Title: #noplacelikehome
Characters/Pairings: Conner, M'gann, Gar, Wonder Girl, Static, the Bat Boys, Batman
Ratings/Warnings: T; rated for language
Category: Gen
Summary: In which Conner complains about a mission and another Bat unexpectedly returns from the dead. Set about two years after season 2. Told from Conner's POV.
Conner does not want to be here. In fact, he'd rather be anywhere but here.
In his humble opinion, the Bats are finally cracking. He said so, too, to Clark, much to his mentor's horror. "Don't let Batman ever hear you say that," Clark said before they parted ways. "You might find a sliver of Kryptonite in your fridge."
Conner thinks Clark's speaking from experience, but then again, he did see Lois roll her eyes behind her husband's back, so he can't be sure anymore. He knows the Bats have Kryptonite, of course, but he knows better than to think they'll abuse that power. They can be trusted with it.
Batman and Superman are weird, though, and have an equally weird friendship, so what does he know?
Conner sighs and watches the nearly nonexistent breeze whisper through the trees. The air is heavy, weighing on him like thick wool blanket. Frogs croak in a nearby pond, and he can hear things scuttling in the brush. There are no lightning bugs, which is strange to him. He feels as though there should be.
It's not the worst place to have a stakeout, honestly, but he hates stakeouts as a general rule, regardless of how beautiful the scenery. He really wishes he were anywhere but here.
Beside him, Gar slaps at a mosquito. "Shut up, big guy," he grumbles aloud. Even Conner can sense the severe look M'gann is sending them from her Bio-Ship, and Gar bites his lip, unnaturally long canines digging into his lip. He's taken to favoring a more lupine form lately, much to Conner's relief. He's grown accustomed to the monkey-hybrid Gar typically prefers, but he has always hated monkeys. Even Gar can't change that.
Gar sends a dutiful, almost mocking, wave of annoyance through their mental link and adds, You have nothing to complain about, Kon! Not all of us have invulnerable skin!
Or an immunity to humidity, Wonder Girl whines from the other end of the state park. Why is it so hot?
I agree, Static chimes in. It's nighttime. It should not be this hot.
We're in Houston. In the middle of summer, M'gann answers patiently. Conner, she says, and Conner can feel a fluctuation of her touch in his mind. She's opened a private channel to speak to him alone. Stop projecting.
Conner almost argues, but he realizes there's no point. This is an irrelevant mission.He pauses and then says,Hell, it's not even irrelevant. It's complete fluff. It'sbeen fluff, from the moment we started this.
Nightwing seems to think...
Nightwing thinks too much sometimes,Conner retorts. They all do.
M'gann sighs. We cannot undermine the mission for the kids, Conner, no matter how irrelevant we think it is.
Conner doesn't acknowledge the chastisement. He doesn't think it will do him any favors to point out that the 'kids' aren't exactly rookies anymore. So you do think this is a waste of time.
There was a pattern, M'gann responds. We all saw what Nightwing found.
Yeah, they all saw a splattering of dots on a world map, mostly conglomerated in Asia and Northern Africa. They were haphazard and random to Conner's eyes, but supposedly there was a pattern there.
Supposedly there were other signs, too. Signs that Batman could not ignore.
Conner knows better than to question the Bats when they reach conclusions that don't make sense to him. He's a Big Gun, not a Brain. But this...this is what even Conner would call "a stretch."
Especially after failing to find confirming evidence in Brazil. And then in Columbia.
And then in Guatemala. And Mexico.
The string of failure is the only pattern Conner sees.
But you still think Batman is overreacting, Conner pushes.
M'gann hesitates. I don't know what to think, she admits.
Ra's Al Ghul has gone missing. The League of Assassins has disappeared. Conner mentally ticks off the points as he would on his fingers. The Demon's Daughter is dead. Cheshire knows nothing. Even she thinks they killed themselves off in their stupid civil war.
And yet we still find ourselves looking at a trail of blood! M'gann argues, and even though she's hovering over the forest from above, he can tell she's narrowing her eyes. Even if it isn't the League, these are highly trained, and highly dangerous, individuals. And they're moving fast.
That doesn't change the fact that none of it makes sense. These people are doing their utmost to clean up after themselves, flying under the radar as they kill each other—and only each other; no innocents have been caught in the crossfire—all across the world. It's hard to decide where they came from and what they truly want: their infighting, or whatever the hell they are doing, was only noticed by Nightwing when he and Black Bat stumbled upon the evidence while working a completely unrelated case. In London, of all places.
I'm not denying they need to be investigated, Conner admits, but this is excessive.He almost adds "and premature," but he knows that if that ever gets back to Batman, he really will find himself poisoned by Kryptonite.
Excessive, though, is the word. The entire Team has been deployed, again, just to satisfy the Bats' paranoia. Superboy and Miss Martian have Alpha at a state park on the outskirts of Houston, and Tigress and Aqualad have Beta in some random town in Arizona. As if the two have any sort of connection at all.
But both locations are where Robin's modified algorithm seems to predict the next showdown will occur. A fifty-fifty shot.
Their orders are the same: they are not to engage. They are to observe and report.
But that never goes well for them, so Conner's expecting that, if (not when) these people do show up, they'll be calling Beta in for backup.
(He knows he's not the only one. Artemis already gave him that Look he hates. That don't-do-anything-stupid-because-I-know-you look).
And of course, Conner says, not even trying to hide how bitter he sounds, this is their mission, their hunch, and they're nowhere to be found.
There's been something going on in Gotham, M'gann defends. Batman needs all hands on deck.
Conner freezes, and Gar reacts to him, ears perking. Conner realizes what he's done and signals Gar to stand down. The boy relaxes, but his ears still swivel anxiously on the top of his head. It's not another breakout? Conner asks.
I'm not sure,M'gann says, and Conner almost sighs. In relief, because Arkham breakouts were no laughing matter, and in exasperation, because the Gotham vigilantes' secrets and pride grated at him on the best of days. But it felt like it. Something is weighing them down. All of them. Even Spoiler felt off.
There's a snap of a branch nearby, and Conner slowly cocks his head in the direction of the noise. It is up to him to hear anything out of place, but after listening for several moments in silence, he decides the sound was natural enough.
Even Batman? he says.
Especially Batman.
It's always disconcerting, whenever Batman is noticeably on edge, but Conner has learned to avoid asking questions he'll never receive an answer to. He can even hear Dick's sing-song voice saying, "Need to know, Superboy. Need to know."
He rolls his eyes. It's not nearly as satisfying when Nightwing isn't there to take the brunt of it.
Can you blame them, though, Conner? M'gann asks softly.
Conner pretends he does not hear. He pretends he doesn't know what this is really about. Shifting on the bough, he nudges Gar. You ready to move on, kid? he asks.
Gar shakes himself and is about to respond when he suddenly stiffens. Conner immediately crouches low, keeping to the shadows, and focuses his super-hearing. Gar's heartbeat pounds in his ears as the boy's nose twitches, catching a scent in off a new breeze. The forest hums its hushed lullaby, but...
There. There's a pocket of dead silence, of footfalls where the forest knows there should be none.
He blinks, incredulous. Well. It seems he owes Dick an apology for his attitude. He's not exactly looking forward to it.
There's someone here, Gar says. I can smell them. He turns northeast, where Conner can hear the shadows racing through the trees.
They're coming straight for us, Conner announces to the others.
Keep on them, M'gann says. I'm en route.
Likewise, Wonder Girl agrees, and she sounds positively gleeful.
Remember Batman's orders, Conner says, though he, too, feels anticipation singing in his very blood. He wonders if any of the younger team members realize how much of a hypocrite he is. Do not engage.
Gotcha, boss, Gar says with a salute. He's already morphing, his body shrinking and fangs receding. His bushy tail flicks as he leaps from their bough and into the adjacent tree.
Conner is too heavy to follow into the higher boughs, and he's just about to decide whether he should go to ground or not when a small figure, wrapped from head-to-toe in black, bursts through the edge of trees. The figure stumbles, exhausted, and somehow maintains his footing, spinning gracefully on his heel and withdrawing the sword that was strapped to his back in a single fluid motion.
The newcomer just in time to meet those that chase him. Several ninja descend upon him, leaping from the trees and slinging their swords like extensions of their arms.
It isn't until the little ninja weakly meets the sword of another ninja, moonlight shattering across the reflective blades, that Conner recognizes what's really going on down there.
That down there? That is a child.
Gods, he's as small as Jon is.
Conner can see the boy favoring his side. He can see the old blood crusted on his clothes, on the black scarf he's using to cover his face. He can see how he's unable to catch his breath, how he looks as though he's about to keel over at a moment's notice.
This child has been chased. He's been hunted. Like an animal.
Conner doesn't think. He doesn't ask questions. He leaps.
Superboy! M'gann shouts, and the sound of her voice is lost as he hits the ground with enough force to make the ground tremble.
One of the ninja loses his balance, and Superboy is on him in a second, driving a fist right into his face. Beast Boy swoops in from above, taking advantage of Superboy's distraction to dig his talons into the flesh of another rising his hand against the boy. The boy doesn't hold his strike. The poor ninja slumps over, blood gushing from a fatal wound in his gut.
"No!" Gar screams, regret and pain tearing through Conner's heart.
"Beast Boy!" Conner shouts, but the shapeshifter has morphed into a grizzly, using his massive paws to swipe at anyone in his way, and Conner loses him as another ninja tries to drive his sword into his back. The blade glances off Conner's skin, and he swings around to take the man out. The assassin boy, Conner can see, does not stop to mourn the death...s at his hands. He is already whirling to face his next opponent, a fury and drive in his motions that was absent prior to Conner's arrival.
The Team's advantage has already been lost. The ninja have taken the surprise ambush in stride, and they fly across the ground as they fight, spinning and darting and approaching him and Beast Boy with equal measures of calm caution and calculated aggression.
It doesn't take long for Conner to assess the situation: he and Beast Boy are afterthoughts, nuisances, dog shit on the bottom on their shoes. The boy, though? They are fixated on the boy, and they don't hold back. Not for anything.
Not even when Miss Martian materializes and whacks a good five of them with a dead tree she's uprooted with her telekinesis.
Conner throws a ninja over his shoulder and makes eye-contact with M'gann, immediately pointing out the kid. He's grace incarnate, despite his injuries, and Conner's eyes are drawn to the blood staining the kid's blade. Confusion and distrust war within him, but he can't dwell on how he feels right now. It shouldn't matter that the boy has killed. He's fighting for survival right now, and Conner isn't about to let him die.
He's just a kid.
"Protect the kid!" Superboy orders. "They're after him!"
M'gann nods in agreement, eyes glowing green.
The ninja continue to crowd them, unflinching as the clearing erupts with lightning, reeking of old pennies; unyielding as Cassie roars a war cry and cracks her lasso like a whip. Seeing these men stand down metas and Amazons and aliens without a single one of them losing their cool, Conner takes a brief moment to think that M'gann was understating things when she called these men "highly dangerous."
They are far more than that.
(Yup, he really owes the Bats an apology now. Still not looking forward to it).
More ninja spawn from Gods know where, and it's a mass of black shadows slithering and striking. Conner presses a hand to his ear. "Tigress!" he shouts into his comm. "We need backup!"
He doesn't wait for an answer. A ninja has slipped by their defenses, and from the corner of his eye, he sees the assassin kid fall to a knee, struggling to break free of his assailant's chokehold. Conner turns his back on the one he's fighting in favor of barreling right over to the kid, who has somehow contorted so that his legs wrap around the guy's neck. He uses his entire core to twist out of the hold, and it's so seamless Conner's sure even Dick would have been impressed.
Conner clonks the guy on the head as the kid scrambles upright and then uses his body to shield a sneaky dagger slash from another attacker. The punch he swings in retaliation may or may not have cracked a few ribs. "Stay behind me!" he hisses at the assassin kid.
Pale eyes of jade, striking against the black scarf, blaze with defiance. The kid is scowling at him, as though he can't be more offended by the suggestion, but the heat behind the sentiment is lost on Conner, especially considering the poor child is swaying on his feet like a drunken sailor.
Damn. This kid is running on pure grit and determination, unwilling to go without seeing this end, refusing to fall now.
Conner can see how capable the kid is. He knows he must be used to facing his foes alone. But he stands before the kid anyway, ready to tackle anything that heads their way.
When he braces himself for the next attack, though, he sees that the cloud of ninja have begun to thin. The fight is winding down, several of the ninja finally pulling their heads out of their asses long enough to realize they are vastly outmatched: Conner can see the realization in their dark eyes, in their posture. They are going to run.
Beast Boy! Wonder Girl! Conner says, through their mental link. Don't let them get away!
The shapeshifter and Amazon sprint after the remaining ninja, tackling them down as they go. Miss Martian and Static have the idiots who remain to fight covered, and Conner feels a brief flicker of guilt for calling in Artemis and Kaldur's team when there was no real need to.
Whatever. Better safe than sorry.
He activates his comm, about to report to Artemis what happened, when Conner hears a light thumpbehind him, and he turns to see the boy kneeling in the blood-slick grass, head bowed and breathing labored.
Panic steals his breath away. "Kid?" he exclaims. "Kid, you okay?"
There's a hissing snarl from the kid, a clear signal to stay back and stay away. Conner ignores it, falling to the boy's side. His muscles lock, trembling with fatigue and the last dregs of adrenaline, and Conner takes his hands back, for just a second. "You're safe now," he murmurs. "It's okay. They're gone."
Well, technically they're not gone. Conner looks up and sees Wonder Girl returning to the clearing. She has two ninja hog-tied with her lasso. M'gann is mentally shoveling unconscious and injured ninja to one side, with Gar standing guard. Static's run to the Bio-Ship to gather as many restraints as he can find.
The boy looks up, too, eyes glazed. There's old blood smeared across his forehead. "It's over," he slurs, his voice high and clear.
Conner's heart pangs. Even up close, the kid looks no older than Jon, though his skills suggest otherwise. "Yeah, kid."
The kid doesn't look like he believes him. His eyes scan the forest around them, darting around the trees. He begins to slump, and Conner catches him.
The boy flinches at the contact, turning his face away. His shoulders are shaking now, chest heaving as he struggles with something that sounds almost like laughter and a lot like sobs.
"Oh no," M'gann whispers, and Conner finds her floating before them. She immediately kneels, taking over the situation. She's a bloodhound for this kind of thing, her compassion drawing her to the hurting and the unfortunate like a moth to flame. "It's alright now. No one is going to hurt you. Will you let us assess you for injuries?"
The boy doesn't move for a few moments and then slowly removes his hands from his side. M'gann takes them in hers, oblivious of the blood staining his palms, and rubs soothing circles with her thumbs. Conner takes the opportunity to survey the damage.
"It's nothing serious," he says. "Flesh wounds. May need stitches." He rips away at the sleeve of his long-sleeved t-shirt and has M'gann lift the kid's arms for him. With an ease that comes with years of practice, he wraps the kid's side. "What's your name?" he asks, because he should have at least the basics before he gets the kid real medical attention.
The boy's red-rimmed eyes sharpen. "Take me to Batman."
Conner's brow furrows, and he exchanges a look with M'gann. "That's not a name."
There's that scowl again, but it has no heat, no real power. "Don't be daft," he snaps. "I need to see Batman."
Now that the fighting has died down and the real threat has been eliminated, Conner has time to think, and he's beginning to put pieces together. Ninja, traveling the world, all for a single child? A child who dances with blades as though he's born for it? A child who's clearly been on the run since this whole thing started, assuming, of course, that he is this organization's only target? It's not forming a pretty picture, and the kid's suspicious demands really aren't helping matters. "Kid, you're in no condition to—"
"Please!" the boy blurts, and he moves to stand, but he can't. He stumbles pathetically, fresh tears welling from his eyes. With stiff hands, he shoves his mask from his face. "Please."
Hang on.
Conner's thrown into a pit of incredulity, the vipers and wraiths of the past few years waiting to take a new chunk out of old wounds.
He knows this face. He knows this boy.
And he is the spitting image of his father.
"Please." The word is barely a breath of noise.
M'gann's gasp echoes in Conner's ears, and as the boy goes boneless, finally submitting to unconsciousness, she catches him and lowers him to the ground. "It can't be," she murmurs, glowing tears streaking down the dirt on her face. "I can't believe..."
"Gar!" Conner shouts. "Start up the Bio-Ship!" He doesn't have to turn to know the shapeshifter is going to ask why,and he barks, "NOW."
The others know better than to argue with that tone, and Conner returns to M'gann, who looks as hopelessly lost as he feels. "Check him," Conner says. "We have to be sure."
Central Asia. Northern Africa.
"Yeah, yes," she mumbles. "Of course. Of course."
Her eyes glow, and Conner watches. Each heartbeat that passes is a millennium.
Brazil. Columbia.
He feels a hand on his shoulder and faces Tigress, her blonde hair a mess of knots and twigs. She is out of breath, and he sees her expression contort from fury to violent shock as she notices the unconscious boy behind them.
"That...that's not..." Artemis says.
Guatamala. Mexico.
The light dies from M'gann's eyes, but Conner knows the truth even before she says it. She's crying, reaching to brush the hair from the boy's brow. "Call the Bats," she whispers. "He's come home."
(They...had missed him. They had missed him. How could they have missed him? Time and time again?)
Conner doesn't waste another second. He taps his comm and tunes to the secret frequency known only to those the Bats trust, a frequency the entire Bat Family knows better than to ignore. It is their channel. Their private and personal channel, only to be used by allies in times of dire need.
Or in times like this, when one of their own returned from the dead.
"Baby Bird has found the nest," he says, hardly hearing himself speak as he repeats the words he was taught, long ago. M'gann's eyes glow again as she telekinetically immobilizes Damian and begins to move him toward the open door of the Bio-Ship. Artemis is racing ahead, snapping orders at her team to stop gawking and actually contribute.
"I repeat," Conner says in a stronger voice, so there is no doubt. "Baby Bird has found the nest."
~...~
Conner is both surprised and unsurprised when the first to make it back to the Cave's infirmary is none other than Jason Todd.
Conner is still in his torn uniform, sitting beside the pristine white cot where Damian is half-asleep, when he hears another heartbeat and controlled breathing from somewhere above him.
Everyone else had been shunted out the moment Damian was rushed into the Cave, but even after Doctor Mid-Nite announced Damian's lacerations would heal without complication and he would make a full recovery after getting a whopping dose of fluids and mandated bed-rest, Conner refused to leave.
Because six years ago, Damian was kidnapped from within Wayne manor itself. No ransom was held. No calls were made. And a toddler's body was found in the Narrows a week later, burnt to a crisp and unidentifiable but for the note left hanging from a bloody ribbon around the boy's neck, hinting it was an enemy of Wayne Enterprises, of Bruce Wayne, and not of Batman, who had done this.
The evidence was there, but the Bats didn't believe the body they found was Damian's. They scoured Gotham, the U.S., and then the world for Damian's mother, and his grandfather, whose organization had completely vanished after the Reach invasion failed.
Eventually, even Batman was forced to accept that his son was dead.
(Though that never stopped any of them. Conner had caught all of Damian's siblings running searches during downtimes, when they thought no one was watching).
"He's safe here," Doctor Mid-Nite assured, as though that was enough for someone who had to fight his way back to his family.
Damian made a face but did not comment. He had not spoken much since they made it back to Mount Justice, the only exception being his outright refusal of all sedatives and painkillers. He fidgeted at his sheets anxiously, and Conner decided then and there he would not leave Damian alone to wait in total silence and anticipation. "I'm aware," Conner said coolly. He liked doctors about as much as he liked monkeys. "I just don't want to let him out my sight until he's safely in his family's arms."
I don't want him to feel like he's alone, Conner nearly added, remembering the crowd of heroes that had borne witness to Damian's arrival at the Cave. I don't want him to feel like an outcast amongst his own.
But that would have embarrassed them both. As it was, Damian was already scowling at Conner's back. At nine (ten?) years old, he didn't think he needed anyone to look after him.
Doctor Mid-Nite surveyed Conner with piercing eyes and finally nodded, reasserting that Damian could only have onenon-family member visiting at a time. After telling Damian he'd be back once Batman arrived, he left.
M'gann, who found it hard to leave Damian as well, lingered a moment longer, standing on her tip-toes to press a quick kiss to Conner's lips. "Jon has been so good for you," she said as she followed the Doctor out.
He shrugged the compliment off. He never expected to be so good with kids, but between Dick's plethora of siblings, the young metas popping up everywhere, and his baby cousin...he's had a lot of practice.
Despite all obvious intentions to wait up for his family, Damian fell into a fitful sleep soon after his company left, and it was only then, when he was sure Damian was asleep, that Conner addressed the eyes he'd felt on them from above.
"You can come out now," he says to the empty air.
A minute passes before Redbird—no, not Redbird—drops from the ceiling. The Red Hood lands, silent as a jungle cat, and after straightening to his full height, he stands awkwardly in the center of the room, gaze fixated on the boy in bed.
This is the first time Conner has seen Jason since his return. He knows there's a lot of tension in Batman's family right now, and a good portion of it has to do with Jason and whatever vendetta he has. Conner doesn't understand it. He doesn't want to. He just knows that Nightwing asked the Team to be vigilant and cautious if they ever ran into Jason in the field.
"He's not the same person you knew," Nightwing said, his words pain-laden. "He's...getting better, but he's volatile, not thinking straight."
None of that matters to Conner now. If anything, the fact Jason came implies there's something more than revenge and madness and darkness in his heart. There's family loyalty and love and maybe it's a little mixed up right now, but at the core of it all...
He's here. He's responded to the summons.
"You're the first one here," Conner says, his voice cracking the silence like a hammer against an eggshell. When Jason doesn't respond, still drinking up the sight of his younger brother, Conner sighs. "You can go to him. He demanded he be woken up when someone showed up."
Jason shakes his head, and his voice is distorted by the helmet when he says, "No. Don't wake him up."
Conner frowns, and a part of him wants to argue that Damian wants this, but he holds his tongue. It's not his business.
"I'm not sure I expected you to come," Conner chooses to say instead.
"I'm not sure I expected you to play bodyguard," Jason shoots back with a sneer. Conner blinks, and Jason turns away. "...I had to be sure," he murmurs. "Before the Cuddle Monster and Boy Genius come with our ever-loving dad."
Conner is unimpressed by the undercurrent of resentment in Jason's voice, mostly because he can tell his heart isn't even in it. If anything, that resentment sounds a hell of a lot like longing.
But again. Not his business.
Conner settles back in his chair and gives Jason all the time he needs. Jason, for his part, never removes his helmet, never makes a move to get closer to Damian. After about ten minutes of silence, he suddenly chuckles. "You insane, brilliant kid. You had to go and one-up me, didn't you? Escaping the League like that?" he says, and Conner can tell he's smiling, under the hood. "Fucking badass, demon spawn. Fucking bad. Ass."
Jason makes to go the way he comes, but as he's about to haul himself back into the ventilation system, he pauses. "We owe you, Kon," he says sincerely. "Really."
It isn't until after Jason's disappeared that Conner mutters, just loud enough for Jason to hear from above, "Until next time, Red."
~...~
Nightwing doesn't have any of the reservations his younger brother had. He crashes through the door like a hurricane, causing Damian to jolt upright in bed and scramble for what Conner assumes is any one of the eleven various blades they found on his body while he was unconscious.
He doesn't recognize Dick at first, Conner can tell. He only knows that he's been jolted awake quite abruptly, and there is someone new in the room.
Conner opens his mouth to calm the boy, or maybe berate Nightwing for being a dumbass—he doesn't really know—but he's too late. Nightwing flies across the room like a bird of prey, ripping his mask off as he goes, and without hesitation, he bombards Damian, gathering him into a big embrace and crushing him into his lean chest.
He's crying. Unabashedly. His blue eyes are vibrant with his tears, and he is speaking in Romani, repeating the same phrase over and over again.
Damian holds himself stiffly, overwhelmed and uncertain, but as Dick continues to whisper to him, he begins to relax, and he pushes at Dick's face so that he can get some air.
Dick realizes Damian's holding back. Or maybe he doesn't. Dick can be a bit thick about whether his smothering is being well-received or not. Either way, he pulls away to scan his brother head to toe. "Look at you," he whispers, and he laughs a little, his voice cracking as he reaches out to brush Damian's cheekbone. "Look at you." Conner feels like he's intruding on a special moment, just being in hearing vicinity of the overwhelming pride in Dick's voice. "You've grown so much, Dami."
Damian stares at his older brother, kinda like Jason had been staring before, but to Conner, he looks uncomfortable. Lost.
He doesn't know what to say. Because, honestly, what is there to say? Damian was three years old when he was taken. Dick was still Robin, Nightwing nothing more than a glimmer of a concept in his weird little mind. And so much has changed.
Dick seems to realize the same, and he is crushed. Crestfallen, his face crumbles, the light dying from his eyes like smothered embers. He doesn't stay down long, and he soldiers through his disappointment with what Conner thinks is supposed to be a reassuring smile. "Oh," Dick says, chuckling a little self-deprecatingly. He releases Damian, giving him some distance, and purses his lips. "I'm sorry. You probably don't remember me very well, do you? And here I am getting all up in your personal space. I'm—"
"Grayson," Damian says, and Dick lights up like a firework. "I remember. The concept of personal space was always a myth to you. I am not particularly glad to discover that has not changed."
Dick laughs incredulously, and he pulls Damian back to his chest, cradling his head. "You remember," he echoes. He holds the words in his mouth like he would a block of rich chocolate, and he says them again. And again.
Damian clutches at the Nightwing suit, and Dick basks for a moment before facing him again and babbling, "I can't believe it's you! I got here as fast as I could, Dami, and I know Dad's right behind—"
Damian goes rim-rod straight, and Conner turns to see Batman standing in the doorway, watching his eldest and his youngest embrace, a near-constipated expression on his face.
Damian and Batman stare at each other, and the room is electric, bottled emotions threatening to explode like a shaken pop can.
Damian cracks open the can first. "Father," he greets, and he tries to stand (at attention? Conner's eyebrows shoot to his hairline. What the hell did the League doto this kid?), but when he grimaces in pain and is forced back down by Dick, Batman steps into the room and rumbles, "Easy. Don't hurt yourself."
Damian blinks, confused. "I must report," he says cautiously. "There is a lot I must tell you."
Batman pushes the cowl back, leaving Bruce open and vulnerable, and he swoops in, gently taking Damian from Dick's arms. "Later."
"But—"
"Damian," Bruce says, and he buries his face into his son's dark hair. "Son." He says the word like a prayer. "We can talk later. Right now...I just want you here, with us, where you belong."
Damian melts into his father's arms and flinches again as Tim unexpectedly skids past the door. He corrects just in time to save himself from pitching forward onto his face, and he launches into the room with no less caution than Dick had. Conner, seeing the raw emotion on Bruce's face, and in that of his sons', takes this as his cue to leave.
He's no longer needed here.
He stands, and he's had enough of the Bats' stealth training to sneak out unseen. Despite his attempt, Dick's brilliant blue eyes catch his as he crosses the threshold, and over the top of Damian's head, he mouths, thank you.
Conner shakes his head, lingering guilt stirring in his gut, and with a satisfied smile, he leaves the family to their reunions, their tears, their giddy laughter, and their hushed murmurs of 'welcome home, baby bird. Welcome home.'
Damian will be alright now.