Dick stayed in the gym as late as he could, somehow avoiding Bruce and the others. He "borrowed," a phone and let himself into the systems, setting up something that would notify him when Batman and company started to make their way back towards the manor.

The alert came in at around half past two in the morning, signaling that Dick should call it a night. He slipped past Jason, who either ignored him or missed him completely- regardless, he was grateful.

Dick took a quick, steaming shower, then crawled into bed, pleasantly sore and with a blank mind. He was asleep before his head even hit the pillow.

It was dark. His surroundings were sleek and black, rolling in a low dense fog. "Robin," A familiar voice – deep and gruff, Bruce – called. "Robin, come here."

Dick turned in the voice's direction, though he couldn't quite remember picking up his feet.

He opened his mouth to respond, but nothing came out. Someone answered from behind him. A chorus of answers followed the first. "Yeah, B."

"Coming, Boss."

"Yes, Father."

Dick found himself still turning, Bruce drifting out of his line of vision. From the fog, three new figures emerged.

Each was dressed in their own slightly-altered version of his Robin costume. All three sprinted past, the largest catching him in the shoulder and causing Dick to stagger, barely keeping his balance.

"Oh, my little Robin," A woman's voice drifted from behind him again. Spinning, always spinning, Dick turned. His mother was there, cradling the middle Robin. John Grayson was next to his wife, the smallest Robin propped up on his hip.

"Mama?" Dick choked, trying to move, but his feet were stuck in place.

Both his parents turned to him with confused frowns. "Who areyou?" John asked, shifting just slightly to shield the boy in his arms as if Dick was a threat.

"I'm Dick, your son. Your little Robin." Dick cried, his vision blurred and swam.

His parents shook their heads, "You're not Robin, they are."

"You're Batman," The middle Robin informed him, seeming so confident and sure. The others nodded in agreement.

"No," Dick stumbled back, one step, then another.

"Batman. Batman." He chanted, the other two Robins and his parents all joining in.

Dick ran.

Their voices echoed no matter how far he got, his body growing heavy. A weight settled around his shoulders, dragging him down.

He stumbled again, feeling something wrap around his feet and pull. He fell, the world going black as something covered his eyes. Dick pulled at it, panicking when it stopped at a pair of eyeholes.

His fingers traced along the familiar nose piece and up the head, all the way to the pointed ears at the top. He clawed at his face, desperate. It came off, cape and cowl falling into an inky pool behind him. He couldn't breathe, even free from the cowl, his lungs were tight.

There was a presence near him, a black and orange figure approaching from the darkness. "Not yet, Richard." It said, voice deep, sending chills down Dick's spine.

They darted in close and fast, landing a blow in the center of Dick's chest. He fell back, through the cape and the floor, fabric tangling around him.

He woke up with a silent scream, blankets tight around his legs, in a cold sweat. Ignoring the clock, he untangled himself and stormed into the bathroom.

He twisted the faucet, putting the shower as cold as it could be, before collapsing into the shower, the water still icy. It felt good against his flushed skin.


Dick arrived last for breakfast at nine in the morning, sliding into a chair just in time for Alfred to emerge with food.

Breakfast was awkward, the new normal for the manor. Alfred served an array of eggs, meats, and a vegetable and tofu scramble. It didn't go unnoticed when Alfred stared down Dick until he took at least two scoops of the vegetables, but everyone was smart enough to keep their mouths shut on the topic.

Damian watched Dick from the corner of his eye. The other boy was quiet, picking at his food.

Bruce was staring at the paper in his hands. His face was blocked from view. He wasn't reading, having stayed on the same page for far longer than it would typically take for him to read it. Jason, Damian noted, seemed equally interested in observing everyone else at the table.

Tim was the first to speak, clearing his throat and offering the table a lopsided smile, "So, Dick, I found some old Gotham Knights games online. Did you want to watch them with me?"

All eyes turned to Dick, he could feel them burning into him. Tim sounded excited, eager to spend time with him.

But Dick couldn't. Logically, he knew it wasn't Tim who called him Batman, but the chanting still rang in his ears.

It wasn't Damian held in his mother's arms.

It wasn't Jason who slammed into him.

These boys were made Robin, but it wasn't their fault. Yet, at the same time, a part of him, the part that still wished on a shooting star for his parents, wanted to cry. He felt stripped, raw, broken and ready to blame someone.

He wanted to face Bruce, but Dick wasn't ready. He might never be ready. But, the others-easy pickings,an upsetting, cruel voice hissed from the back of his head.

He just had to get through this. They'd turn him back and then Future Dick could deal with it.

Dick shook his head, trying to clear his mind, and turned back to his barely touched eggs.

Jason opened his mouth, a poorly-hidden sneer on his face. But stopped himself, jaw clicking shut just as quick.

Tim flushed, clearing his throat again, "Maybe later?" He muttered to the quiet room. Again, no one answered him, and the young man drooped.

"Hey, Bruce?" He tried. The man grunted from behind his paper. "When is Cass supposed to arrive?"

The newspaper twitched as Bruce adjusted himself. "Her flight is expected to land at 6:37pm."

"Who's going to pick-" Tim continued.

Dick tuned him out right then, instead catching Alfred's eye as he passed through the room. He quickly signed something to Alfred.

The only one who seemed to notice was Damian, but the boy had been watching him the whole meal. Alfred, for his part, signed the words juice and pills with a pointed look. Dick scowled but nodded in agreement.

The butler disappeared back into the kitchen, returning moments later with a small paper cup and a few pills. He placed it on the table next to Dick's elbow, collecting his plate in the same motion.

Dick scowled at the cup, but he understood that this was Alfred's compromise. If he wasn't going to eat, then he was going to be taking vitamin supplements.

Dick tossed the pills back like a shot and chugged the orange juice. Without stopping for air, he drank the full glass and resisted the urge to slam it down on the table in triumph.

Alfred plucked the glass from his hands after he finished, replacing it with a bottle of water. Dick was dismissed with a shooing motion from Alfred. Damian, Tim, and Jason were all watching him leave, he noticed.

As he left, Dick realized throughout the entire meal, he had not once seen Bruce's face.


Damian was not a people person. He found small talk pointless, and the general public were boring at best.

He had been taught to lead from a young age, to be a superior who deserved and commanded respect. People were pawns, just things for him to rule, and at the end of the day they were disposable.

Then he was sent to the real world, away from Mother and Grandfather. A world in which he was supposed to be raised by his father, but instead, raised by Richard in his father's stead.

Richard taught him a lot about people. He learned about compassion and cruelty. He learned the difference between being a leader and being a commander. People were complex, with layers, "like onions," Dick would say.

Richard had taught him a lot about people and emotions, but he was still learning. He knew how to handle the happy version of Younger Richard, but this new version was harder. It reminded Damian of himself during his early days at the manor, when Richard was still Grayson and Damian was equally sharp and raw.

When Richard brought home Titus; the large dog was still young enough to be considered a puppy. He was already trained, though Damian knows the dog could do better. Alfred – the person and the cat – weren't too pleased. But Damian was secretly delighted.

"Dami and Alfie, I want to introduce you to Titus, the great-grand-nephew to Ace." Richard announced, face bright, surprisingly genuine.

Understanding flashed across Alfred's face, the meaning of it lost on Damian.

"He already knows a few commands," Richard continued.

He pulled a piece of paper from his pocket and held it out to Damian, causing the younger boy to scoff. Richard, much to Damian's frustration, just flashed him a fond smile.

Richard whistled twice, once long and once short. Titus, who was sitting in front of Damian, perked-up. The dog turned to trot over to Richard and sat eagerly at his side. Dick tossed the paper to the closest table, crouching to smoosh Titus' face in his hands.

The gentle giant's tale thumped against the floor. "Who's a good boy?" Dick cooed, finding the sweet spot behind the dog's ears.

"I shall be the judge of that, Grayson." Damian sniffed. He mimicked the whistle Richard had done previously, drawing Titus to his side. The child did a poor job of hiding his delight. Damian turned to leave, making it a few steps before realizing Titus wasn't following.

"The whistle," Richard started before Damian could say a word. "Was the command to come and wait. He's looking for further instruction. If you want him to walk with you, the command's heel. He'll fall into line on your left."

Alfred hummed thoughtfully, "Didn't you teach Ace the command follow?" Alfred asked.

The smile grew across Dick's face, a laugh bubbling seeming to catch him off guard. "I forgot about that." He nodded, "Yeah, it was mostly to annoy Bruce. Ace would stalk him around the house staying just in sight. But it was really useful that one time I was kidnapped, and Ace followed the truck across Gotham."

Damian wasn't impressed and Dick and Alfred weren't fooled. He glanced at the dog still watching him for a command. "Heel," Damian called, like before Titus jumped into motion, falling into place beside Damian as Dick had said he would.

The two adults watched them leave, Dick's eyes flickering to where the list had been and then back to Alfred.

"A dog, Master Richard?" Alfred prompted with a raised eyebrow. He didn't bother lowering his voice, knowing Damian and by extension Titus were in the hall listening.

"Why not?" Dick shrugged. "Ace did wonders for me. Alfred the Cat has already done a lot of good, but Damian needed someone to keep up with him. And how could I say no to that face?"

"Are you referring to Master Damian or Titus?" Alfred asked, rather dryly.

"Both?"

Damian wasn't a people person; he wasn't good with offering comfort and kind words. But Richard had taught him that animals have a way of offering comfort when words fail.

Damian sat up in bed, startling Alfred the Cat from his position curled up at his side. The cat squinted at him, slinking to sit at the corner of the bed. Pointedly ignoring Damian, Alfred used his paw to clean his face.

Damian decided to follow his gut, grabbing Alfred the Cat and tucking him under one arm. The cat meowed softly then hung loose, accepting his situation as Damian trudged down the stairs and to the Batcave.

Damian grabbed a pair of lockpicks.


Dick was fine.

He wasn't.

Everything was fine.

It wasn't.

He was traught. Because it was traught or dead and he wasn't dead.

Was he?

Dick was fine.


Dick approached the impromptu history lesson in stages. Not by time, but by people. He started with Batman and Robin. Learned about what happened, watched the footage of a slightly older version of himself being fired by Bruce, barely keeping himself standing with a gunshot wound in his side and crutches long forgotten on the floor.

Then there was a gap, a period of time with just Bruce and Alfred. Dick was gone. No activity of Robin was on record. Dick checked his own records, because apparently, he had his own systems now.

His were limited. Mentioned a group known as the Titans, and Dick hadn't researched that very much yet.

Bruce took in Jason, passing on his name and his family colors to the new kid.

Dick watched the footage of Jason's first reveal in full costume. Older Dick floated back into the picture, him and Bruce clashing in a way just short of violent.

Then Jason died, and Tim came around stating there needed to be a Robin. But Dick wasn't Robin, he was Nightwing.

That name he knew, recognized it from the stories Uncle Clark used to tell him of his home planet. He wonders briefly if Clark ever passed that information on to Connor.

Tim took up the mantle, and he was good. He didn't have the street smarts that backed Jason up, or the training invested into Dick, but he was a fast learner.

Dick was divided between the Titans, Young Justice, Gotham, and Bludhaven.

He was running two major teams and... didn't that bring him a little bit of pride? No matter how short-lived it was.

The Justice League was called off-planet, and Dick was put in charge of saving the world. Future Him succeeded, too, but apparently that wasn't enough for everyone else.

At the end, he watched his team, his family, tear into him. They talked about trust and faith, safety and risk. They talk about sacrifices for the cause. Dick spends hours on that, learning everything he could about the Invasion.

There are things he still doesn't get, notes in his personal system he doesn't quite understand.

His door handle jiggled, causing Dick to glance up from his computer, frowning when it jiggled again. If it wasn't for his hyper-aware state and the fact the handle was just barely within his field of vision, he might have missed it.

The lock clicked.

Dick just watched, waiting to see what was about to happen. The handle spun, the door swung open just a few inches and closed again just as quick. Dick frowned, putting the computer to the side and pulling a batarang he snagged from the cave on his last visit.

Something was on his floor, quiet but noticeable. He tucked it between two fingers, shifting on the bed.

Dick was ready for an attack, he was ready to fight, to defend himself. He wasn't ready for a cat.


Damian waited.

He waited for a sign ofanything at allfrom Richard's room. Alfred the Cat went inside without much issue, seemingly understanding what Damian was trying to do.

Minutes ticked by, and nothing happened. Damian settled on a "no news is good news," mindset, hoping he was right to do so.

Seeing as Richard hadn't kicked Alfred out nor had the cat made any noises of protest from inside, it seemed to be going well. Damian wasn't naive enough to believe Richard hadn't noticed him opening the door.

Alfred the Person made his rounds about an hour later.

He knocked on Damian's door first, telling him that lunch would be served in about an hour. Damian glanced up from his sketch book to give the man a quick thanks.

He waited for a tense moment as Alfred left and made the few steps across the hall to Richard's door. Damian put his stuff to the side, crouching at his own door, pressing his ear against the wood in an attempt to hear.

Alfred knocked on the door.

"Master Richard?" The butler called, waiting for permission to enter. Damian missed the response between two different doors made of impressively solid wood, but heard Alfred enter the room.

"I see you've met Alfred the Cat," Alfred remarked. Damian couldn't resist the urge to crack the door to try and take a peek, but Alfred was in his way.

"Yeah, he's…" Dick trailed off for a moment, and Alfred – and by extension Damian – waited for him. "He's very adamant, but comforting." Dick decided.

Alfred hummed in agreement, sounding amused. Damian could imagine the small, fond smile gracing the man's face. "I came to inform you that lunch will be served shortly."

"No thanks, Alfie." Dick said, voice growing smaller again, "Not hungry."

"I still expect you for dinner." Alfred went right to compromising. "Miss Cassandra will be arriving tonight."

"Of course, Alfie."

Damian wasn't quick enough. Alfred closed the door and turned around before Damian could get back into his room.

The man caught him with another one of his small, fond smiles. He gave Damian a wink and an approving nod before turning down the hall, disappearing without a word.

Damian was onto phase two of his mission, with that. With a renewed determination, he went to find Titus.

Dick worked around the cat curled up in his lap, one hand rubbing small circles into the cat's head, the other working his computer.

Occasionally, Alfred the Cat would demand two-handed scratches, forcing Dick to look away from his research.

The door opened again, revealing whatever it was hiding from view.

A dog, similar to Ace- with a slightly lighter snout and darker eyes - stood in the doorway, waiting for a command. The dog glanced at whoever was hiding behind the door, out of sight, and then to Dick, cocking his head curiously.

The person hissed something, the words lost to Dick. It might've been Tim, but more likely Damian based on the pitch.

There was a whistle, like the one used to call Ace, and the dog finally entered the room, the door closing behind him. Similar training to Ace, Dick realized. With that knowledge in hand, he whistled, once short and once long.

The dog, Titus, the tag on his collar said, took the invitation.

Dick was expecting for the dog to curl up on the end of the bed, but Titus had different plans.

He wedged himself between Dick and his pillows, dislodging him and Alfred the Cat.

With some shifting, Dick found himself half laying against Titus. The dog curled up so that his head was in the boy's lap, and Dick stroked his head for a moment.

Alfred the Cat took advantage of Dick's more horizontal position, settling just below his chin.

The low rumble of Alfred's purring and the warm, safe weight of Titus sent Dick into a nice, dreamless sleep before he could even try to protest.


Dick woke up to a paw hitting his face.

Alfred the Cat sat in the center of his chest, tail flicking back and forth. A single paw raised, Alfred struck again, batting him in the nose. Dick blinked. There was a thumping to his left as Titus wagged his tail.

"Okay," Dick said, Alfred the Cat raising another paw. "Okay, I'm awake." He sat up slowly, giving Alfred time to jump off the bed and make his way to the door.

Dick followed, Titus at his heels. It was well past dinner time, Dick realized as he passed by the empty dining room, following Alfred the Cat to the kitchen.

He paused before the doorway, Alfred the Cat disappearing inside the room.

"Pennyworth, I request permission to bring Bat-Cow into the Manor." Damian said. Dick frowned, and mouthedBat-Cow?at Titus. Titus cocked his head.

"I assure you, Master Damian, Bat-Cow is fine in the barn." Alfred answered. Dick could hear the sound of water and clinking dishes.

"But she needs to be here." Damian argued.

The sound of sloshing water stopped, replaced by Alfred's shoes clicking against the floor. "And why is that?" Alfred asked, voice softer now.

"Richard needs her." Damian admitted, voice small. A flush ran up Dick's neck, throat tight. Titus nudged his hand, letting out a high pitched whine.

"How about tomorrow you bring him to see her instead? The fresh air will do the boy some good." Alfred suggested.

A few moments passed, and Dick came to the conclusion that there was some form on non-verbal communication.

Alfred's shoes clicked across the floor again as he went back to the dishes. Alfred the Cat mewed from further in the room, followed by the shuffle of pet food bags and sounds of cans being opened.

Titus nudged Dick again. Taking the hint, he followed Alfred the Cat, finding Damian and Alfred the Person as expected, waiting.

Damian was holding a full dog bowl, Alfred the Cat already digging into his own bowl of cat food at his feet.

"Good evening, Master Dick. How was your nap?" Alfred greeted, offering a welcoming smile over his shoulder, while Damian whistled for Titus so he could serve the dog his dish.

"It was really good, actually." Dick shrugged, "Did you let me sleep through dinner?"

Alfred hummed affirmatively, drying his hands on a hand towel and pulling a bowl of pasta from the fridge. He stuck it in the microwave. "Miss Cassandra's flight was delayed due to weather. I saw no need to wake you from your sleep, it was clearly needed."

Dick flushed, scratching the back of his head and avoiding Alfred's knowing look. "Yeah, thanks."

His gaze drifted to Damian, who was crouching next to his two pets, watching them eat. The microwave beeped, and Alfred passed the food over to Dick with a fork.

Silence settled over the room, as he picked at his meal. "I have to ask," he said after a few tense moments. Alfred turned away from the dishes, and Damian stretched from the crouch. "Bat-Cow?"