The Stolen Child (2/4)
a Justice League story
by Merlin Missy
Copyright 2005
PG-13


Part Two
John checked his watch. Mari would be getting off shift in five minutes. They hadn't made plans to spend the day together, but he suspected she'd be by regardless.

He still wasn't sure how he was going to tell her, what he was going to tell her.

"Hon, I know we haven't really talked about kids."

"Mari, remember when I told you Bruce and I went into the future, and I said I couldn't tell anyone what we saw?"

"You know, I've always thought you'd make a great mom."

He'd have to break it to her slowly, let her get used to the idea. From the moment he'd seen them sleeping, hell, from the moment he'd come back from the future trip knowing what was to be, he'd known he would love them. Rex, certainly, and already he was okay with the name Carter for the younger boy. His younger boy. Have to ask about that.

The clock on the wall, always a little faster than his watch, told him Mari's shift was over, that she'd probably be beaming to the Detroit location any time now. She might call, but she probably wouldn't.

She'd be put out at first, confused certainly. But he was sure, once she got a good look at them, that she'd like them just as much as he already did. She liked kids.

Shayera ...

No. He wasn't going to think about Shayera right now. She was his past. If Rex was here, maybe she wasn't even the future he thought she might be. She'd obviously freaked out last night; he felt a little bad about that. He'd had warning but he'd never told her what he'd seen. She'd been scared, and the way she always dealt with being scared was by getting belligerent. She'd come around eventually. She'd start spending time with the kids, and she'd see how cool they were, and she'd ...

John realized he was thinking about her anyway.

There was a knock on his door. "Hold on," he said, and opened the door for Mari before she had to dig out her key.

"Morning," she said, tiptoeing up to kiss him just at the edge of his mouth.

"Morning, yourself," he said. "How was work?"

"Quiet. No major disasters, only one minor earthquake in Japan. Reddy and Dove handled it."

"Good." Now's the time, man. Tell her, let her hear it from you. "So ... "

"What's for breakfast?"

"I was thinking Bob's Pancake House." Tell her.

She smiled. "Sounds good. Let me change and freshen up."

Tell her.

He'd tell her over breakfast. He would.


Tim woke abruptly. His sheets were drenched in sweat, his heart raced, and he was almost positive he'd been screaming. Sometimes his nightmares were different. Last night's had not been.

Mad laughter inside his head. Burning pain on his hands and arms, on his legs, on his groin. Struggling against bonds he couldn't break or pick or untie.

Tim closed his eyes, trying to force the images away. He focused on the breathing techniques Bruce had taught him once upon a time, and gradually, the dream left him to lurk in the back of his mind with the rest of the nightmares.

He opened his eyes again. Sunlight poured through the cracks in his curtains. The angle of the light — hitting the handle of the second drawer on his dresser — told him he'd slept late again

He threw off the last tangle of blankets clinging to the bed, sat up, rubbed his head. Atop his dresser, Alfred had left clothes neatly folded and had removed his clothes from the previous day. Tim knew otherwise he'd stay in the same clothes day in and day out, and Alfred knew it too. He wasn't sure if Bruce knew, and he decided he didn't care.

Tim focused on the feel of the cloth on his hands as he dressed. His scars had almost completely faded, except for the few he'd keep the rest of his life. His gaze drifted to the longest one, running the length of his leg. Then hurriedly, he tugged on his jeans to hide it away.

He sat at his desk and looked at what he'd written the night before. Trash, all of it, he decided, and he spent a pleasant several minutes shredding the papers by hand before he dropped the tiny bits into his trash can.

Half of the word "replaced" stuck to his palm, and it took three tries to get the paper off and into the trash with the rest.

Bruce had brought home a new Robin. Two new Robins.

He'd watched through his keyhole as Alfred had led them up to bed last night. In the brief glimpse, he'd memorized each curve in their young faces, each feather in the smaller child's wings. He knew he should stop them at the top of the staircase, grab them, shake them until they listened to him: get away from here, run away while you still can.

He'd forced himself, eventually, away from the door and back to his bed, forced himself to try to sleep. Instead he'd lain awake, listening for the quiet creak of the downstairs clock as Bruce finally came in for the night.

Tim used the toilet, washed his hands, tried not to look at the empty pane where his mirror used to be. It had been six months since he'd broken it, since he'd given himself new scars on his palms and wrists, and he doubted it would be replaced as long as he lived here.

He should go downstairs. He should eat breakfast. He should make a proper introduction to the Manor's new residents.

He sat at his desk, pulled out a new sheet of paper, and began to write.

Half an hour later, he heard a noise at his door. Five minutes after that, he opened the door just enough to grab the tray, bring the eggs and bacon and juice (in a plastic cup) inside. Wide enough, too, to see another tray outside the next door over.

Tim never smiled, not now, not yet, but his lips twitched in a smile-memory. It was nice to know he wasn't the only crazy one in the house.


Shayera came in through the Batcave. On the rare occasions she visited Bruce, she came this way, each time finding it heartening that he'd neither sealed this entrance nor booby-trapped it with her in mind. Had their positions been reversed, and he the traitorous invader to her home, she could not say she'd do the same.

The Cave was empty, which was expected. It was early enough in the day that Bruce would be pretending to sleep off a night of debauchery, as he really slept off a night of hard crimefighting.

He hadn't been even a part-time League member this past year. They kept tabs on him anyway. She guessed he was allowing them to do so, couldn't imagine the gentle surveillance could continue without his permission.

She opened the clock, stepped out, looked around.

"Hello?"

"Hello, miss," said Alfred, appearing from nowhere. She made an effort not to jump. Guess Batman had to learn it from somewhere.

"Good morning, Alfred," she said as pleasantly as she could. "How are ... " She broke off, then stumbled through a careful: "you?"

"I'm well, thank you for asking. The lads are also well."

"Yes," she said, not knowing what else to say.

"If you'd like, I can take you up to their room now."

"No rush," she said too fast. She saw the look cross his face: confusion, merging into distaste, both immediately replaced with a carefully blank expression.

"Miss?"

"Is Bruce awake?"

"No, miss. I can wake him if you desire."

"No. Don't bother. I was just curious." She stared out the window, not wanting to meet his eyes.

"If you would prefer to wait here, I can bring the children down to meet you."

"Alfred, I'd prefer I wasn't here at all. Your boss ordered me to show up, and I'm not sure why I listened."

"Yes, miss. But you are here, as are they. Excuse me." He turned around, headed to the stairs.

Mentally, Shayera cursed. Alfred had always been kind to her, something especially precious during those first few days after the invasion when everyone had hated her, including herself. Now he would be as cold to her as she was to these ...

"Oh dear," said Alfred, walking hurriedly in the other direction. "They appear to be giving themselves a tour."

"Is that safe?"

"Not here," he said, poking his head under couches and chairs. Shayera thought better of it, then looked behind the curtains anyway. "Boys!" shouted Alfred. "Come down here this instant!"

There was no answer at first. A door upstairs creaked open. Shayera stepped out into the hallway, saw a face peering out, too tall to be one of her ... one of the boys. Robin. Tim. "Hi," she said, and he closed the door.

Not for the first time, Shayera wondered if she were the sanest person present in Wayne Manor.

"Got you!" Alfred hauled an armful of squirming boy — Rex, the one who had no wings — from the hall closet. "Young man, we do not hide in this household."

Rex's eyes flashed over to Shayera's, and for a moment, she knew exactly what he was thinking: Alfred was really good at self-deception.

She heard a giggle from behind the curtain, and Alfred swept it aside to reveal Carter. That's going to be fun to try to keep straight. Another thought poked at her, but before she could grasp it, the small boy threw himself at her legs.

"Mama!" He hugged her tight. He was so small, it was like being attacked by a throw pillow.

Rex went pale. "Carter, stop it."

"Uh uh." He kept hugging her, and she had no idea how to get him to stop, short of kicking him away. Her hands clenched and then relaxed. She placed her palm on his soft hair.

"Um. Hi."

"Rex said you went away but I knew you were going to come back. We were on our own and it was dark. Mom, the man made us take a bath but it was okay."

"Stop it!" said Rex again.

"And we had eggs for breakfast but I ate mine anyway. Can we go home now, Mom?"

"Stop. Calling her. 'MOM!'" He'd pulled away from Alfred, was advancing on his brother. Carter ignored him, rested his head against Shayera's leg. "I already told you, she's not Mom, and the guy you're gonna see later isn't Dad. They just look like them but they're not real."

She sent a silent plea to Alfred, who clapped his hands together. "Lads, why don't you show Miss Hawkgirl," she flinched, "to the kitchen. I'm sure she could use a drink."

"Got any tequila?" she asked, as Carter grabbed her hand and led her lightly to the kitchen. Rex followed; a glance behind her let her see the glower. Way to go. The big one already hates me. This may be a new record.

They sat at the small kitchen table while Alfred set glasses of orange juice in front of each of them, and then poured one for himself. Sadly, he didn't add an extra shot of anything to hers, she discovered as she sipped.

"Isn't it a bit early to be shouting?" said Bruce, walking into the kitchen. Alfred immediately handed him his own orange juice, which made Shayera wonder if the butler weren't a touch psychic. The boys straightened up in their chairs as soon as they saw him. "Good morning, boys."

"Morning," they chorused quietly. Rex drank his juice while Carter ignored his, instead staring at her in wide-eyed fascination.

Bruce nodded to Shayera. "I didn't expect to see you here this early."

"You all but ordered me. I came." She toyed with her glass. "I'm still not sure why." Rex's glare was back; Carter stayed quiet, kicking his legs under the table.

"You're here because you need to be. Carter, do you know how to fly?"

"A little."

"Fine. Shayera, you can teach him more."

"It's daylight."

"We're secluded enough."

"I'm going with you," Rex announced. Carter clutched at his hand. Bruce shrugged.

Shayera finished her juice. "I want to talk to you alone for a moment."

She and Bruce moved to the dining room. She said, "I don't know what you're trying to do ... "

"We have a limited time frame," he said, in the Bat's voice. "Rex could be taken from us at any point. We need to build some kind of bond with Carter before that happens. You look like his mother, and he'll bond with you the easiest."

"I don't want to bond with him. Not my kid. Her kid. Remember? The fascists who tried to kill us and take over for us?"

"We're not holding the children responsible for what their parents did. They're kids, and they need our help."

"Ever consider your counterpart would know you'd think like that?" He glared at her just as fiercely as Rex had. "Fine," she relented. "I'll show him some tricks. Don't expect more, and don't ask more."

Leaving him there, she returned to the kitchen. "Come on. Let's go flying."


Out in the open air, things were clearer. She wasn't worried about being spotted; if Bruce didn't think it was possible she'd be seen and the connection between them made, it had to be a non-issue. This was a man who was legendarily paranoid.

She soared by a security camera, one of dozens around the property. Legendarily insane, she amended.

She landed by the children. "Okay. We're going to start with something basic. I'm going to lift you up, and you can spread your wings while I hold you, all right?"

"All right," Carter agreed, and held out his arms. His weight was nothing at all as she jumped up, held him away from her, and helped him spread his wings. She stayed low, letting him catch the air, then started to pull up away from the ground. Rex went smaller and smaller beneath them.

Up here, things made sense. Here she didn't have to worry about the past or the future, about what Carter — the other Carter — was thinking when he said "Nothing," about hard looks on too many faces when she went out in public. Up here, she was safe.

"How are you doing?" she asked.

"Okay," he said.

"I'm going to let go now. Let the air buoy you up. Don't be afraid. I'll catch you."

"I'm not afraid." He smiled.

She dropped him. Carter fell about ten feet, then turned his feathers just so and caught the wind. He flew beneath her gracefully as they glided for a little while around the second storey of the Manor.

"Try this," she said, and banked hard to the right. He imitated her perfectly.

Far below them, she saw Rex running to keep them in sight, stumbling as he did, and she smiled to herself. Then she lost her smile.

"Carter," she said, banking left and watching approvingly as he copied her, "do you know why Rex doesn't have wings?"

"Yup."

There was a long silence. They flew back and forth. Shayera demonstrated how to gain altitude quickly, and he followed without hesitation.

"Carter, why doesn't Rex have wings?"

"His didn't work ever."

Shayera dropped twenty feet, only barely catching herself in time. Carter glided down beside her. "What do you mean they didn't work?"

He shrugged, continued to hover beside her. Rex was close enough to them now that he could probably hear their conversation, but she was past caring.

"They didn't work. He was in your tummy, I mean, in Mama's tummy, when she got hurt by the powerupter."

"Power disruptor?" Several curses ran through Shayera's head at once, and only a great deal of self-control kept her from shouting all of them in front of the child. She landed.

Carter landed beside her and ran to his brother. "Did you see?"

"I saw," said Rex, watching her intently.

"She was ... " Shayera said. "The power disruptor ... "

"It took away their powers," Rex said. "That was the idea, right?"

"You were born with wings, though."

"They didn't work. Mom and Dad cut them off when I was little."

Her stomach lurched. Moments later, she coughed up the orange juice and her breakfast on Alfred's poor rosebushes. The mental image of another her and another John, cutting off their own child's ... She heaved again, and then was still.

"Yuck," said Carter, when she had wiped her mouth and stood. Rex said nothing, just watched her.

"Sorry," she said, and she wasn't sure what she was sorry for: for throwing up, for the little boy who had no wings, for being part of the reason his mother had been hit with the ray, for everything.

"Can we fly some more?" Carter asked.

She looked at Rex, but he gave nothing away. "All right," she said. "Next lesson."


They'd flown to Gotham, but Mari wanted to rent a car and drive the rest of the way. She'd told John it would give her more time to ponder what he'd told her. She needed the breathing room.

He'd tried to explain, bless him, but John was never good with words. She knew about the Justice Lords, assumed that they had gone on with their lives after their little fling with world domination here, and understood that there were now two boys living at Wayne Manor who really weren't from around here.

She was still having trouble with why they were John's problem.

"But they're not your children," she tried again, as he turned off the winding highway onto the short drive to Bruce Wayne's front gate.

"They are, just not in this universe. Let me explain."

"No, I got the explanation. I understand alternate universes, Boo. Kind of have to, in our line of work."

"So you get it."

"No, I really don't. Listen, did you and the other founding members kill Luthor and take control of the planet?"

"Of course not." They reached the gate. John rolled down the window. "John Stewart, to see Mr. Wayne." The gate swung open and he drove inside.

"Okay. So you also didn't father those kids."

"Obviously not," he said, pulling into the parking circle. "But they're my responsibility."

"Not any more than the rest of the League."

"Mari, it's different."

"I don't think so," she said, just as two winged forms flew past their car. Shayera she recognized, but the smaller figure had zoomed by too quickly. She got out of the car as John did. Instead of watching the pair coming in for a landing, she watched his face light up.

Not at her she told herself firmly. He's not happy to see her. He's happy to see the kids.

And why wouldn't he be? The winged little boy was the spitting image of John from the few childhood pictures he'd dug out for her to see. The larger boy coming up behind him had the same features carved into a lighter face. They could not have been more perfect blends of John and Shayera had they come from a catalogue. The younger one could have been born while Shayera had been out of the public eye, and no one would have been the wiser. Only John's assurances that this was not the case, and the fact that he'd never lied to her, kept her from speculating anyway.

"Hi," she said, putting on her best dazzle-the-crowd smile.

"Hi," said the smaller one. Carter, she remembered. That must be driving John crazy.

"Who are you?" demanded the older boy, Rex.

Mari felt her smile start to slip.


"Interesting company you're keeping these days," said Dr. Nichols, peering out through the heavy curtains in Tim's room.

"I suppose," said Tim. Nichols knew the Bat's secret, had to so Tim's therapy could progress. The costumes with secret identities would be bright enough to preserve them, or they deserved to be caught.

Tim twitched.

"That's Hawkgirl, and I'm pretty sure Green Lantern just drove up, with ... " Nichols coughed, and backed away from the window.

Lantern must have brought his girlfriend. Vixen was a fashion model in her day job. Tim wondered idly if Nichols was one of the hordes of guys who stroked it to Photoshopped pictures of her on the internet. Then he wondered if Lantern ever punched out guys who were horny for Vixen. Then he remembered punching, felt the slick of his gauntlet sliding off a shattered jaw, and if he knew how to smile without breaking into hysterical laughter, he'd have smiled right there.

"Where were you, just then?" Nichols was watching him intently.

"In an alley beating a perp," Tim said.

"How did you feel?"

"Good." No doubt, no hesitation. Beating bad guys was the best thing ever, twisting a bone to the breaking point, and if he chose, going over that point. No one ever suspected him, the little Robin, and he tried to be good, but sometimes, oh it was glorious.

He was panting. He stopped himself.

"Are the dreams changing?"

"No." Nichols had pages and pages about Tim's very precious dreams, oh yes, and he showed them to Bruce after every session like the good little trained poodle he was.

Tim was aware, vaguely, that not all these thoughts were his own, that new pathways had been imprinted upon his psyche like burning brands to bare flesh.

He twitched again.

"Tell me where you are."

"Arkham," he breathed, and tried to force away the thoughts, but there was bright light around him and pain everywhere, and laughter inside his head.


Dr. Nichols closed the door. "I've administered a mild sedative. He should be awake and functional, but relaxed." Bruce waited; he was very good at waiting. "I think the flashbacks are getting worse. Has there been any change in his daily routine?"

"A slight one. Another child in the house. Temporary."

"Really? I counted two." Bruce's lips quirked. He would inform Shayera that all future training sessions would have to be in the Cave after all. "He thinks you're recruiting a new Robin."

"I'm not."

"If you care for Tim at all, you won't."

"Dr. Nichols ... "

"Mr. Wayne, you don't understand. Tim has been through a very traumatic experience." Bruce thought he did understand, but he remained quiet and let the doctor continue. "When the Joker began to torture him, Tim put everything of himself that he wanted to keep hidden, keep safe, behind a mental wall. It's a common self-defense mechanism in trauma situations. In extreme cases, it can lead to Dissociative Identity Disorder." Bruce felt a grim amusement that the doctor tried so hard not to look at Bruce as he said that.

"I don't think that's the case here," Nichols added hurriedly. "But I know the dichotomy was important to Tim. It was his last defense against the Joker, the last thing the Joker broke inside of him.

"He named the hidden place 'Robin.'

"He's still got part of himself locked away behind that wall, for all that the Joker got inside there, too. The only way he's going to heal is to integrate those parts of his personality back into the rest of him. He's afraid of the process, afraid of what he'll find there, but I'm certain that, given time, he can become whole.

"You've already forbidden him to be Robin again, which I can agree with from a safety point of view. But you can't deny him the identity entirely and then bestow it on another boy. You'll kill the last thing the Joker left alive inside him."

Bruce said, "I'm not looking for a new Robin. I want Tim to be healthy again. That's all."

"It may be too much to ask," said Nichols, as Alfred brought him his coat and hat. "I'll see you tomorrow, Mr. Wayne. Alfred."

Bruce watched Nichols go out the main door past where John had parked. He wasn't sure why John had chosen to drive instead of come in the back like normal, but then Vixen came into sight and he understood completely. He wondered if John had told her about their future trek yet.


"You saw what?" Her eyes narrowed. Her voice was flat. Mari was displeased. And Shayera looked just as unhappy. Thank God the boys were upstairs and not in the dining room in the middle of this.

"I'm telling you what he told me. I'm pretty sure he was telling the truth." He felt freed, if also doomed, were the expressions in both pairs of eyes any indication. He'd wanted to talk about this with someone, anyone, ever since he and Bruce had gotten home. But Bruce hated to talk, and John had been afraid of changing the future.

"Why didn't you tell me?" Mari demanded. "Hell, why didn't you tell her?"

Shayera added, "High on my list of questions, too."

"I couldn't. It was the future. The more people who knew about it, the more it could get screwed up later." John paused, then continued: "And now it looks like it wasn't our future, not exactly, and I'm sorry, all right?"

"I hate time travel," Shayera said, rubbing her forehead.

"You and me both," said Mari. John thought about chiming in, and decided his health demanded otherwise.

"All right," Shayera said. "You saw Rex. What about Carter?"

"He wasn't there. Everybody was dead except Rex, Virgil, Bruce, and the new Batman."

Mari asked, "And this is a future you want to keep?"

"No. I mean, it was already messed up before we got there. But we fixed that. I think. Bruce put Chronos into a time loop before he started. Anything he made happen wouldn't have happened, so nobody died." Probably.

Shayera asked, "Did I mention hating time travel?"

Mari said, "So. You knew about Rex. Knew he was coming anyway. And now he's here, and you know you're going to adopt him because he already called you 'Dad' in the future."

"Something like that."

"What about us?" Mari's tone was guarded.

"We're exactly where we were yesterday."

"No, we're not."

"I'll be up with the kids," Shayera said. Considering that she'd been looking at them like plague carriers, this was saying something. She amended, "Or better, looking for something strong to drink. Bruce has to have a wine cellar or something in this place."

"Stay here," said Mari. "This involves you, too."

"It really doesn't. I have a boyfriend." John thought he schooled his expression admirably. Shayera continued, "He likes me. I like him. You two can feel free to work out things without me."

"We can't," said Mari while looking at him, "because John here has spent the past couple of years believing you're going to wind up married to him. And we need to talk about that."

John thought a stiff drink sounded lovely.


The door opened. Tim turned his head, expecting Alfred or maybe Barbara. Instead it was one of the new kids, the one with the feathers. "Get out," he said. "You can't have my room, too."

"What happened to your arm?" The kid pointed to his band-aid.

"I got a shot." The boy's face twisted. "It helps me relax. It's okay."

"You gonna take a nap?"

"I might." A nap sounded nice, actually. He could close his eyes and drift away, and as long as the drug was in his system, the dreams wouldn't haunt him as badly. His head lolled, and he saw the other boy standing at the doorway, watching carefully. As Tim's eyes closed, the figures of both kids swam in front of his eyes, making strange shapes in the air.

He opened his eyes, unaware of any time passing, to find the two of them sitting in front of his GameCube, playing Robot Racers. The one with the wings was making car noises and screeching, while the other moved his thumbs on the controls like a pro. Tim was too tired and muzzy-headed to object.

He sat up.

"Watch out," he said. "You've got a ... " But the kid already had it covered. "You're good at this one."

"We used to play it all the time," said the one with the wings. "We lived with Batman for a while."

Me, too. "In your world?"

"Yeah," said the other one. "After Dad died. We had to stay hidden."

Tim got that. "Hey," he said to the one with the wings. "What's your name?"

"Carter. That's Rex."

"I'm Tim."

"We know," said Rex, still watching the screen.

"Carter, can I have the other controller?" Carter stared at the controller in front of him.

Rex handed his over. "You take this one." Then he grabbed the one in front of Carter without asking.

They played five rounds of Robot Racer until Carter got bored and went back to their room for a nap. Then Tim put in War Machines II, which was way too violent for Rex and made him happy anyway. They barely talked, just focused on the clicking and firing, and Tim thought it was a pretty good day.

About an hour later, Bruce came to the doorway. "Are you two ready to come downstairs for lunch? Alfred says he's made ravioli. Besides, I think the other grown-ups have finally stopped shouting at each other." The forced joviality in his voice was for Rex, but the question was almost entirely for Tim.

"Maybe later," Tim said.

"Can Carter and I eat up here?" Rex asked.

"I'd rather you ate downstairs," Bruce said. Rex frowned. "Let's get your brother."

Rex set down his controller and followed Bruce out with a wave good-bye to Tim. Tim watched them go, listened as they called for Carter, who had either never gone to the room or had napped and left, listened further as they searched the house and Rex eventually found him in the pantry. Tim closed the door, but heard the small footsteps come up the stairs and go into the room next door.

Guess they're eating up here after all, he thought, as he heard Alfred set his tray down outside his door.


Wally was convinced he had the world's best timing ever. He'd set out for Bruce's place at a brisk run, and arrived just in time for lunch: homemade ravioli with some of the best sauce he'd ever tasted. The old guy sure could cook. The five or six times he'd been to see Bruce in his natural habitat, he'd seen other servants around, like a cook and a maid who wasn't nearly as pretty as he'd figured Bruce would hire, but they were gone today.

Weekends off? Sent home so they wouldn't see the kids?

Now that he thought about it, slurping the last bits of sauce from his third plateful, he hadn't seen them since that whole thing with Robin, so maybe they'd been sent home because of the other kid. Not that Tim was really a little kid. Sure he was kind of short, but he was almost the same age Wally'd been when Wally had gotten emancipated from the state and struck out on his own, and had gotten that night job at the chemical warehouse place, and ...

Wally set his plate down, watched Alfred whisk it away. Vix and Shay — names he never ever called them out loud — sat together chatting. John looked like he'd swallowed a plate of worms, but he usually looked that way when his girlfriends were talking. Supes, whose timing wasn't as good as Wally's and so who'd shown up halfway through lunch wearing his Geeky Reporter disguise, was still enjoying his pasta. Bruce sat back, observing.

Weird, seeing everybody together. Almost everybody.

He'd been surprised Diana had shown up last night, but he guessed he wasn't surprised to notice she wasn't here now. J'onn had duty until this evening, so he had an excuse.

"Flash," Bruce said suddenly. "Can you bring the kids down here?"

"Be right back," he said, and dashed to their room. He remembered at the last second that he had to be polite, and knocked. "You guys ready to come downstairs?"

"Yes," came the two voices. He heard water running, and then the door opened. Rex carried the two empty bowls in one hand and held onto Carter's hand with the other. Carter was clean, considering the whole pasta thing, but Rex had missed half his face and looked pretty funny.

"Hold on," Wally said, and zipped past them to their bathroom for a washcloth. "There you go, bud," he said, wiping the sauce away. "You got his face but you missed yours."

"Yeah. Thanks," said Rex, face ruddy under the quick scrubbing.

Wally took the dishes and the three of them went back to the dining room. As the boys climbed into chairs, Bruce said, "We need a plan."

"You're the one with twenty backup plans at all times," said Superman. "You don't have one now?"

"I have several. None of them are best-case."

"This is simple," said John. "They're living with me. I'll move into one of the Towers. Instant security." Wally doubted he was the only one who caught Vixen's look.

"Sure," said Shayera. "Because we've got a great history with Watchtowers not being attacked or blown up."

"Blown up?" asked Carter.

"Technically, it was an impact," said Bruce.

"Not inspiring confidence," said Shayera, watching the matching expressions of interest and mild terror on the boys' faces.

John said, "This one's already on the ground. No impacts. It'll be fine."

Bruce asked, "And you'll live there the rest of your lives?"

John shrugged. "Just for now. When they're bigger, maybe we can ..." He stopped, and looked at Carter. "We'll think of something."

Superman said, "They'll be targets. If anyone ever finds out about either of them, every enemy we ever had will be gunning for them." Wally thought maybe he ought to take the kids out of the room again.

"Which means no paper trail," Vixen said. "If John adopts Rex, there's paperwork. Someone will find out."

"Someone will find out regardless," said Wally. "You can't keep them a secret forever." He glanced around the room, realizing he was in the presence of people who'd kept some of the best secrets in the world their whole lives. "Or maybe you can."

Bruce said, "They're in the greatest danger from being identified as Thanagarian. If John did adopt Rex, we could pass him off as human."

"But not Carter," Shayera said.

"No."

The kids started to fidget. This was grownup talk, not really interesting for all it had to do with their future. Wally asked, "You two wanna go outside?"

"Sure!" said Carter, and Rex nodded.

"Call us when you've figured something out," Wally said as they headed out.

A motorcycle roared into the driveway just as Wally was opening the front door, and he grabbed the kids without thinking, pulling them behind the door. "Wait here," he told them as he peered out. The helmet came off, revealing a young guy, maybe his own age, with a dark, neat ponytail. Wally relaxed. He'd never been formally introduced to Nightwing, but he had zero doubts regardless.

He opened the door wide as Nightwing approached the house. "Hi."

Nightwing immediately went on guard. "Hello. I was just looking for Bruce. Is he home?"

"Right through here." Wally paused a sec. "Um, you are who I think you are, right?" He hadn't had issues with the other League members. Bruce had outed everybody on the original team during the invasion, and Wally either didn't encounter people out of costume, or didn't know if he had. How do you tell somebody without telling them, just in case?

"Who do you think I am?" the guy asked. Wally felt the kids press closer to his leg.

"You're ... " His brain tossed up the name. "Dick. Right?"

"And you're?"

"Master Dick," said Alfred smoothly, coming from nowhere. "How good of you to come."

Dick's face — and wow, that had to hurt as a name, growing up — lit up with a genuine smile as he saw the butler. "Hey, Alfred. Babs said you had company."

"Indeed. I believe Mr. West was about to take our young guests out to play. Sir, may I suggest our playroom in the basement? It's a less public area."

"Playroom?" asked Carter, peeking out from behind Wally's leg. Dick stared at him.

"Basement?" asked Rex.

Bat Cave? thought Wally.

"I beg you not to touch anything, but I believe you will find the space adequate for a number of games."

"Let's go," said Carter, grabbing Rex's hand excitedly. The kid was awfully perky, considering. Wally had a hard time picturing either little GL or little Shayera being so ready to play, or laugh.

He followed them to the clock. Bat Cave. Cool. "We'll, um, be downstairs." Time to explore.