up and continuing more quietly. "He doesn't tell me he loves me anymore. And that's okay, I get not wanting to say it right now, but I don't even know if he does. I don't even know how he could. For all intents and purposes, I'm the one who attacked him. I'm the one he has nightmares about, I'm the one who sends him further into panic on sight, and I'm the one who he doesn't even trust enough to tell the most basic things anymore."

"Jay, come on. He knows it's not you. It's just difficult right now with it all so fresh, but he knows it's not you, even if his instincts are saying it is. I'm sure it's just harder to ignore those instincts when it's early in the morning and he was just dreaming about it like it was happening all over again. He does trust you though — you were the one who was able to talk him down and get him home after it happened.

"And as for the rest," she said, "Dick doesn't love half-heartedly, you know that. He loves people with everything he has, and I have no doubt in my mind that he still loves you."

"Thanks," Jason mumbled, reaching forward for his tea and taking a slow sip. "Thanks. Just...it's all so much and I have no idea what I'm doing. I never know if I'm making things better or worse, and it's a million times harder when he won't let me in." He scrubbed his free hand anxiously over his forehead. "I can only guess at what he's thinking and feeling, and it's hard to tell if it's just my anxiety talking or if I'm being realistic sometimes."

"How could you know what you're doing?" Barbara asked, throwing a hand out in a half-shrug. "There's no way to prepare for something like this, and there isn't exactly a whole lot of information about what to do when something like this happens to a loved one. There's plenty about coping with it as the victim, but not much for someone in your position.

"Have you considered that maybe it's not up to you to do anything for him, though? Maybe all you can do right now is be there. Really, he's gotta work through this on his own, and you can be there to support him, but there's not really anything you can do to help. Have you even taken any time for yourself to work through how you feel about everything that happened?"

"Have you?" Jason shot back.

Barbara's mouth twisted. "Just because I'm not good at taking my own advice doesn't mean it's not good advice."

"That's fair."

She sighed. "Dick can be really tricky to read when he wants to be, and all I can really say is make sure he knows you're there for whenever he's ready and wait it out. I'm sure he'll start to open back up with time. Use that time to process everything and work on sorting yourself out — you can't help him if you're falling apart yourself."

They fell to silence for several long moments, and Jason sipped his tea slowly. "Okay," he finally said. "Okay, yeah. Thanks Barbie."

"Anytime," she said.

They fell back to silence for a few beats, before Jason asked, "So have you and Bruce managed to find anything out about what The Man's goal was?"

"No." She sighed again. "We're still waiting on him to wake up so Bruce can question him."

"I want in on that; tell me as soon as he wakes up."

"I don't really think that's a good idea."

He raised his eyebrows. "Seriously? I deserve to be able to question him."

"Maybe it's not about who deserves it. I don't think you should be involved in the case — it's not going to do your mental health any good, you're too close to it."

"And you and Bruce aren't? I know the old man can be about as emotional as a brick wall sometimes, but I know that shit got to him. He's probably being all emo and 'I failed to protect him' over it. Like we aren't all upset about that."

"It's different."

"The fuck it is. It's just because you know Bruce never works through his shit and he certainly isn't going to start now, and you're just holding out hope that I will."

"Yes," Barbara said. "Exactly. It's not doing to do you any good to be up close and personal with this."

Jason scowled. "It will. Getting revenge and closure is exactly what's going to help me work through this."

"You're not going to shoot a man already in the Intensive Care Unit.

"Try me."

Barabara closed her eyes and took a deep breath to compose herself. "And this is exactly why you're not going."

"He doesn't have to be awake for me to shoot him," Jason pointed out. "It's not as satisfying, but I could always save another bullet for when he's finally up and about. I could get in there anytime — hospitals aren't exactly hard to break into."

"Jason," she said, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Please."

"What?" he complained, throwing up his free hand. "Don't tell me he doesn't deserve it. And there was hardly anything wrong with his legs, I'd just be evening out the damage a little." He thought for a second. "He'd have a hell of a time with crutches or a wheelchair with those hands. I suppose that's part of the beauty, though."

"Jason," she repeated.

He looked utterly unrepentant, and Barbara levelled him with her strongest glare.

After a few tense moments of their stare-off, Jason finally cracked and sat back with a huff. "Fine. I still want to know when he wakes up though."

"I'll think about it," she said.

She wouldn't, and they both knew it.

"Now get out of my house so I can finally get some sleep."

~*~

After a week and a half, Bruce finally gave up on insisting Dick go home and not patrol every night, but the atmosphere was still tense over the comms. Patrols were a much more solemn affair now, with much less joking banter between the bats.

Dick couldn't even bring himself to feel bitter that it was all because of him.

All of them continued to endlessly check in on him, and he found himself withdrawing more and more often rather than getting angry like he used to. It was just... Getting angry, having emotions at all, it just seemed like so much energy these days. Energy he didn't have. He couldn't really ever muster up the effort to be anything other than numb anymore.

He was grateful at least that, even though they'd surely noticed, nobody had mentioned Dick having reverted back to wearing his old costume. It wasn't hard to realize that the main difference (besides some small changes in graphics) was that the older model gave a nasty electric shock to anyone who tried to take it off without disarming it properly. He wouldn't know what to say if someone did bring it up.

~*~

Dick became particularly glad he'd switched back to his old costume a few days later, when he was taking down yet another petty thief.

"I'm so glad I got you, gorgeous. Fighting mean old Batsy wouldn't come with nearly as good a view," the woman purred.

"Don't you people ever get sick of being disgusting?" Dick ground out, kicking her in the knee. "Doesn't being creepy get boring?"

Even his comebacks didn't have nearly the bite they should, and he was aware that he sounded off his game. But it was just so hard to keep up the snappy Nightwing persona when he felt so numb.

She reached forward as her knee gave, managing to hook two fingers in the neck of his suit to bring him down with her, and her eyes flew wide as she convulsed before hitting the ground under him.

Dick wrenched himself back, hitting her arm away with an Escrima Stick with more force than really necessary. He quickly got off of her and back onto his feet.

"F— Ff—" She seemed to be having trouble catching her breath. "What the fuck?" she finally got out.

"Didn't your parents ever teach you to keep your hands to yourself?" he asked. "Better keep that in mind next time."

He pushed her over onto her front with the toe of his boot and planted a foot between her shoulder blades so she couldn't squirm away once she regained herself.

"I— I just—"

"Don't care." He cut off whatever she was going to say, bending at the waist to zip-tie her hands together. He wasn't too keen on getting right up against this one to cuff her.

Dick started to push her back over onto her back with his foot, and then paused.

"One more comment about me, or anything about my ass and I'm leaving you here facedown," he warned.

"O-okay, I won't. Sorry," she said.

He pushed her over onto her back.

"Have a great night," he said drily, and grappled up onto the nearest roof.

"Don't," he said over the comms before anyone could check in. "Just don't say anything."