A/N: Sorry this one took a while to get up (it's not even as long as the others) but school's been hella busy, and I'm exhausted. Parents are leaving town for the weekend (PAR-TAY!) and I've got the lil' bro, plus school, plus dance practice, plus work. So yeah….good news is that he loves the Batfam about as much as I do, so I may enlist his help. If he doesn't want to, it may be a while before I get something else up.

/O/O/O/O/O/O/O/O/

As you can imagine, Bruce Wayne is not a very religious person. He's a business man, the Playboy poster child (figuratively speaking), and just a plain sinner in the eyes of an average Gothamite. His parents, however, were Catholic. So while Bruce does not particularly believe the sermons spoken to be "absolute truth," he attends on the special occasions: Christmas and Easter, mainly. Consequently, this also means that to curb any Devil-worshiping-rich-kid rumors, so do all current, public members of his family. At the moment that means Dick Grayson, Damian Wayne, and Tim Drake-Wayne are dressing in suits on Easter Sunday at the Manor.

Dick came from Blüdhaven yesterday afternoon, Batman and Robin returned home relatively early from patrol, and Bruce even managed to get ahold of Tim and get him to spend his evening at the Manor. Early mornings aren't something any of them enjoy, and they all feel a similar abhorrence for the very idea of church.

Damian simply thinks it's a stupid, childish thing to do, believing in a God who can solve all your problems. Just an avenue for desperate ignoramuses with no hope for the living world he mutters, which Dick overhears and gently reminds him of all of the magic and supernatural they've seen in their careers, asking if he can really say the idea is so "far out."

Tim's the first one ready and he's standing down in the foyer, pulling at the constriction around his neck. Churches mean funerals, especially of late, and he can't get rid of the feeling of dread hanging over his head.

Finally they all congregate, and Dick claps a reassuring hand on his little brother's shoulder on the way out to the car. Jesus, Timmy, just breathe, woulda? he communicates with a bemused smile.

The car ride's quiet except for a grumbling ten-year-old, and upon their arrival and seating, some people whisper and point. Damian's suddenly almost jealous of Todd and Brown, remembering the girl's infuriating astonished "Bruce! You can't let him into the church, demons burn on holy grounds!" Which hadn't fazed him for one second, because it was a preposterous idea to say the least. Especially now that they're sitting in the middle of a pew, Dick and Bruce both on the outsides and Damian and Tim sandwiched between—which, Bruce would realize later, had been an awful, senseless notion to begin with—Dick staying close to Tim's side and Bruce nudging his youngest son in an attempt to lighten the atmosphere.

Tim isn't sure if he quite believes in God, but he doesn't think he does, and as soon as they rise to sing he presses 'play' on the iPod concealed in his back pocket. His hair's just long enough to cover the wire that snakes out from underneath his white shirt collar.

Damian, in the middle of mumbling words from his hymnbook, grinds his teeth. And Brown thought I was going to be the problem? He digs an elbow into Tim's ribs, and Tim glares at him because Dammit that hurt, I have a rib on that side still healing from getting thrown into a wall. Smirking, Tim touches the toe of his polished shoe to the side of Damian's. Dick's watching the pair out of the corner of his eye and Bruce is either ignoring them or lost in thought. Tim's doing nothing wrong.

They sit down again, and Damian 'sneezes,' and his arm accidentally clips Tim's shoulder in its spasm. Although it's quite convincing to everyone else in the room, an old lady in front of them even mutters "God bless you," but Dick's lips are pressed into a thin line. Bruce has also been alerted, seeing them only from their peripherals as they all turn to the front to chant "Amen."

The assaults become more and more blatant and the people around them start to full-out stare. Dick grips Tim's shoulder wordlessly, squeezing and willing him to knock it the hell off. Finally, when Tim steps on the back of Damian's shoe when they're in line for communion, the boy turns with a snarl and tackles him over the back of the nearest pew.

Tim cries out in shock as the boy's assassin-trained hands push down on his clavicle with almost enough pressure to break. He kicks him over in the narrow aisle and rolls away.

Dick and Bruce are striding toward them now, but Damian—determined to get in the last word, or rather, last punch—launches himself horizontally, landing head-first into Tim's stomach and effectively sending them crashing into the table holding crackers and grape juice.

The blood and flesh of Jesus Christ all over the floor. On Easter. Perrrfect, Tim thinks as people take out their phones to capture the fight for the media. Dick pulls Damian away and marches down the line of pews and out the back with the kid under his arm as he growls something indistinctly about the "Sinful Swan Queen."

Tim's halfway through a sigh of relief when a large, intimidating hand closes around his forearm and hauls him to his feet, literally dragging him out the door too and enflaming the blossoming bruise over his collarbone. Bruce tows the teenager along to get the car—one does not have the butler drive him to church—and tells him to get in the back. Dick sits back there with him, and Damian's seated in the front with his father.

Bruce's jaw is working itself; he hadn't meant for either of the boys to get hurt, and he's sorry that he's going to have to pretend to be angry at them both for the rest of the day. He decides to 'forgive' them by dinnertime. He presses on the gas a little, thinking that he remembers hearing Tim's head crack against the ground. He should really be checked for concussions. Tim hasn't been inside a church for at least two years unless it's a mission or a death, and he seems relieved enough to be back in the car, even if he is a little freaked out that he's going to get killed for egging on Damian.

Dick's doing a fine job comforting him, and Damian in the passenger's seat is fuming.

"Father," he hisses under his breath. "He was listening to music!"

"I know," he replies evenly, forcing his voice down, almost to a bat-growl. "And you tackled him on holy ground."

Both boys are surprised when they hear of their punishments. Tim is to spend the remainder of the week at the Manor, supposedly so Bruce can make sure he knows how to behave himself. Damian is being sent out on patrol with Dick, supposedly because Bruce is too angry to go out with him that night. Neither one argues though, Tim's been missing Alfred's cooking dearly and the smell of the sheets unique to the property and Damian's been tortured by memories of the way he and Grayson could communicate without saying a word—as could he and Father—but the former would talk anyway.

"I can't say I approve, Master Bruce," Alfred relays later as his charge loiters in the kitchen, picking at what will be Easter dinner.

Bruce winks at the butler. "No, I can't imagine you would, Alfred. But they're both too proud to take suggestions, and I really do hate church."

After all, one does not seat Robin next to Red Robin unless they want to incite a riot.