Head Above Water

by Imagined2080

I DO NOT OWN THIS WORK! I JUST WANT IT AVAILABLE ON THIS PLATFORM! Go check out Lilse on A03!

Head above water by Lilse

Summary

When Bruce defeats his evil alternate self from another universe and takes the evil Batman's abused kids back to his home world, they have no idea what to expect from their new life (except for the worst).

They are about to find out - and also join in the Bats' investigations and hopefully heal a little. And maybe help the others find out some important things about themselves and each other.

Featuring lots of misunderstandings and angst - but also some fluffy comfort.

A continuation of DaisyBirb's Rock Bottom For Me. Added fanart in chapter 38./users/Lilse/pseuds/Lilse

You know, I've been reading fanfiction for, like, over a decade. But while some fics I've come across were real masterpieces, DaisyBirb's work was the first one ever to inspire me to write my own. Yeah, it's that good. In fact, it sank its claws into me and would not let me rest until I gave in and wrote this continuation (which I didn't even intend to post, but then I thought, why not). If you haven't read that fic, you should do that first, otherwise this one will probably not make sense.

Inspired by Rock Bottom For Me by /users/DaisyBirb/pseuds/DaisyBirb

Chapter 1

Dick wakes slowly, consciousness growing bit by bit, as though reluctant to return. He is warm and comfortable, wrapped snugly in a fluffy blanket, but there is something niggling at the back of his mind, something uncomfortable and maybe even scary… But he does not want to think about it, does not want to wake up all the way just yet, and he pushes it away. It must just be a bad dream. God knows he has plenty of those, and sometimes it feels like they follow him into awareness. He snuggles into the blanket, trying to go back to sleep, but the pleasant drowsiness is already slipping away, as he becomes more and more aware of the world around him.

With a start, Dick realizes there is someone breathing softly right next to him. He does not remember going to bed with anyone, but maybe Wally came to comfort him after that nightmare that is surely what is killing the pleasant sleepiness?

Dick opens his eyes.

A child with black curls and a tense expression even in his sleep is lying next to him, wrapped in his own blanket.

And just like that, it all comes crashing back. It is like a brick wall has collapsed right on top of Dick's chest, because suddenly, he cannot breathe. Horror, dread, and grief make him choke on air, compressing his lungs and freezing his body. It takes a few seconds for his brain to cycle through the memories of the last twenty-four hours, reboot, and allow him to drag in a stuttering breath. And as he exhales just as shakily, he cannot stop the tears and the sobs that begin to rip out of his chest.

Dick tries to stifle them – he does not want to wake Jason up, wants to let the kid hide away in dreamland for as long as he can – but he seems to have lost all control over himself. He slides out of bed as carefully as he can and steals to the en-suite, shutting the door behind himself gently. Leaving Jason alone is terrifying, but surely Dick can have a few moments to himself? Bruce will not be up yet, not after the late night they all had. Jason should be safe for now.

Dick drops to the floor next to the door, hugs his knees to his chest and lets go.

He does not know how long he sits there, crying. Last night, he cried from terror and sheer exhaustion, but now, he is mourning – his hopes, his freedom… his friends. The horror of seeing Bruce again and the kaleidoscope of events that followed somehow blocked the memory of their lifeless eyes from Dick's mind, but now it is all crashing back, and he is shuddering and just barely keeping himself from wailing aloud. They are gone, and he is back where he started, in this prison he has dreamt of escaping for years, and it does not matter in the slightest that it is technically a different Manor.

For all the horrors of his childhood, Dick has never been suicidal, but he thinks that, right now, he would off himself in a heartbeat if he could. Just to be free – this time, for good. By God, he would do it… if he had nothing left to live for.

But he does.

Protect Jason. His only mantra since yesterday. And he knows that, whatever happens, whatever he has to endure, he will not leave the kid. So living it is.

A soft knock on the door jerks him back to the present. Jason is awake.

Dick takes a deep breath, holds it for a moment, and then lets it out. He rubs his face roughly a few times and then clambers unsteadily to his feet. He is already stretching his hand to open the door, but then, from the corner of his eye, he catches his reflection in the mirror opposite the entrance. His face is blotchy, his hair is pointing in all directions, and the button-down he slept in looks chewed out. He looks a mess.

"Just a moment," he calls out hoarsely, stumbling towards the sink. He splashes cold water in his face, rinses his mouth and runs his fingers through his hair, attempting to comb it. Not that he is looking much better now, but at least the cold water has helped him calm down a little. Dick cannot do much else to make himself less alarming to the kid, so he pats his face dry with a fluffy towel, crosses to the door and pulls it open.

Jason is standing just outside the en-suite, eyes wide and worried despite having clearly just woken, hugging himself, his hands twisted in the sides of the red hoodie. He takes in Dick's appearance, and his lips begin to tremble.

"Hey, hey, no, kiddo, don't cry," Dick feels something in his chest twist at the sight of Jason's distress, and he aches to reassure the boy. He steps forward and pulls Jason to himself, enveloping the kid in a hug and burying his nose in the soft curls. "You're going to be okay, you're going to be fine, you'll get through this…"

Dick trails off, not really knowing what else to say to the kid that would not be a lie. Even this much feels like pushing it or like tempting fate; judging by how last night has gone, Dick's options for protecting Jason are even more limited that he thought. No amount of seduction or begging made Bruce want him, and he has no idea what else he can try. All he can do is continue to try to draw attention away from Jason, advise the kid on how to avoid the worst punishments – once he learns the rules – and, hopefully, shield him from the ones they cannot avoid. None of this feels even nearly enough.

Jason has untwisted his hands from the hoodie, thrown his arms around Dick's middle and is outright sobbing.

"I don't… I want you to be okay! I want us both to be okay!"

Dick has nothing to say to this and just sighs deeply, turning his head so that his cheek is resting on top of Jason's head. He squeezes the boy a little tighter and feels Jason grab fistfuls of the diaphanous button-down.

"I know," he whispers, closing his eyes.

They stay like this for a minute, Jason sobbing and Dick hugging and rocking him slightly. Eventually, Jason's sobs die down and his hands loosen from Dick's shirt. He breathes for a few moments before sniffling and mumbling, "How bad was it?"

It takes Dick a moment to realize Jason is asking about last night, having last seen Dick before he headed out to Bruce's bedroom and naturally assuming Dick was raped.

Dick releases the kid and takes half a step back. Jason's arms fall to his sides and he watches Dick nervously as the older boy rubs his face again before answering.

"Not…" Dick breaks off. Not too bad? Not too good? Not how he expected or wanted it to go? He has no idea how to reply.

"Nothing happened," he settles on saying. Jason's eyes narrow in disbelief, and a flash of irritation

crosses his face.

"Don't try to spare me," Jason snaps. "It's not my first day, okay? I know exactly how…"

"I mean he didn't touch me," Dick cuts him off. Jason stills and stares. "He didn't… want me. I… couldn't make him want me," Dick finishes morosely, frustration bleeding into his voice. He shakes his head, staring down onto the carpet.

"I went to his room after you went to bed… It was empty. It took a while for him to come upstairs. I… offered myself, but nothing worked. None of my usual tricks. He told me he didn't want me, wrapped me in his blanket and took me back here. I…" Dick's voice breaks. "I was so scared he wanted you, or us both, or something, but… but he just left."

Both boys are silent for a few moments.

"He was probably just too tired," Jason mutters eventually.

Neither of them has ever seen their Bruce pass up sex, but then, this version of him could have different preferences, and after all, cross-dimensional travel is not something people do every day. It is entirely plausible the man was simply too exhausted last night and wants to be at least lucid to play with his new toys. It is not like he needs to hurry, anyway. In this world, nobody will be looking for them – not the police, not the Justice League, not even any friends or allies. Bruce can let the anticipation build for as long as he wants.

"Maybe," Dick concedes quietly. Maybe protecting Jason is not a lost cause. Maybe he will get another chance - and he will do whatever it takes.

A soft knock on the bedroom door startles them both. Dick's heart jumps to his throat. Both he and Jason freeze and stare at the door, but it remains closed. After a few moments, the knocking comes again. Dick jerks, realizing they are both just standing there, and to the man on the other side of the door nothing can be more infuriating than being kept waiting.

"Stay here," he mutters to Jason and lurches towards the door. He takes a deep breath, trying to smooth his features, and pulls the door open. But, to his surprise, it is not Bruce standing on the other side of the threshold.

"Good morning, young master," an elderly man dressed in a suit says softly, smiling at Dick a little. Dick remembers seeing him in a portrait in the hall last night; this could not be anyone but Alfred.

"Um, good morning," he says in reply, both reassured and slightly uncomfortable. The man smiles a little wider.

"Welcome to the Manor, Master Dick. My name is Alfred; I am Master Bruce's butler. I take care of the house and the family – which now includes you. Is Master Jason awake yet?"

Alfred's manner is mild and entirely non-threatening. Of course, that in itself means nothing; the man still works for Bruce, so may very well be another enemy. Still, in spite of himself, Dick begins to calm a little.

"Uh, yes, he's up, we both just got up," he replies, glancing at Jason over his shoulder. The kid's eyes are narrowed again, and he is listening to the conversation with a suspicious look on his face.

"Good," Alfred says, drawing Dick's eyes back to himself. "In that case, may I offer the two of you some food? Master Bruce said you declined any dinner last night, so I imagine you must both

be quite hungry."

At the mention of food, Dick's stomach growls. He cannot keep running on just horror and desperation, and whatever awaits later, right now he really just wants to eat.

"Yes, thank you," he nods eagerly, and Alfred smiles again. His eyes dip briefly to Dick's bare legs.

"In that case, I will let you get dressed." Dick's cheeks flush as he suddenly feels a lot more naked than he is. "Shall I wait for you here or can you boys find your own way down to the kitchen?"

"We'll manage," Dick replies, uneasy at the thought of Alfred hovering outside their door, even if the man seems the opposite of dangerous.

"Very well," the butler says before nodding at Dick and turning to leave. Dick leans out of the doorway and watches him for a bit before closing the door and turning to Jason.

"So… food?"

Jason sags a little, releasing some of the tension. He nods.

"Can I use the bathroom first?"

"Sure, kiddo," Dick replies, and as Jason goes into the en-suite, he starts hunting for the leggings he discarded the night before. He finds them under his blanket, at the foot of the bed. He grabs his underwear and socks and pulls the clothes on. With nothing left to do while he waits for Jason to emerge from the bathroom, he pads to the large window and looks outside.

The day is a nice one; the sun is shining in a clear blue sky, and there is not a single cloud in sight. As he expected, the room looks out into the gardens, and he can see the sprawling green grass and tall trees. It is idyllic, and for a few moments, Dick thinks of nothing else but the view in front of him and longs to sit in the sun. Looking out of the window is all he can hope for, though, and he should just be glad he can at least have that; the barred windows of his old room always made him feel claustrophobic and depressed. At least here, he can see the sun.

He'll take what he can get.

Chapter 2

Chapter Notes

So less than 24 hours after saying I have no idea how to move forward with this scenario, I came up with a way that seems plausible to me and couldn't stop.

Enter Tim and a bunch of misunderstandings.

By the time Dick and Jason make their way to the kitchen, it is already past noon, if the big clock in the hall is to be believed.

They find the kitchen easily, even though is not a room either of them is very familiar with. In Dick's world, there was nobody to cook him any homemade meals, and he doubts that things were any different for Jason. Any food he got was tightly controlled by Bruce, usually delivered from somewhere and eaten in the dining room with Bruce himself. He never actually starved Dick, but neither was he generous or careful with his prisoner's meals. He also liked making it explicitly clear that everything in Dick's life came from him and could be taken away at any moment, so he never missed an opportunity to tell Dick how thankful he should be for every morsel on his plate.

Admittedly, sometimes there was some stuff in the pantry – not often and never much, so that Dick would not get the opportunity to steal and hide anything. Not that he would. As soon as he came to the Manor, he was told that he was not allowed to help himself to anything in the kitchen, even if he got hungry. Nearing the threshold, Dick remembers how, back when he was maybe nine, he dared to venture into the kitchen to find something to eat.

Bruce had been out all day and did not bother to order any food that night, so Dick felt hungry enough to risk a punishment. Even now, remembering, he winces at his own naiveté and stupidity. Of course, he got caught, and the price he paid for the three measly cookies he had managed to stuff into his mouth was terrible enough that he still feels faintly sick when he sees those cookies in a store. He did go to bed with a full stomach that night, but what filled it was not food. He never tried stealing again. He wonders if Jason ever did.

Shuddering, Dick wills himself back to the present.

Like the rest of the house, the kitchen feels off somehow – but not in a bad way. Everything looks very similar to the Manor in their home world, but feels lighter, warmer. The kitchen manages to look homey and lived-in, even though it is very clean and tidy. When Dick and Jason shuffle in, Alfred is standing by the stove, stirring something. He looks up at them and smiles before directing them to sit at the table in the nook by the window. Dick turns to comply, and this is where the idyllic picture of this other Manor finally cracks and falls apart. Not that he expected it to last.

The table is not empty. Another boy is already sitting there with his back to the window. His plate is almost empty, but there is a steaming mug of what looks like fresh coffee in front of him. His hand is hovering above the phone through which he had been scrolling when Dick and Jason came in, and he is looking at the newcomers curiously.

The boy is hurt.

His left arm is broken, hanging in a sling in a red cast. He is sitting slightly awkwardly, so there is clearly another injury that is not immediately obvious, and there is a huge fresh bruise on his face.

Dick's chest tightens. The world narrows down to just this one boy; everything else seems curiously dimmed and dark, and there is a roaring in his ears. Dick feels a surge of grief, and then, unexpectedly, anger. The Manor might be different, but the monster that lives here is obviously not. Another boy, delicate and black-haired, just like Dick and Jason, another life destroyed. Dick wonders how long the boy has been here. He suspects it must be a while, a few years, at least; Bruce likes picking them up young, and the boy looks close to Dick's own age.

The anger drains out of Dick as quickly as it came. What is he going to do? What can he do, even faced with this other victim? He has already tried running, and it got him nowhere. And besides…

He was right when he thought this Bruce was even worse than their own, hard as it is to imagine. His – and Jason's – years with their Bruce were full of violent rapes, psychological torture, and cruel punishments, but the man rarely used enough force to inflict injuries such as the ones the boy is sporting. Not out of the goodness of his soul, that goes without saying. It is simply that fucking a kid with broken bones the way he liked was likely to lead to even worse, possibly crippling injuries, and Bruce still liked to keep up appearances, flimsy as they were. Apparently, this Bruce has no such reservations. Or has he become careless with his old toy now that he has two new ones? The injuries look fresh, so it seems plausible.

Bruce's behavior the night before suddenly makes a lot of sense. 'I don't want that from you,' he said. Or Jason, he claimed. Well, now Dick can believe that. Clearly Bruce had already had his fun with his trained toy by the time Dick offered himself. But now the old toy is broken, so none of these denials matter.

In the wake of anger comes resignation. After all, it is nothing Dick did not expect. His heartrate slowly goes down, and his vision clears. Dick becomes aware that his fists are clenched, his breath is labored, and Jason is pressing close and clutching his arm. The other boy is now watching them warily from his place at the table, his eyes narrowed and attentive.

This is not the time for any questions or, God forbid, a scene. Dick forces himself to breathe normally and relax his hands. He pats Jason's wrist where the kid is clutching his arm and starts forward, towards the table. After barely a moment's hesitation, Jason stumbles after him.

Dick and Jason sit down side by side, opposite the boy. A brief glance shows Dick that Jason is also staring at the other kid, blue eyes wide and face pale. A moment later, Alfred is there, putting plates full of eggs and toast in front of them both and then returning with two glasses of orange juice.

"There you go, boys," he says softly, patting Dick's shoulder lightly. Dick's skin burns where Alfred has touched him; he does not want to be touched by this man who stands by and watches a kid get abused in the worst possible ways.

There is a moment of tense silence, and then the boy exhales and smiles at Dick and Jason.

"Hey," he says. "I'm Tim. Sorry, it's just a bit weird to see you guys so young." He pauses. "I mean, I'm just used to seeing you as my older brothers, and I…" He pauses again, winces, and then barrels on. "Sorry – you guys are your own people, I shouldn't be comparing and thinking of you as Dick and Jason's doubles… Though the names are probably going to get confusing. But we'll figure it out. Anyway, Alfred told me a bit about you this morning. It's good you're here now."

Tim falls silent and fidgets and flushes a little when neither Dick nor Jason respond immediately.

Dick realizes they are both just staring at Tim and likely freaking him out on top of being rude. He clears his throat.

"Hi," he says. His voice is hoarse and he clears his throat again before continuing. "Yeah, I'm… I'm Dick, and this is Jason." Jason mutters a quiet 'hi'. "But you already know that."

Tim grins a bit more confidently and opens his mouth to reply, but just then Alfred says, "Good morning, Master Bruce. Or afternoon, I suppose."

Dick goes rigid and feels Jason react the same way next to him. Tim shuts his mouth and looks over Dick's head at Bruce, who has just entered the kitchen. Bruce murmurs a reply to Alfred and steps closer to the table, rounding it until all three boys can see him.

"Good morning, boys," his says, tone mild - which does nothing to reassure Dick. The man smiles at Tim and then looks at Dick and Jason. The smile remains on his face, but turns slightly pained. "I see you've met each other. I hope you all managed to get some sleep last night. Yesterday wasn't easy for anyone."

The last remark is apparently aimed at Tim, because the boy winces again, a little, and ducks his head. Dick wonders briefly what perceived infraction earned him the punishment. There is another pause, and then Bruce clears his throat and says, "Tim, I wanted to talk to you about something. I'm going to need your help. Can you come and find me in the study when you're done with your breakfast?"

Despite the wording, it is clearly an order, and Dick is not at all surprised when Tim pushes his chair away from the table and clambers to his feet – none too gracefully. "I'm done!" he says brightly, obviously eager to please. Dick cannot fault him, not when he is looking at the result of the previous punishment. And it is clear that the conversation about its reason is not over.

"Your coffee," Bruce reminds Tim, nodding at the nearly full mug.

"I'll take it with me," the boy replies, awkwardly tucking his phone into the front pocket of his jeans with one hand and reaching for the mug.

"I'll bring it," Bruce says, oddly solicitous. Dick wonders if he maybe feels bad about how far he went with the kid's punishment. That is a surprisingly comforting thought – if such beatings are not a regular occurrence.

"See you later, guys," Tim says to Dick and Jason, and they both nod. Jason twists around to watch Tim follow Bruce out of the kitchen, but Dick just hunches over his plate and wonders when they will see Tim again. And in what state.

Well. Until that happens, there is nothing Dick can do, be it try to help or glean some information from Tim. He exhales and turns to look at Jason. The kid looks grim. They look at each other for a few moments, and then Dick manages a shaky smile and inclines his head towards the food. Jason closes his eyes briefly, then opens them and picks up his fork.

The food, at least, tastes as good as it looks.

Chapter 3

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

Nobody gives them any directions, so, after breakfast, Dick and Jason go back in their room.

After they had cleared their plates, Alfred told them he would provide them with clothes and other necessities a bit later and get them for the next meal when it was ready. He also said Bruce would probably want to talk to them about 'the arrangements', as he put it. Dick took it to mean a conversation about rules and hated himself for feeling more than a little relieved. He hated being what amounted to Bruce's – or anyone's – slave, but he hated the uncertainty even more.

And now, looking around his and Jason's room, he feels as if he was never free, not even for a brief time, because he has no idea what to do with himself. He feels like he actually does need someone else to plan his days and tell him what to do. It is like he was never a real person at all, free and able to make his own decisions and plan his own actions. He is a doll; there to be taken out of the box and played with when his owner wants him and then put away again.

Dick realizes he has been staring at the far wall of the room for a few minutes now and shakes his head, reminding himself that self-pity is not going to get him anywhere. He looks around and sees Jason, also silent and seemingly deep in thought, sitting by the window, looking outside and absent-mindedly fingering the little soft toy he managed to rescue from the other Manor. A little fox, Dick can see now, old and ratty, but clearly cherished by Jason.

What are they supposed to do, Dick wonders? He eyes the bed, contemplating getting a few more hours of sleep while he can, but he is too awake to try. The room is pretty bare – a guest room with no personal belongings or anything of interest. There is a TV, a big one hanging on the wall – but Dick is not sure they are allowed to use it without permission. In their home world, TV time was a privilege, a reward, and they have done nothing to earn it here. Better leave it alone.

He glances back at Jason. Maybe he could show the kid those stretches he mentioned last night, the ones his mom had taught him? But no, Jason must still be hurting from… before, and besides, they have just eaten. Definitely not a good idea.

His gaze focuses beyond Jason and on the trees outside. What he really wants is to go out onto the grounds, get some fresh air and take a brisk walk, pretend as if his steps are carrying him away from all this horror and give in to the illusion for a little bit…

"Dick?" Jason says quietly, and Dick's eyes snap back to the kid he has claimed as his little brother. Jason must have noticed him brooding, because he is now eyeing Dick with a slightly pinched and worried expression. "You okay?"

Dick manages a smile.

"Yeah," he says, "just… wondering what to do."

Jason grimaces.

"I know. I hate that we're supposed to just sit here. At least, back… there, I had some books."

"You did?" Dick asks, intrigued. "You like reading?"

Jason's face lights up with a smile, small, but genuine.

"I do," he says. "I always loved my Ma reading to me. It was like getting lost in a story. Somewhere more exciting, I guess. Or… just different, maybe. Felt like getting away from all the bad stuff. I begged Bruce for some books, and he got me a few…" He shrugs. "Stupid stuff, just some shitty novels and detective stories, but it was better than nothing."

"That's nice," Dick replies thoughtfully. "I mean, not that he got you shitty stuff, but that you are able to lose yourself in stories like that. Feels a little like an escape, doesn't it? It did that way, with my gymnastics."

Both boys are quiet for a few moments. Dick remembers his gymnastics setup at the West-Allens' house, now lost and gone, along with the house itself and its inhabitants. He feels a pang of acute pain and grief and wonders if it will ever become easier to remember the friends and the life he has lost. But these thoughts serve no purpose, and he wills himself to think of something else.

"So," Dick starts carefully. "What did you think of Tim?"

To Dick's surprise, Jason immediately scowls.

"I don't like him," he declares with the childish decisiveness of a ten-year-old.

To be honest, Dick is stunned. He is aware, of course, that he hardly knows Jason, never even knew of Jason's existence until the day before, but this reaction seems so unlike the kid who was hugging him and crying he wanted Dick – just a stranger, really – to be safe just this morning.

"Why not?" Dick prods, when Jason does not elaborate.

Jason is quiet for a moment, gathering his thoughts. Although he was quick to give an initial opinion, now he seems to be pondering Dick's question.

"I don't know," he says eventually. "It's like… He seems way too happy. Like he's fine with it all. Broken bones, half his face blue… So he's a slave like us, I get it, he doesn't have a choice about being here. And Bruce has made me act lots of times, like when he took me out and stuff – and I did, because there was always 'or else'. But did you see how Tim just… jumped up when Bruce called, and he was grinning like an idiot, and so eager, like… like he enjoys it! What the hell is wrong with him?"

Dick lets out a breath and smiles a bit, sadly.

"I doubt that he enjoys it, Jason. More like, yeah, he knows there's no way out. And… everyone copes in different ways, Jay. Maybe sort of… making peace with it was the only way for Tim not to go crazy in this place."

Jason is still scowling, but his expression turns more thoughtful, like he is considering Dick's perspective.

"I still don't get it," he says slowly after a moment, but then falls silent again.

"What?" Dick prompts gently, when Jason does not continue. Jason shrugs.

"Just… did you see? He was dressed… like, normally. And he had a phone. And coffee. I was never allowed real clothes, not unless Bruce was taking me out somewhere. Well, I did make him get me a hoodie and some sweatpants, but it took me weeks of pleading and bargaining. I don't… Can you imagine what he must have done to get all that stuff? And if he's still acting cheerful after

that, he must be nuts! How can anyone 'make peace' with that?"

Jason's voice becomes louder as he is taking, and takes on a hysterical note by the end. He actually looks like he is about to start hyperventilating, so Dick gets up, crosses to the window and sits opposite the kid.

"Breathe, Jay," he says firmly, soothingly, putting his hands on Jason's shoulders. The kid sucks in a shaky breath and releases it slowly, then does it again. Dick nods approvingly, watching Jason calm down a little, then squeezes a bit before removing his hands and sighing.

And honestly, Dick cannot say he has not wondered the same thing. Well, about the phone and the coffee, at least. The clothes… Jason's time with Bruce must have been truly awful, way more awful than even his own, he thinks. He, at least, got real clothes, since he had to go to school and was even occasionally allowed out, provided that he kept his mouth shut. It looks like Bruce took no chances with his new victim, providing no respite or opportunities for escape. Looking at Jason now, Dick feels so guilty he actually feels faintly sick.

"I really don't know, Jay. I still don't like judging him, but… I agree he seemed almost complacent. Maybe…" And it pains him to say this about a fellow victim, but if he makes the wrong call and gets Jason hurt… "Maybe don't trust him too much, just yet. This world is different, and this Bruce is different, and we don't know how or what he's done to Tim to get him like this. Tim could be… a favorite."

"A favorite?" Jason asks skeptically. "There isn't anyone else here, how can he be a favorite? And – with those bruises? And a broken arm?"

"I mean, he may have worked out some sort of deal with Bruce or somehow endeared himself to him, I don't know. And being a favorite doesn't mean you never get disciplined," Dick reminds him. "We don't know what happened or why. In fact, he could be so eager to not let this happen again, he might… resort to something nasty. Get us in trouble. Please be careful with him."

Jason looks a bit shaken.

"What do you think he might do?"

"No idea," Dick confesses. "And I'm not saying he will do anything, I'm just saying it's a possibility. Just be careful about what you say in front of him."

"I will," Jason says quietly.

And speak of the devil. Just then, there is a knock on their door – too light to be Bruce, too quick to be Alfred. This leaves only one person, unless there really is someone else at the Manor. Dick gives Jason one last warning look and goes to open the door.

As expected, Tim is standing in the hall. Dick quickly looks him over. It seems Bruce has not added any new injuries, but Tim looks a lot less energetic than he did at breakfast. His face is somewhat tense, and he, in turn, is looking carefully at Dick.

"Hey," he says after a beat. "How are you guys settling in? Has Alfred brought you any new clothes yet?"

"No," Dick replies, a bit surprised by the question. It is somehow Tim's job to make sure the new toys look the way they should?

"Oh," Tim's face falls. "The ones you're wearing can't be too comfortable, since they don't fit. I

wish I could give you mine, but you're bigger than me, and Jason's smaller, so I doubt they'll be any better. And I don't think we have any of our Dick and Jason's old clothes from when they were your size, they've all been donated. Well, Alfred will sort it out before the end of the day. In any case, I guess there's no one to see you but us, so it'll be fine."

"What will be fine?" Dick asks, a little nervously. Tim looks flustered.

"I'm sorry – I'm not doing a good job, am I." So there is a job. "I just wanted to suggest we go hang out outside for a bit? You've always hated being cooped up inside on a sunny day like this. I mean. Out Dick has always done. Want to come?"

Dick is so stuck on the fact that Tim has just made a casual reference to his and Jason's alternates – when and how did Tim meet them? when and how did they manage to escape and where are they? what are they like? – that it takes a moment for him to understand what Tim is suggesting. But when he does…

For a moment, he remembers his own warning to Jason about Tim's motives. After all, leaving the house is not a small matter, even if they stay on the grounds. This could really get them into trouble. But the thought of the sun on his face – even for one last time – is enough to throw caution to the wind.

Jason insists on coming, too. Dick is torn between keeping his brother in the relative safety of their room and not letting Jason out of his sight, but in the end, he lets Jason come. If this is a test, he thinks, he will at least find out something about the way this Bruce punishes, which is, after all, valuable data. The only challenge will be to be the only one punished, and he will do his best.

Tim leads the way, chattering about the layout of the grounds, as if they need a tour. But then, some things are new, Dick notes, like Alfred's garden. That obviously did not exist in their universe, since there was no Alfred to plant it.

In a few minutes, they come to a gazebo at the top of a small hill. Dick cannot remember if it was there in their dimension or not. It looks cozy; a round wooden structure with a wide cone-shaped roof and a bench running all along the inside, overlooking a pond on the other side of the hill. Tim leads them inside and sits down gingerly on the bench.

"Sorry, normally, I'd just sit on the grass, but it's a bit hard with, well, you know," he gestures to himself with his good arm.

"It's fine," Dick replies quickly, and Jason nods. To be honest, Dick would really rather sit on the ground, in the sun, but he can see Tim is not feigning his discomfort, and he did get to leave the house, so he is not about to be greedy.

Dick chooses a seat next to Tim, and Jason joins them on the bench, sitting on Dick's other side. Tim smiles at them.

"It's nice to be out, isn't it? Dunno how it was in your universe, but here, the entire spring was freezing, and then it was like someone flipped a switch on the first day of June. I hate the cold, so it's really great."

"It is okay for us to be out here?" Dick asks carefully. He supposes it is too late to be having second thoughts now, but he is still starting to feel uneasy, the first thrill of happiness at being outside having passed. Tim gives him a strange look.

"Sure, why wouldn't it be?"

Dick shrugs and glances at Jason. His brother is looking at Tim with slightly narrowed eyes and a guarded expression. Tim glances between them. Then, something in his expression shifts, and he continues, "Bruce won't mind, if that's what you're worried about. He's asked me to help you settle in, and he didn't want you to think you were confined to your room, or anything."

This is surprising, Dick thinks, though also kind of nice.

"Anyway," Tim continues. "At least I won't be missing any classes, since it's summer. School would suck with a broken arm, even if it's not my right one."

Next to Dick, Jason suddenly straightens up. "You go to school?" he demands with a sudden intensity, leaning towards Tim.

"Uh, sure," Tim replies, looking a little surprised. "It's kinda the law, isn't it?"

Jason huffs, and Dick suddenly remembers him saying he only got clothes if Bruce was taking him somewhere.

"He never sent you to school, did he, Jay?" he asks quietly. Jason shakes his head, his fists clenching.

"He never let me out of the house without him," the kid mutters bitterly. "I wanted to go to school so much, but…" He pauses to swipe at his suddenly damp eyes angrily. "He homeschooled me. Kind of. If you can call it that. I had a few schoolbooks, and that was it."

Dick's heart aches for this bright boy who loves books and wants to go to school but has to make do with a few shitty paperbacks and random schoolbooks. He puts an arm around Jason and feels his brother lean into him. He turns back to Tim.

"Do you think we'll be able to ask Bruce to get some books for Jay? I'll make it up to him, of course. Maybe…" Time to fish for some information. "Maybe you can tell me how?"

Tim is watching them with a strange, sad expression.

"I think Jay will be able to get all the books he wants," he says gently, carefully. "The Manor has an enormous library, plus, our Jason loves reading, too, and I'm sure he won't mind sharing his collection. What there is of it, anyway – he took some of his favorites with him when he was setting up his own place."

At the mention of the library Jason makes a tiny keening sound, and Dick squeezes him gently. He hates that he will have to quell Jason's enthusiasm, but he doubts Bruce will give him the books for free, and he has vowed to do anything he can to keep Jason away from Bruce as much as possible. Maybe he can pretend the books are for him, he muses, so he will be the one paying the price.

Tim is still talking.

"School, too – Bruce will enroll both of you when it's time. It absolutely won't be a problem. I'm sure he'll let you pick whether you go to a regular school or get homeschooled if you prefer. Honestly, I'd pick the latter – it's so boring having to learn stuff at a snail's pace and…"

Dick tunes him out. Despite Tim's certainty, he doubts Bruce is going to let them go to school. In this world, he does not need to keep up any pretenses, since nobody knows about their existence. And besides, in order to go to school, they need papers – but neither of them legally exists.

Next to him, Jay is listening to Tim telling some story about his Math teacher with rapt attention.

"And then he started grabbing fistfuls of candy and throwing them at the class!" Tim finishes, laughing. Dick has no idea what the story was, but he smiles politely, anyway. Jay is snickering, and it looks genuine, so the story must have been really funny, Dick supposes.

Dick is glad Tim's story has managed to take Jay's mind off their grim circumstances, and he would love to keep it that way, but Tim still has not answered any of the important questions yet.

"School is still weeks away, though," he says quietly. "What should we be doing in the meantime? What do you do around here?"

"Uh," Tim looks a little flustered for a moment. "I mean – nothing in particular. I help Bruce, study, take pictures, and hang out with Dick and Jason when they visit. I know you're probably feeling kinda lost right now, but it's okay, you've only just got here. We'll figure it out."

The answer is really a non-answer, and Dick is starting to feel a little frustrated. Tim is so slippery, and Dick does not feel he is getting any closer to gauging the real atmosphere of the Manor. Still, there is something else he would like to know…

"Where are they? Your Dick and Jason? And…" It suddenly occurs to him he has no idea how to picture them. "How old are they?"

"Dick's twenty-four, and Jason's nineteen," Tim answers easily. "They've moved out. Dick lives in Bludhaven now, has done since he turned eighteen. And Jason's here, in Gotham. You'll meet them, of course, just… a bit later. They're both away at the moment."

"How…" This is a loaded question, and Dick feels a rush of nerves before clearing his throat and pressing on. "How did they leave?"

Tim looks slightly uncomfortable.

"Well… Maybe it's best if you ask them directly. Or maybe not," he backtracks quickly, wincing. "Well, you can ask Dick, but probably not Jason."

"Did they run away or something?" Dick's heart is beating in his throat. There is definitely a story there. Or two.

"Not really. Well, kind of. I mean, Dick just had this huge argument with Bruce and left, and Jason…" Now Tim is really looking uncomfortable. "He went to find," he darts a glance at Jay, "someone, and… well, yeah, he sort of ran away."

There is a brief silence.

"But they both still come here?" Dick asks finally.

"Yeah," Tim replies, looking a little relieved now that they have moved on. "Took a while for everyone to reconcile, but they're both okay with Bruce now."

There is a lull in the conversation.

What a strange thing to say, Dick muses, watching Tim grin as Jason hesitantly asks him another question about school. How any version of himself can be 'okay' with Bruce, he has no idea. And Tim is definitely hiding something about this world's Dick and Jason. Dick knows he has to find it out – he is certain his and Jay's arrival in this world must have something to do with the mystery.

He is just not sure he is going to like the answer.

Chapter End Notes

As you can tell, Dick is an unreliable narrator here. I'm not even doing it just for the sake of drama; my own experience with trauma (not of this kind, naturally, just, you know, life) is that it can put you into a weird headspace, especially if combined with exhaustion or prolonged stress. And for Dick, it's all these things, plus new acute trauma, since I'm going with the idea that Evil!Bruce went through with his plans to murder Dick's friends. So, at this point, Dick is just not ready to question any of his assumptions.

And Good!Bruce is not exactly helping. All Dick really knows is, he defeated Evil!Bruce and made some vague promises he'd take care of them (which can be interpreted in many ways).

But let's not hate on Bruce, folks, he's stressed out and tired, too. Imagine how hard it was for him to see the alternates of his kids so horribly abused (and if you don't want to imagine, you can check out Father's Guilt, another awesome fic in the Through the Looking Glass series). Plus, in this fic, he also came home to an injured Tim, who went out as Robin without permission and backup with the predictable result. It's hardly making life easier.

And so Tim and Alfred are assuming Bruce has explained to the rescued kids all about how this world is different and they are safe. And Bruce, on top of not being all that great with feelings and emotions, was just too exhausted to do it properly and thinks that Alfred and Tim took care of it in the morning.

Chapter 4

Chapter Summary

And the angst continues.

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

It is early evening by the time Dick, Jason and Tim head back to the house. For such an odd day, the time has flown by blindingly fast – which of course is at least in part because of how late Dick and Jason got up, but mostly because Dick feels totally disoriented, like none of it is real.

Surprisingly enough, Dick is not sorry to go back inside. He is feeling exhausted – mentally, for the most part, due to the stress of navigating the conversation with Tim and the frustration of not gaining any useful information from him. The only other – rather small – thing he has managed to find out from the other boy is that he is apparently an orphan, too, like Dick and Jason.

Walking back to the house, Dick thinks back to how Tim's expression grew distant and a little sad at his careful prodding.

"My parents, they're… not in the picture anymore," Tim said after a pause, but did not offer any details, and, when it became obvious no other information was forthcoming, Dick nodded awkwardly and changed the subject.

He still feels a little bad about it, about having asked. Tim might have been cheerful even faced with the prospect of a one-on-one session with Bruce, but at Dick's question about his family he looked truly upset. Dick can only imagine how horrible their deaths must have been and, somewhat morbidly, would have liked to know when it all happened, but he could not bring himself to keep Tim on the subject.

He could have guessed, Dick berates himself even now. At some prior point in the conversation, Tim had mentioned his last name, and, to his surprise and dismay, Dick found he recognized it. He never met Tim's alternate in his and Jason's home universe, but of course he had heard about the Drakes. And he doubts there is anyone in their Gotham who does not know how fiercely protective Janet Drake is of her only son. Assuming it is the same here – and why would it not be? – there can only be one reason why she was unable to protect Tim from Batman and Tim has ended up in the monster's lair instead.

Mental exhaustion is bleeding into physical, and by the time the boys reach the house, Dick just wants to go to his and Jason's room, lie down and sleep. At his side, Jason is hardly faring any better and is starting to drag his footsteps, like he did the night before. On top of being exhausted, the kid must still be hurting, so Dick grabs his hand, squeezes it in support, and slows down – not that their pace was fast to begin with, because of Tim's injuries.

On top of the exhaustion, Dick is starting to feel anxious as the evening draws closer. Evening means Bruce; evening means he must try again, must go and offer himself and hope – even though he dreads it – that Bruce will respond to his advances.

The supper Alfred serves them is light. Mercifully, Bruce does not join them, and Tim seems subdued, so there is little talk at the table. Despite his growing dread, Dick manages to clear his plate, and then he and Jason trudge up to their room and curl up on the bed together. Jason seems deep in thought, so Dick does not try to draw him into a conversation and instead lies on his side, turning so that he is facing the window, and watches the light change outside. Anxiety wants to keep him awake and alert, but eventually, exhaustion wins out, and Dick falls into uneasy sleep.

Dick wakes with a start and immediately knows something is very, very wrong.

Disoriented, still half-asleep and not even yet comprehending what is making him panic, Dick lurches up and off the bed, stumbling and flailing as vertigo hits. After a few moments, he manages to right himself and clear his vision. Breathing hard, panic rising, Dick spins around the room and…

Jason is gone. Dick almost runs towards the bathroom, but even before he pushes the door open and hits the light switch, he knows that it is empty. Breath catching on a sob, Dick spins around and stares, unseeing, at the empty room.

Outside, it is no longer night. It is not exactly morning yet, either, but the sun has risen, and the room is bathed in pale, cold light. The exhaustion must have been too much, and Dick realizes he has slept right through the evening and the night without waking.

And did not go to Bruce.

Combined with Jason being gone, it can only mean one thing. That Jason did.

Dick grabs his head and would tear his hair out, if it could help. Which of course it won't, and he makes himself draw in a deep, shuddering breath as he leans against the wall for support. He can panic all he likes, but it won't help Jason.

Neither will sitting here, Dick knows, but…

Useless panic leaves him in a rush, turning again to grief, and Dick slides down along the wall as his legs no longer support him.

It has been too long. It is almost morning, and he can bet Jason was just waiting for him to fall asleep so he would not argue. Which means that Jason must have been gone for hours. And with Tim injured and unavailable, there is nothing stopping Bruce from enjoying one of his new toys, unlike the night before. Jason must have been gone for hours, so there can be no doubt he has already been…

Dick stares dumbly into space.

Rationally, he knows that despite his vows and intentions, there is no way he could have kept Jason away from Bruce forever. But to fail so spectacularly and so soon, and all because he was too tired – he sneers at himself – to guard his little brother…

This failure feels worse than getting captured again after thinking he has escaped. Worse even than the guilt at leading the other Bruce to his friends' home and thus causing their deaths. Worse than

all the things he has ever done as Robin.

He knows he should make himself get up. Go to Bruce's bedroom, see if there is anything he can do to alleviate Jason's suffering – offer himself if Bruce still has not had enough, beg for lenience if Jason is too badly hurt, or, or… at least wait outside the door if Bruce throws him out until he can take Jason and get him back to their room.

He should.

He cannot make his limbs move.

The light has changed to the soft gold of early morning by the time the door slowly swings open. Dick catches the movement out of the corner of his eye, and it starts him out of his stupor. For a moment, he stares dumbly at the boy who has just slipped inside and is now staring at him, in turn, frozen like a deer in the headlights.

"Jay," Dick breathes, climbing to his feet and rushing towards his brother. He feels as if he is moving through water, like moving his limbs requires twice the effort it should. He almost does not believe his senses when his fingers touch Jason, when he grasps the boy, pulls him towards himself and crushes him in a fierce hug.

After a moment, he feels Jason hesitantly raise his arms to reciprocate. Time disappears entirely, and so does everything except the kid in his arms and the unbearable pain in his chest.

"Dick?" He hears Jason's quiet, uncertain voice. "Dickie… what's wrong?"

Dick realizes he is shaking. He tries to get control of himself – he cannot afford to fall apart now, he must help Jason, check him over, get him clean, or…

Dick still cannot move, and he has never felt so useless before in his entire life.

Jason is calling his name again, tone turning insistent and worried. With a superhuman effort, Dick pulls himself together and releases Jason to get a better look at him. And does a double take.

Jason looks… surprisingly okay. No tear tracks on his face, no blotchy cheeks, no bitten lips, no visible bruises. His hair is tidy, and so are his clothes. His clothes – which now include blue jeans and a pair of sneakers. He is still wearing the huge red hoodie from the day before. And he is staring at Dick with what looks like a mixture of concern and guilt.

The sense of surreality deepens, and Dick wonders if he has stepped into an alternate dimension. Again. Or if his shitty life has finally caught up with him and he is just going crazy.

"What," is all that he manages to rasp, unable to formulate a full sentence. "Where?.."

Jason's face reddens and he looks down at the floor.

"I'm sorry! I didn't think you'd wake, and I didn't want you to, so… But I couldn't sleep, I mean, I did, a bit, but we went to bed at, like, seven in the evening, and there was nothing to do when I woke up, so I…"

Jason's voice trails off.

"You went to Bruce?" Dick finishes quietly.

Jason darts a look up at him. His face spasms and suddenly, he looks even guiltier.

"No," he says, and somehow, Dick is certain he is telling the truth, even though he did expect denials and justifications. But Jason seems sincere. "But I should have. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, Dickie, I wasn't thinking! Did he…" Jason looks him over, and Dick briefly wonders how terrible he is looking. "Did he come in here? Did he get you?"

"No," Dick replies slowly, confusion edging in beside the relief at seeing Jason in one piece and the guilt for not having protected the boy. "Or, if he did, he didn't wake me. But where were you, if not with him? And where did you get those clothes?"

"Alfred left them here, last night," Jason explains, nodding towards a chest of drawers behind Dick. Dick turns to look and sees several piles of clothes sitting on top of it. He stares at them, astonished and disturbed by the fact that he was so out of it he didn't even hear Alfred come in and leave.

He turns back to Jason, expression blank.

"Where were you then?" He repeats.

Jason looks down again and mutters something under his breath.

"What?" Dick asks, leaning down towards his brother.

Jason's hands come up to cover his face.

"I said I was reading," he mumbles from behind them. "I couldn't sleep and I couldn't stop thinking about Tim and how he gets to read books and go to school and how this place has this huge library, and I…"

He lowers his hands and looks Dick in the eyes.

"I went to find the library. I'm so sorry, Dickie, please… I thought you wouldn't notice. I didn't mean to…" He breaks off and squeezes his eyes shut. Dick can see his face reddening again, this time from the rising tears.

"Jay," he breathes on an exhale and pulls Jason in for another hug. "Damn it! I was so damn worried about you!.. I thought… God, Jay, don't you ever pull anything like that, do you hear me? Don't you dare!"

"I'm sorry," Jason mutters into Dick's shoulder, now definitely crying. Dick feels even worse, but anger – at himself, at Jason, at Bruce, at the whole damn world – has joined the other emotions, and he cannot stop himself. He yanks back and looks Jason in the face, gripping his shoulders tightly.

"And how could you risk it like that? Do you realize what they would've done to you if you got caught? Do you?" Dick can barely resist shaking the kid. "Damn it, Jay, you have to be smarter than that! I can only do so much to protect you – and you can see this 'so much' isn't even all that much! We don't know the rules, we don't know the punishments, we don't know a single damn thing about this place! And you, you –"

Dick's voice breaks, and he stops, breathing roughly. Jason is still crying, head bowed, and despite the strength of Dick's reaction, the sight of him is enough to make his anger fizzle out.

"I just can't stand you getting hurt, Jay," he almost whispers.

Jason raises his head. His eyes are shining with tears, but his expression is a mixture of defiance and desperation.

"I know, and I don't want either of us hurt, either," he says in a low, fierce voice. "And I'm sorry I got you so worried. But Dickie, how can we… I don't want to keep living like this! We can't do anything to stop him, fine, but – but can't we have this, at least? We gotta have something nice to live for, otherwise… Otherwise what's the fucking point? And you – don't you ever want to defy him?"

Jason's voice grows louder as he speaks, and Dick stares at him, unable to decide if he should admire Jason's will to live and be happy, be stunned at his audacity, or scared of it. Because…

"You forget," he says slowly, "that I did defy him. I did want something nice to live for, and I tried to take it. I ran away. I ran away, and look where it got me. Where it got you. Where it got the people who gave me shelter."

Dick lets go of Jason and turns away. He squeezes his eyes to not let himself start crying again, and his hands tighten into fists. Behind him, Jason is completely still and quiet.

And damn it, even though he knows he is right, so is Jason, of course. This is no way to live. Whatever Bruce may think of them, they are living people, not toys. They cannot be locked in a box when he does not want them, they cannot turn off their feelings and stop hating what is being done to them, and they can only take so much before breaking. And if Jason still has it in him to fight, to want to reach for something brighter… Dick will let him. Will help him. Will try to keep that desire alive for as long as he can.

Dick takes a deep breath and slowly releases it before turning back to his little brother. His smile is wan, but he manages it, at least.

"So did you find it? The library?"

Jason nods slowly, looking a bit wary at the change in topic.

"Tell me then," Dick continues. "What did you read?"

"The Three Musketeers," Jason responds hesitantly. "I saw it mentioned in one of those shitty novels Bruce got me and I've wanted to read it ever since."

Dick's smile feels a lot more real now.

"And did you like it?"

"Yeah, I guess," Jason shrugs. "I haven't read the whole thing yet, I didn't have that much time to actually read. I found the library quickly, but I've never been inside, so it took me ages to look around and find something other than some stuffy history books and shit. And I couldn't turn on the main lights, so… And I could only explore so much with this one lamp that I lit. Still…" Jason's eyes close and a strange expression of bliss and pain comes over his face. "It was… so awesome. I've never seen so many books in my life."

He opens his eyes and looks at Dick.

"I'd do anything to see it again. Don't stop me, Dickie, I'll take any punishment if I can just have this. Just this one thing."

He sounds so desperate, and Dick nods slowly, even as something in his chest twists. Five minutes ago he might have argued that it would be better to bargain with Bruce and get his permission somehow, but in the face of Jason's passion, it feels so wrong and disgusting he will not even try. And, he reasons, what does it matter, anyway? They will get hurt, one way or another, either as punishment or as payment.

"Fine," he says, sighing. "But next time… Next time you wait for me. We'll go together. You can read, and I'll keep an eye out in case someone notices us. We'll go together after… after I've seen Bruce."

So no-one has reason to come to their room and see they are gone.

But at this, Jason scowls.

"No. You can't be the only one he fucks. He probably won't touch Tim for a while, so that leaves you and me. And I won't let you take it all by yourself. I won't."

His eyes are shining again. Dick steps forward and hugs him again. This time, there is no hesitation as Jason returns the hug, holding him tightly.

"We'll see."

That is all he can promise.

Chapter End Notes

I did try to pick up the pace, but it just didn't happen. So I guess for a while things are going to be moving slowly - until Dick feels a little less uprooted and disoriented.

Chapter 5

"Master Bruce would like to speak with you both after breakfast," Alfred's tone is mild and even, as always, but with the way Dick's food suddenly feels like lead in his stomach, he might as well have yelled and cursed. "He asked you to meet him in the small sitting room across the hall from his study. I understand that the layout of the house was more or less the same in your world, but some differences are possible. Do you know which room it is?"

Dick hesitates. He thinks he does, but it is possible he is wrong. And while he does not want to be escorted around the house like a prisoner, neither does he want to make a mistake and be accused of snooping around or making Bruce wait.

"I'll show you," Tim pipes up, and although he is technically trying to help, Dick cannot smother a flash of resentment towards him. Jason is right, he thinks uncharitably, why must Tim always be so pathetically cheerful and eager to please? He pushes the feeling down, though, and murmurs a quiet thanks instead.

"If you're done, we can go," Tim continues, oblivious to Dick's reaction, and it is not that Dick was hoping they could postpone this or anything, but he does not feel at all ready. His breath hitches, his pulse quickens, and he fights to keep himself under control.

There is no plausible excuse to stall, though, so Dick nods stiffly and glances at Jason. The kid is stark white, staring down at his empty plate, and looks frozen with fear.

"Jay," Dick murmurs, reaching out and putting an arm around his brother's shoulders. Jason starts at the contact and darts a panicked look at Dick before taking a deep breath and relaxing into the half-embrace. Dick inclines his head towards the door in a silent question, and Jason nods slowly, visibly swallowing. And Dick would love to keep him out of it completely or stall to give him time to prepare, but there is no way Jason can not go, and, really, the sooner they get this over with, the better. Sitting and waiting and dreading is the only thing that would be worse.

So Dick stands up, pulling Jason with him. Tim climbs to his feet, too, and leads the way out of the kitchen. Dick and Jason follow him.

The room that is their destination has no door, just an intricate wooden arch around the entrance, so Tim does not knock, instead heading straight in and looking completely unconcerned. The small part of Dick's brain not occupied with panicking over the impending conversation is amazed at Tim's insolence. He never would have dared to enter a room he knew Bruce was occupying without knocking or otherwise gaining permission. Then again, Tim is clearly fulfilling an order, so perhaps this is an exception.

The room is decorated with dark red textured wallpaper, and dusty rose curtains shield it from the bright morning light. There are various plants in pots scattered across the space, and one corner is occupied by a piano. And sitting in a mint green leather armchair by the window is…

"Bruce," Tim calls out in his irritatingly upbeat tone, and the man raises his head from his phone and looks over at them. His face is completely blank.

"Hello," he says in the same gratingly quiet and measured voice he used on the first night, and inclines his head slightly. Thankfully, he makes no move to stand.

"So, uh, I'll leave you," Tim says, looking around at Dick and Jason. "See you guys later!"

Dick thinks he should probably acknowledge Tim in some way, but he cannot find his voice. He does not dare to turn his head away from Bruce. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Tim shift awkwardly.

"Thank you, Tim," Bruce says, and the boy nods and walks out of the room, leaving the three of them alone. And then Bruce turns his full attention to Dick and Jason.

"Please, sit down," he says mildly, gesturing towards the couch to the left of his armchair. Dick would love to run in the opposite direction, but he forces his feet to move forward. As the boys settle on the surprisingly soft couch, Bruce leans over to put his phone on the coffee table on the other side of the armchair. Then he turns towards them and looks them over carefully.

Dick has long since trained himself to stay still when Bruce looked at him; the man never liked any displays of displeasure or disrespect, and he viewed fidgeting as a sign of the latter. But now, under Bruce's cool assessing gaze, Dick has to fight not to squirm.

"There are a few things I want to discuss with you," Bruce begins in a low voice. "First, I want to tell you again that you are both safe. Nobody in this house is going to do anything to hurt you. It was not safe for you to remain in your world, and that is the reason you are here."

Right, Dick thinks derisively. He wishes Bruce would come up with a better cover story, because this one is, frankly, ridiculous. The other – their – Bruce was chained up and unconscious in his Cave, with what looked like all his bones broken. And although, in Dick's mind, he is closer to a supernatural monster than a regular human, even he doubts Bruce would have still been a threat in that state. But naturally, Dick does not let any of these thoughts show on his face. Bruce is still speaking.

"Now, I should have done this yesterday, but it was not possible to arrange… I am going to have you looked over by a doctor. She is a family friend, and I trust her completely. It is nothing to worry about – just a physical, to check your condition and see if you need any medication or special diet. When…" Bruce pauses, looking slightly uncertain. "When was the last time either of you went to a doctor?"

"A few months ago," Dick responds quietly. Getting himself checked over was one of the first things he did after his escape, helping him regain some control over his body and his life. "I am alright."

Bruce nods.

"Still. It won't hurt to check again." Of course it will not. Bruce's gaze shifts. "Jason?"

Jason shakes his head. Dick's heart sinks, and he is, in fact, even a little surprised. Needless to say, the other Bruce had never been an exemplary guardian, but he still cared about appearances. And since Dick had to go out and be seen by other people, Bruce has always been somewhat careful with him, avoiding serious injuries and having any he inflicted treated. Most of them, he actually treated himself – Dick hides a shudder at the memory – but once in a while, he had an actual doctor come over. After all, somebody did have to forge medical files and such, so having one accessible was convenient. Bribed and threatened to keep quiet about anything he saw, of course. Apparently, Jason did not get even that.

"I see," Bruce says quietly. "We'll take care of that, then. Next thing – you are going to need papers, since you don't legally exist in this world. I will take care of that, too – I've already spoken to my lawyers, and I expect we'll be able to figure it all out in a few weeks."

That is… surprising, Dick thinks. It would be infinitely easier to just keep them hidden at the Manor, without any legal hassle or inconvenient questions. Still… Bruce must have his reasons, even if Dick cannot see them right now. He knows better than to ask.

"Now," Bruce continues after a beat. "Do you have any questions for me? I know this… transition has not been easy for you, and I'll be happy to do anything to help you settle in." He pauses again, and the silence stretches as Dick contemplates if this is a real question. "Is there anything you'd like to ask?" Bruce prods.

How hard you hit when you get mad, Dick thinks. But wait, he already knows that. And the correct answer is probably no, they do not have any questions, but this is finally a chance to make at least some sense of this place. So he will risk it.

"What," he begins hoarsely and stops to lick his dry lips. "What are the rules?"

For a few moments, Bruce stares at him wordlessly. A crease appears between his brows – the first real sign of emotion since they came into the room. And not a good one. Dick swallows and wonders how to backtrack, to save the situation, when Bruce speaks.

"I'm not sure I understand," he says with a touch of confusion in his voice. "What rules do you mean?"

So this was a test of some sort, after all. Dick should have kept his mouth shut and not asked anything. Perhaps they are already supposed to know the rules – but how? Was Tim supposed to tell them and has not? Was Dick right, and Tim is actually trying to get them in trouble? Or perhaps Bruce is fishing for a particular answer - or playing some game.

But the silence stretches, and Bruce is giving him no clues, just looking at them steadily. Dick has no choice but to chance an answer.

"The… house rules. What we are allowed to do… and what we aren't."

The crease between Bruce's brows deepens, and Dick cowers. He definitely should have kept his mouth shut. But, he thinks desperately, the question was not even all that incriminating. Dick has not questioned the man's authority in any way, and there is not enough reason for Bruce to be getting this angry. Dick's heart starts hammering in his chest, and next to him, Jason shifts nervously.

Bruce's eyes flit between them, and then, he slowly says, "How about you tell me what the rules used to be with… in your home world. And then we will see what will be different here."

Dick breathes a sigh of relief. Perhaps this is not going as badly as he feared. He remembers the rules the other Bruce used to have for him, and though he hates to list them out loud, the sooner he does it, the sooner the horrible fog of uncertainty will lift. It is too much effort to organize his thoughts properly, though, and he starts reciting them without any structure or order. He can really only speak for himself, but he doubts things were all that different for Jason. Of course, he does remember Jason's horrible revelation about the clothes, so some of the rules must have changed for the worse after Dick's escape. But Dick would prefer to keep all Bruce's attention on himself, so he decides not to highlight the differences.

"We were only allowed to eat the food h-he gave us, no stealing anything from the pantry. We had to stay in our room unless called, and especially if there were any guests at the house. We had to get permission to go outside or talk to anyone new. We were not allowed to touch anything outside of our room unless specifically told to. No gadgets, or, or… any other things. We… h-he preferred

if we didn't speak unless spoken to, and…"

Dick stutters, as he nears the more intimate and degrading details. He briefly marvels at the fact that after years with Bruce he still has not lost the sense of shame. He used to think it was a good thing, a sign he still had boundaries and was not broken beyond repair. He is not so sure, now – not if it makes it so much harder for him to endure. Dick swallows and lowers his eyes before continuing.

"We were allowed to initiate… physical contact. And, um," he closes his eyes briefly, "could never say no to… to sex. We were not allowed to leave the bed or clean up without permission… a- afterwards. We had to wear the clothes chosen for us – there… there was usually something specific he wanted to see. And, and… the punishments, we were not allowed to argue them, but begging was allowed if it… it hurt too much -"

Dick is looking at his lap and not monitoring Bruce's reaction to his words, so he is genuinely startled when the man abruptly shoves to his feet with a low hiss. Dick immediately stops talking, heart caught in his throat. He jumps up from the couch, dragging Jason up with him, and stumbles away from Bruce. Through the buzzing in his ears, he can hear Jason crying with fear, and the kid is clutching his hand like a lifeline.

At least Bruce is not advancing yet; in fact, he is not even looking at the boys, staring instead to the side with his fists and jaw clenched.

"I'm sorry!" Dick tries to exclaim, but he cannot make his lungs cooperate, and his voice comes out cracked and weak. "Please, I'm sorry! I didn't know, please! I…"

But he has no idea what exactly has triggered Bruce, and without it, he is in the dark, spewing useless pleas and panicking. Was it all really just a mind game, after all? An elaborate punishment for being unable to please the man on their first night here?

When Dick starts apologizing, Bruce's eyes snap to him and his whole demeanor changes as he takes in the boys' reactions. He takes a deep breath and holds it for a couple of seconds before exhaling. He closes his eyes, then opens them again, and his expression becomes a lot calmer, his fists loosening. And then… he takes a careful step to the side and back, putting more distance between himself and the two of them. Dick would wonder at this if he still had the ability to think, but all his thoughts have fled. For a few moments, the room is silent, except for Jason's quiet sobs.

When Bruce speaks, his voice is tight – but somehow not angry. If it is a game, it is not over, yet.

"I'm very sorry. I didn't mean to scare you. I am not mad at you, I promise." He sighs and holds up an open palm. His voice loses the tension and becomes softer. "Please, sit back down. I promise you're safe."

Only neither of them is feeling safe. Dick is still frozen, staring at Bruce with wide eyes and trembling, and Jason is standing half a step behind him, clutching his hand and sobbing softly.

Bruce sighs again and hunches his shoulders a bit. As if it will make him any less terrifying than he is. As if anything could.

"Please," he repeats, gentling his voice even further. "Jason, please don't cry. I won't hurt you, I swear. I won't touch you. Either of you."

That pretty lie, again. Dick would feel angry, but he is too scared of what might happen if Jason does not stop crying when Bruce has told him to. So he dismisses the anger and turns to his

brother, letting go of his hand to wrap his arms around Jason instead. Jason does not hug back, just fists his hands in Dick's T-shirt – a new dark blue one, from the stack of clothes Alfred has brought them.

"Shh," Dick whispers in the kid's ear. "Don't cry, Jay, please, please, stop crying. I'm right here with you."

Dick is darting little glances in Bruce's direction to gauge the threat, but mercifully, the man is not moving closer, just looking at them and waiting with surprising patience for Jason to calm down. It takes a couple of minutes of Dick's whispered cajoling, but eventually, the kid's sobs die down. Dick releases him and tugs him back towards the couch. Despite Bruce's order, Dick still looks at him for permission before sitting down, and, after a moment, Bruce slowly nods. Dick sinks back onto the couch, and Jason does the same, pressing into his side. Bruce watches them for a moment before slowly stepping forward and resuming his seat in the armchair.

"Again, I apologize," Bruce says, and Dick knows he is a good actor – at least, their Bruce certainly was – but he does look genuinely contrite. "I was not angry at you, I was angry at… the man who did this to you." He takes a deep breath before continuing, and now he looks decidedly uncomfortable. When he speaks again, he is back to his irritatingly even tone. "The rules, then. First of all, there will be no sex. I did not bring you here for that. I just wanted to keep you safe, and I wanted to give you the space to heal."

Bruce pauses, clearly gauging their reaction, and Dick has no idea how to take this promise. Bruce has already made it several times since their arrival, but until now, he has never been this explicit. 'Not hurting' them may take on many meanings, but 'no sex' is pretty straightforward. It should be a relief, but there is no way Dick can actually believe it. Then again, Bruce has only said he did not want them, making no mention of Tim. Perhaps he has not grown bored with his old toy yet. And there is nothing preventing him from changing his mind at any point in the future, whatever his original intentions.

"Is it clear?" Bruce asks, when neither of them says anything or acknowledges his words in any way. They nod in sync, but Dick's mind is still reeling. Before he can come up with any other stupid questions, though, Bruce sighs again and continues.

"I understand you may not believe me straight away. That's fine. We'll work on that. Now… the food. You are always free to take anything from the kitchen or ask Alfred to make you something if you are hungry. Taking food does not count as stealing it, do you understand me?" He stops again, waiting for a response. Dick does not understand anything of the sort, the memory of daring to take food without asking still fresh in his mind even after all these years. Still, he nods again, and so does Jason.

"You are free to go anywhere in the house, you don't need to ask permission. And you most certainly are not to stay in your room all the time. This is not a prison." Funny, Dick thinks with a touch of hysteria, because that is exactly what the Manor feels like, but wisely does not comment. "You can walk anywhere on the grounds, too – though, for now, I'm going to ask you not to leave them. And the last thing… you are of course aware of my… night job. You are allowed in the Cave, but I will ask you not to go there alone."

Another pause, followed by two nods. Really, Dick thinks, the last rule is completely unnecessary. If he could go for the rest of his life without seeing that nightmarish place, he would be ecstatic. Meanwhile, Bruce goes on.

"None of the things in the house are off-limits, either, unless they are in someone's private rooms. You can watch TV, or play games, whatever. We'll get you your own phones and laptops soon, but

for now, you can use the computer in the library, it's there for everyone. What else? Any things you want, or clothes – you can either ask Alfred, and he'll get them for you, or just ask Tim, he'll help you order them online."

"We are allowed in the library?" Dick's blood freezes in his veins, because that's Jason's quiet but painfully hopeful voice. Damn it, he thinks, Jason and his books, he just cannot keep his mouth shut, can he?

"Yes, of course," Bruce replies before Dick can panic. "I just said – you can go wherever you like."

"But may we touch the books?" God, the kid really does not know when to quit, does he. Dick is ready to elbow him to shut him up, but… Bruce still does not look angry. In fact – there is a hint of an actual smile on his face. Not a creepy or cruel one, either, just… fond. Dick stares.

"Of course. Anything you like."

No conditions. No demands. But Dick cannot allow himself to believe there is no price. There is always a price, and nobody is this nice. Especially Bruce. He cannot come up with any other explanation other than an elaborate mind game and spares a moment to indulge in self-pity. Apparently, what he and Jason have endured at the hands of a sadist is not enough, he thinks bitterly. Now they have to put up with this version of Bruce that is even more subtle and refined in his cruelty than theirs. There really is no escape, is there?

Next to him, Jason is obviously too happy to entertain similar thoughts. In fact, the kid is positively starry-eyed when Dick glances at him, and he mutters a quiet but seemingly sincere thank you, earning himself another tiny smile from Bruce. Dick feels sick.

Chapter 6

Chapter Notes

In hurt/comfort fics, I very often tend to skip the angst and go straight to the comfort. Who would have thought I would enjoy writing the angst so much?

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Before the conversation with Bruce, Dick thought he would feel better knowing the new rules, but now that it is over, he feels severely disappointed. Obviously, he is not craving new restrictions and cruelties, but he finds himself longing for something he can understand.

Right now, he understands nothing.

Time passes, but nothing is getting easier. Though their bloodwork from the doctor's visit comes back good, Dick is feeling far from well. It is nothing he can put his finger on, just a growing sense of exhaustion, broken at times by severe anxiety that grips him with its claws and refuses to release him until he finds some sort of outlet or escape. It is rarely a healthy one. Sometimes he cries himself into a stupor, huddled on the floor. At other times, it is enough to hold Jason and listen to his heartbeat until his own slows down. Sometimes he can do neither, just sit hugging his knees and staring at nothing, feeling frozen with the growing dread until the weight of it tips him over into exhaustion again and he falls asleep.

He sleeps a lot and at odd times. Bruce liked always having him available and ready, so being fucked or punished has never been restricted to any particular time of day. However, the worst of it usually happened late at night, after Bruce returned from his Batman business. Fighting, torture and murder always fueled his lust the most – the more gruesome, the better. So Dick's body has learned to dread those pre-dawn hours that have so often been filled with his agonized screams and moans, mingled with Bruce's grunts of pleasure, and the slaps of his skin and, occasionally, torture implements against Dick's own.

In the first weeks after his escape, Dick would wake up every night without fail. Staying in bed made him feel too vulnerable to handle, so he would get up and occupy himself with something – working out, reading, watching TV, talking to someone if anyone was awake - it did not matter as long as it took his mind off the horrible memories. Gradually, it stopped happening so often, and by the end of his beautiful, glorious year of freedom, his pre-dawn nightmares would bother him only rarely.

Now they are back full-force, made even worse by the memories of his recapture and the fear of horrors that lie ahead.

But now no relief or distraction is available, so he forces himself to lie in bed awake for hours, listening to Jason's quiet breathing and trying every technique in the book to calm himself down. This means he is always sleepy during the day and exhausted by the evening. He usually manages to catch a few hours of sleep after they go to bed, but even combined with his frequent naps, they are not enough to keep him alert.

And that is a whole other problem, because he is perfectly aware of his inability to defend Jason in this state, which only serves to fuel his anxiety, frustration, and guilt.

The kid is not making it any easier. At first, he stayed close to Dick, but either he is better at managing his own memories, or just more resilient, so very soon, he starts getting bored and restless. Dick knows he has no right to keep the younger boy trapped in their room which he has willingly made into his own prison, so his attempts to do so are half-hearted at best. He does try to accompany Jason wherever his brother wants to go, and after breakfast they usually take a long walk in the grounds. Tim usually chooses to join them for a brief time before heading back to the house to do whatever Bruce has tasked him with. But fresh air tends to make Dick even sleepier, so by afternoon, he nearly always has to fight to stay awake.

To tell the truth, Dick would welcome the opportunity to escape his reality and slip into dreams. When he sleeps during the day, they are usually pleasant – a sharp contrast to the nightmares that plague him when the sky gets dark. His afternoon dreams are filled with his friends' laughter, the exhilarating sensation of swinging through the air, and his mother's quiet lullabies. Waking up from them is painful, and he craves them like a drug. But asleep, he is completely useless to his brother, so he does his best to stay awake. More often than not, he loses the battle.

As for Jason, now that he has been granted permission to enter the library, he seems intent on devouring every single book in there by Christmas. He does not dare to take the books anywhere else, though, so he spends most of his time in that room. He chooses to ignore the sitting area, too open and visible, and curl up on the floor somewhere out of immediate sight of anyone who enters. Dick usually accompanies him, sometimes snagging a book for himself, too. But most of the time, he is unable to focus on the words and ends up asleep, curled up on the floor near Jason, like a guard dog.

The rest of the household mostly leaves them alone. Sometimes Tim joins them in the library, but never touches any of the books, instead either typing awkwardly on his laptop with one hand, or fiddling with his phone. Once, he brings a camera and sits flipping through the images. But when he offers to show them to Dick and Jason, they decline in unison. Dick recalls all too well the kinds of pictures a camera in Bruce's home is likely to contain, and judging by Jason's shudder, Bruce's hobbies did not change after his escape.

But they hardly ever see the man himself. One day, he joins them for breakfast, and it is the only time Alfred's delicious food tastes like ashes in Dick's mouth. The other time he shows his face is during the movie night Tim has talked them into having, to tell them – well, Tim – that he is going out for the rest of the evening. Aside from that, Bruce keeps out of their way, and never once does he attempt to enter their room.

But a couple of times, woken by his nightmares, Dick hears Bruce's and Tim's voices in the hallway and knows that he is not alone in dreading those pre-dawn hours.

The first time Jason ditches Dick is on the fourth day since their arrival.

Dick's insomnia has finally resulted in a splitting headache, so after their walk and lunch, he asks Jason to return to their room instead of going to the library. The kid looks disappointed, but does not argue, and Dick feels a little better, curled up on a soft bed instead of the floor. The carpet in the library is thick and pleasant to the touch, but it can hardly rival a good mattress and a pillow. Lying still helps alleviate the worst of Dick's pain, and soon, he falls asleep.

When he wakes up a couple of hours later, Jason is gone. Dick groans, sitting up and throwing off his blanket. Jason and his one-track mind, he rages at his brother. Is it really that hard to go a couple of hours without his precious books and not drive Dick to panic again?

He finds Jason hidden in his usual spot at the back of the library, and after a short argument ( "Oh, come on, Dickie, I wanted to let you sleep, but I couldn't just sit looking at the walls!"), Dick goes to grab his own book and sits down next to his brother. Something about Jason seems different, though. Dick squints, watching him. The kid looks slightly shaken, and every now and then, he stops reading and stares down at the page before taking a deep breath and resuming. Eventually, he notices Dick's staring.

"What?" He asks, a touch defensively.

"What happened?" Dick's voice is tense.

"Nothing! Why? Why would you think anything happened?" Jason replies – too quickly, and Dick does not like the flash of panic he thinks he can detect in the kid's eyes.

"Because you look like you've seen a ghost, and I've never seen you distracted from a page with words written on it, but now you keep stopping," he says carefully.

Jason shakes his head and looks down, picking on a nail.

"It's nothing. I just… I had a bad dream last night, that's all. And… it took place in the library, so… Feels a bit weird being in here today. But it'll pass," he adds quickly, looking up at Dick. "I'll be fine, it's just a little hard to concentrate today. I swear that's all."

Dick is not fully convinced, but perhaps the kid is just worried Dick will try to talk him into leaving his beloved library, and that is why he is looking so nervous. He nods slowly.

"Okay. But, Jay, you know that if you have a bad dream, you can always wake me, right?"

His brother nods and puts the book to the side to scoot closer to Dick and lean against him. Dick wraps an arm around him.

"I don't get them that often," Jason mumbles. "Weird, right? Feels like it should happen all the time."

"I'm glad it doesn't," Dick replies quietly.

"Do you get nightmares often?" Jason asks after a pause.

"Sometimes," Dick replies noncommittally. Every night is, in fact, the truth, but he does not want to worry Jason with his dreams, and he is glad he usually manages not to wake the kid. Aside from that night when he woke in a panic to find Jason gone, usually, Dick just starts awake and lies quietly, trying not to let himself spiral into panic. Only once did Jason wake up, and the feeling of him snuggled up in Dick's arms managed to calm him down in record time. It is not fair to interrupt his brother's sleep, though, and Dick never tries to wake him himself.

From then, it starts happening regularly.

Once, Dick wants to go back outside after lunch, and Jason whines and pleads until Dick gives in and agrees to let him stay inside alone. Bruce is not home, or so he thinks, and Tim and Alfred are unlikely to do anything to the kid. Another time Dick falls asleep in their room again – and this time, even manages not to panic before he goes to find Jason. There is also that one time when Tim looks in on them, sees Dick nearly bored to tears, because he just cannot concentrate on reading, and lures Dick away to watch a movie, instead. All of it leads to Dick gradually spending less time in the library, trusting that Jason is safe in there.

So there is nothing to explain the dread he feels when he wakes up alone in their room a few days later. But he cannot shake the feeling and tries not to race as he heads to the library. He does his level best to prevent himself from panicking. After all, he reasons, nobody but Tim has ever bothered them in there, so why should it be any different today?

Because, apparently, the universe just hates him. Well, his home one did, so why should this one be any more merciful?

His eyes find Jason the moment he pushes open the double doors. Instead of his usual spot, his brother is sitting on the couch… and in the armchair right next to him is Bruce.

Dick's heart stops, and his mind goes blank. Jason has a big book open in his lap, something that looks like an atlas or an encyclopedia, or something, and Bruce is leaning towards him. He is smiling again, and God, how could Dick think his smiles are not creepy?

And the worst thing is that Jason is smiling back.

Jason and Bruce look up when he enters, and Bruce's smile disappears when he takes in Dick's white face and wide eyes. He clears his throat and glances at Jason, who has closed and set the book aside and jumped up from the couch.

"Hello, Dick," Bruce says in that same even tone that Dick has already come to hate. "I was taking the opportunity to show Jason some of the books I thought he might enjoy. Are you alright?"

Dick manages a nod.

"Yes… Thank you, Da-… Bruce."

He is so shaken he only remembers to use Bruce's name instead of calling him 'Daddy' at the last moment.

"I think you might want to sit down," Bruce says quietly. "You look like you are about to fall."

He gestures to the couch, and Dick nods again, jerkily, before moving towards Jason. Bruce waits until Dick is out of his way, and then slowly stands up and goes to the door. There, he turns around and gives them an assessing look as they stand together in front of the couch.

"I will ask Alfred to bring you a snack, or something to drink," he says, grasping the door handle. "Would you also like a painkiller, Dick? Jason mentioned you've been having headaches."

When Dick answers in the negative with another soft thank you, Bruce nods and finally walks out of the room. Once the sound of his footsteps dies away, Dick collapses on the couch and feels Jason sit down next to him. He can feel the concern radiating from the kid and turns to look at him, in equal measure terrified and angry.

"What happened, Jay?" He demands. "What did he really want? What did he do?"

"Nothing!" Jason exclaims immediately. "I promise, he didn't do anything to me."

Like hell can Dick believe that.

"Jay, tell the truth," he orders quietly, afraid of the answer.

Jason deflates.

"Okay, look, Dickie, I swear nothing happened. Only… only it's not the first time he's come in here."

Dick's blood freezes. No, no, that cannot be right. And why has Jason not said a word until now?

Oh, he knows the reason, he thinks savagely. Jason has rejected all of Dick's attempts to keep him out of trouble, and now he is probably encouraging Bruce in some misguided attempt to be brave and pull his weight or some other stupid shit like that. Dick buries his face in his hands. He feels so, so tired.

"When did it first happen?" Dick asks, and his voice sounds dead to his own ears.

"Like… a few days ago?" Dick raises his head to look at Jason, whose face is scrunched up as he tries to remember. "Actually… oh, that day when I first came in here alone, when you had a headache."

Everything is making sense now, Jason's obvious anxiety that day and his inability to concentrate.

"Dickie, nothing happened. He scared the shit out of me when he came in that time, but he just asked me a few questions about the books and left. He said he was looking for Tim. Then… when he came in next, we chatted a little…" Dick stares in disbelief. Like something as normal as chatting is possible with Bruce. "He usually just asks me what I'm reading, if I like it and what I think… Sometimes he shares what he thinks… And I've been reading Project Hail Mary, and it's set in space, and he offered to show me some pictures, so… so that's what we've been looking through when you came in." Jason nods towards the big book lying next to him. Dick can see now that it is an atlas of the Solar System.

"He hasn't tried to touch you?" Dick checks again.

"No. No, Dickie, I promise… I'm fine."

And the kid does look fine, surprisingly enough. Dick marvels at him – no matter how mellow Bruce's mood, he does not think he would be able to chat with the man, like they are friends, or something, and look through books with him, or – or do anything else relatively normal with him, really. All he wants to do in Bruce's presence is keep still and quiet, like prey that is hoping the predator will not notice it unless it moves.

But he also marvels at Jason's naïveté. Dick can see what Bruce is doing, and the whole situation with Tim is finally starting to make a lot of sense now. Why scare a kid into submission, he thinks, when you can bribe him with movies and gadgets and smiles and then threaten to take them away? It all fits. Of course Tim would be eager to please, if this is the kind of treatment he gets when he does as he is told. Even the harsh punishment no longer seems strange. It is a great motivation scheme, and the promise of nice things as a reward for good behavior is even sweeter when set against such measures of discipline. And now Bruce is doing the same thing with Jason, only substituting the movies and gadgets for Jason's favorite books.

Honestly, Dick cannot tell which is worse. He and Tim are roughly the same age, and he can see the other boy is less… fractured, less afraid and hopeless. But Dick has always strived to keep some core part of himself hidden and safe from the monster that governed his entire existence. It is what spurred him on, gave him the motivation to escape and the ability to experience actual happiness and joy in the brief months that he was free. He hates the idea of being so broken in and trained that even that small fire is extinguished.

He definitely does not want that to happen to Jason. Please, not Jason, not the kid who talked so passionately about having something bright to live for and defying monsters.

Jason squeaks as Dick almost roughly drags him into a hug and squeezes as hard as he dares.

Dick is slipping, and everything he has promised himself he would do is falling through his fingers. It is time for him to stop hiding in dreams.

Chapter End Notes

Meanwhile, Bruce: oh good, they are settling in, breathing a lot of fresh air and resting! Dickie totally needs his sleep! (Facepalm.)

Chapter 7

Chapter Summary

Dickie has a plan.

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

Dick would say he needs a plan, except a plan implies having a goal, a destination point, and he has none.

He has already written off escape as a possibility, so it is not a matter of not letting Jason be brainwashed until Dick can get him away. What, then, can he hope to achieve?

Dick walks briskly along the path that will bring him to the pond. For once, he is not feeling sleepy, but his nerves will not let him sit still. So he is alone outside, hoping that some exercise will help him shake it off. Shockingly, Jason has broken his routine, too, and is playing Scrabble with Tim in one of the sitting rooms – not the one by Bruce's study, which helps alleviate some of Dick's anxiety at letting his brother out of his sight.

By the pond, Dick comes to an abrupt stop. The day is a windy one, and the surface is rippling. He stares at it for a minute, standing still. He feels strange; his mind is swirling with unformed and unfinished thoughts, but at the same time, it seems completely blank. If not escape, then what, Dick thinks desperately, if not escape, then what? He is so at the end of his rope that he is ready to scream in frustration – and then, in an uncharacteristic display, he does, the long scream ending in a sob.

In the silence that follows, Dick feels pleasantly empty and almost calm. But as expected, the ripples remain unimpressed and silent, so Dick exhales slowly and turns to wander along the pond's edge.

There is, of course, a more… permanent way out, he muses, watching a bird swoop down from one of the trees in the distance. But he cuts off that line of thought immediately. He wants to live, because underneath all that pain and brokenness, he is still a fighter. And as a fighter, he knows that the surest way to lose is to give up before the fight is over.

Which only brings Dick back to the same question: if not escape, then what?

There is only one other option - to stay with Bruce and endure, until… again, what? They both become broken in, mindlessly happy and pathetically grateful for scraps of approval? Until Bruce gets tired of them and, and… what would he do? Kill them? Because of course he will become tired of them at some point, and really, there is no other way to deal with them, because nobody… escapes… Bruce…

Dick stops abruptly. Except somebody has. His own double – and Jason's.

He spins around, suddenly filled with a desperate hope and energy, as if struck by lightning. His mind starts racing. They are both obviously still alive, although he has no way to check if they are

also well. But they are alive and away from the Manor. And even if they come here, it sounds like they are doing so of their own accord and are allowed to leave again.

How did they do it? How can he find out?

Dick is fairly certain Tim will not tell him anything useful, but for now, he is Dick's best bet, so Dick has to try. Asking Bruce is obviously out of the question, and Alfred… Dick wavers, uncertain. No, it is hardly a good idea, he decides. He does not really have a reason to trust Tim – the boy is clearly brainwashed and loyal to Bruce; but trusting Alfred is even more foolish. He has no doubt the butler will report his every word and question to his employer.

Of course, there are two people who could tell him exactly what has happened… but he has no way to talk to them. Yet. But the only thing Tim did say is, he and Jason are going to meet their alternates – though he did not say when.

Well, he thinks with a surge of rare optimism, he does have a plan now, one with a point B and everything – and even a point C. Point B: find a way to talk to his and Jason's alternates and get them to tell him how they escaped. Point C: repeat after them. Or, he guesses, not repeat, exactly, since he doubts Bruce will allow himself to be fooled by the same tactics. But that is alright; once he knows the details, he can figure out how to adapt their alternates' plans.

Now all he has to do is keep Jason from falling for Bruce's lies this long. Oh, and figure out how to contact the other Dick and Jason.

Definitely a plan.

With a spring in his step, Dick starts for the house.

"But, Dickie, he's not done anything," Jason repeats for the third time, bewildered and upset.

After collecting a grumbling Jason, who has of course lost every round of Scrabble to a teenager five years his senior and regularly attending school, Dick takes his brother up to their room and tries to talk some sense into him. Half an hour later, he is ready to tear his own hair out and scream in frustration.

"Of course he has not done anything, Jay. Yet," he says again, through gritted teeth. "Must I go through it for the fourth time? Don't you get it yet? He's just trying to make you let down your guard!"

"I'm not letting down my guard!" Jason shoots back. "D'you think I somehow, like, forgot what I've been through?"

And Dick should really control himself better, but he is getting angry and desperate. His initial assumption that Jason knows what he is doing, tricking Bruce and intentionally drawing the attention away from Dick, has been destroyed and replaced by an even uglier truth – that Jason is actually already falling for Bruce's lies. And it only took a few short days.

"Well it sure seems that way, if you are happy flipping through picture books with him and being all smiley and cute!"

"How can you fucking say that!" Now Jason is yelling. "How do you fucking dare! You weren't even there! You keep hiding in this fucking room and you have no idea what happened!"

Well, that hurts.

Dick barks out an angry laugh.

"Oh, so I've been hiding, have I? I've only ever wanted to protect you! And if you can't see he's a wolf in sheep's clothing, then it's my damn job to make you!"

Jason is shaking his head violently, but Dick cannot stop. Not yet.

"You may not believe me, but you'll remember this the next time he pretends to be all nice and sweet to you," he bites out harshly. "One moment he'll be showing you pictures, and the next you'll be lying on that carpet face down and paying the price. There is always a price, Jay, damn it!"

"Stop!" Jason's voice is so shrill and desperate, that Dick actually does. "No, no, no, no, he's not like that! He's different!" Tears begin to spill from Jason's eyes, and he wipes them away angrily. "He… he's… He's not doing anything! He…" His voice breaks on a sob. "He likes me!"

Dick's heart breaks as Jason dissolves into helpless tears. What a perfect choice, Bruce, Dick thinks bitterly. A young kid who is so desperate for affection and approval, a kid who had to fend for himself on the streets without anyone's protection – of course he would be the perfect candidate for being brainwashed and trained to be an obedient toy. Jason is obviously feeling so lost it takes next to nothing to make him pliable and willing to believe a pretty lie – a smile, a book, a few pleasant conversations, the promise of protection… the hope of being not even loved but simply liked.

No, Dick gets it. He knows Jason went from having a loving mother to being completely alone and terrified and then to being kidnapped and abused by a maniac. Abused – but also fed, clothed… somewhat, at least, and kept warm by the roof over his head. It should come as no surprise a ten- year-old should struggle with reconciling good riddance with how am I going to survive now. And now that he gets to keep the shelter, food, and clothes, and even gets books, without the immediate threat of violence, well… Dick can see how even the barest scraps of fake affection can make his brother want to trust that Bruce is telling the truth. How Jason can believe he is finally getting something he must have longed for – the protection his abuser used to provide, but without the abuse. The good without the bad.

Dick knows better. For one thing, he is simply older and has been through a lot more - including the terrible things he was made to do as Batman's accomplice. But aside from that, he knows for sure he can survive without Bruce – both because he has never been completely cut off from the outside world and because he has done it for a whole year. Bruce has always held and continues to hold immense power over him, but he has never been Dick's whole world.

Dick hates to destroy Jason's illusions, but he has no choice. He steps closer to the kid, making Jason tip his head back a little to keep looking Dick in the face, and puts his hands on the boy's shoulders.

"He does not like you, Jay," he says gently, sadly. "He is only pretending so you can be a convenient toy." Jason's face is wet with tears. Hating himself for being the cause of it, Dick presses on, because he has to make Jason see. "You said Tim was pathetic. Don't you see that if you fall for it, you'll end up just like him? Being Bruce's plaything and jumping through hoops to make him happy, because you'll want to?"

Jason is looking at him silently with huge eyes that are leaking tears.

"Jay," Dick pleads, voice breaking, "please, please believe me. I know it feels like he cares, oh God, it was the same for me when I first met him, before I got to the Manor, but it's all fake, Jay!"

Jason is shaking his head again. His hands rise to cover his ears, as if to block out Dick's words, and he continues to cry. But as Dick finishes, Jason drops his hands, balls them into his small fists and begins to hit Dick's arms, screaming, "You're fake! It's not true! He won't do that, he won't, I won't let him! You're just ruining everything!"

And twisting out of Dick's hold, Jason spins around and runs out of the room, slamming the door behind him and ripping Dick's heart in two.

Chapter End Notes

If Jay's reaction seems irrational, well, do remember we're dealing with a child here, one who desperately wants to believe he's finally safe despite his horrible experience.

Chapter 8

Chapter Notes

Now that we know what Dickie is thinking, let's switch to Jay for a bit.

Jason runs blindly through the Manor, sobbing and gasping and completely oblivious to where he is going. Away from Dick is all that he wants to be, and he does not care in which direction his feet are taking him.

Down the hall, turn, along another corridor, turn again, down the stairs…

How can Dick say all those horrid things to him? Why would he say Jason is just a toy? Why won't he believe Jason has a brain, too, why won't he listen?..

Through a set of double doors, across a hall, up the stairs, down yet another corridor…

Jason slams the door of a random room behind him and slides to the floor, leaning to the side and resting his forehead against the wall.

His sobs have mostly died down by now, though some new tears are still making their way down his cheeks. He sits there, hiccupping quietly from time to time, until eventually, even these sounds disappear, and Jason can hear nothing but the distant chirping of the birds outside. His mind is completely blank, and the only thing he is aware of is the mixture of acute misery and hurt in his chest.

It takes a while for any thoughts to form. When they do, the very first and the loudest one is, why? Why can't he have anything good in this life, why can't he ever be safe? Why can't he even get a brother who cares about him instead of thinking him dumb and calling him pathetic and accusing him of wanting to be a toy, and, and…

More tears slide down Jason's cheeks, but he wipes them away angrily. He is so tired of crying. It might seem unlikely, but he thinks he actually cried less when he was the other Bruce's prisoner. Back there, there was really no use crying. The only person who could see his tears was Bruce himself, and in most cases, that was a fast track to earning himself a punishment for being ungrateful or unwilling or whatever else the man could think of accusing him of being.

Now, Jason can count the days he has gone without crying on the fingers of one hand. Perhaps it is the comfort of having another person who will hug him instead of yelling. Or maybe it is that the threat of punishment for tears has lifted, so he feels free to let go.

Whatever it is, it is making Jason feel pathetic indeed. He is stronger than this, he thinks indignantly. And if Dick thinks Jason is just a stupid, naïve child who needs to be told what to think and feel…

Jason hits the wall with his fist. Too hard – he winces as pain reverberates through his hand. But it is also kind of grounding, and he actually feels himself calming down a little. Shaking his hand, he takes a deep breath and lifts his head – and stills. Because he knows this room. Well, not this one, of course, but the one identical to it, left behind in another universe. Most of the bedrooms in the

Manor are, of course, more or less the same, but he has spent too much time staring at these walls and looking through the bars of these windows to be mistaken. He knows this view, and he knows every inch of this room. His room.

Pushing himself up, Jason walks across the room to look outside. He is right, of course – he is in the West wing of the house, and he can see the long driveway and, in the distance, the main gate. The windows here are not barred, though, and it feels strange to see this view without the grid that has become so familiar.

Jason cannot count the number of times he has fantasized about sprinting down this driveway and leaping over the heavily reinforced gate, soaring above it like a superhero and landing, free, on the other side. Leaping, because nobody could possibly scale that fence, with its height and barbed wire along the top and God knows what technology guarding it from delusional trespassers undeterred by the obvious security measures.

Jason squints. He cannot make out the details of the main gate very well from here, but he can still see that it is nothing like the one in his home world. It is closed, of course, but the gate and the fence extending on either side of it do not look like they are enclosing a prison. Most likely, there is some kind of tech preventing unauthorized entry here, too, Jason muses, but the fence itself looks normal enough that he can actually imagine someone climbing it. But looking at the driveway now, Jason is surprised to realize that he feels no desire to be the one to do it.

A little less agitated now, he thinks about Dick again. How dare he, he scowls again, but with barely any fire. Huffing, Jason turns away from the window and goes to sit in an armchair in the corner – the double of the one in which he has spent so many hours trying to lose himself in shitty novels and pretend he is not going to be dragged out of this room all too soon and hurt, over and over again.

He does not know why Bruce has always left him alone in this room and what drove him to show this tiny bit of mercy. But the fact remains that Bruce has never once fucked or punished him in here, so the room has become a sanctuary in Jason's mind. Perhaps it is not that strange that his feet have brought him here without his intention when he was feeling threatened and upset, he muses.

It is not a heartening thought. Maybe Dick is right, he thinks with a sinking heart. Maybe he is just a dumb kid who is happy to remain a prisoner as long as he is not being too badly hurt.

Jason gets up and walks slowly around the room. He does not think he is that dumb, but then, he will be the first to admit he cannot always boast good judgement. Not after that horrible idea to steal Batman's tires, which is what got him into this mess in the first place.

Still. Bruce seems genuine when he tells them he won't hurt them. It has been over a week, and he has not attempted to harm them in any way, and why would he wait? And there is never anything creepy or gross in Bruce's expression when he talks to Jason in the library.

Jason allows himself to dwell on the memories of their conversations for a few moments. As he admitted to Dick, he was terrified the first time Bruce walked in on him curled up with his book. In that moment, Jason was fully convinced Bruce had intentionally waited until he was alone and came to collect Jason's debt for being allowed to use the library. But nothing of the sort happened, and when Bruce kept coming and being nice and not hurting him, Jason found himself gradually relaxing. And he does enjoy their conversations and Bruce's recommendations and explanations about some of the things he comes across and does not understand. It is like…

It is almost like having a parent again. Someone who cares enough to spend time with him and ask

him what he thinks of various things. Someone who looks at him with a soft smile and waits patiently when he gets lost trying to express a thought. Someone who wants to educate him and shows him pictures of the Solar System and explains to him how stuff works.

Jason sighs wistfully. It is a nice fantasy, and he can tell that this Bruce is different from the one in his home universe. But, he thinks morosely, he cannot be that different, not when he is a criminal and a murderer, too. Jason may have stolen more than once in his short life, but he has too much of a moral compass not to care that his caregiver kills and tortures other people, even if Jason is provided with all he could want.

And then there is the matter of Tim, whom Bruce has very obviously hurt. And Jason is reluctant to admit this, but Dick's explanation about the brainwashing is the only one that makes sense, because nobody in their right mind would be this cheerful in the presence of someone who hurts them so badly.

Jason sighs again, this time in frustration, and stops his pacing. He cannot make any sense of the whole situation, and between his muddled thoughts and all that crying, he is starting to get a headache.

Lying on the bed he also knows all too well, Jason curls up and stares at nothing.

It is Tim who finds him a couple of hours later. The light outside has begun to dim a little, and Jason realizes with a start that he must have missed dinner. And while nobody has warned Dick and Jason about any punishments should they miss meals, it is obvious that they are supposed to be present, because either Tim or Alfred will always come and get them when it is time to eat.

A soft knock is all the warning Jason gets before the door slowly opens, and Tim pokes his head in. The tense expression on his face turns into relief when he sees Jason sitting up on the bed.

"Hey," Tim says in a hushed voice. "There you are! I've been looking for you all over. Are you ok?"

Jason nods slowly, getting off the bed and standing stiffly.

"How did you find me?" He asks. After so much crying, his voice is hoarse and weak.

"The security footage," Tim shrugs, and Jason berates himself for not thinking about it. Of course there would be surveillance in this place, and now they have seen him running around like a crazy person, and God, what if they think…

"I wasn't running away," he says defensively. Tim eyes him carefully.

"I didn't think you were," he says, but he doesn't sound convincing. "Well, at least not when I saw you running upstairs." His lips curve into a small smile that does nothing to help Jason relax.

"Is Bruce mad?" Jason asks, dreading the answer. Okay, he might have fantasized about running away, but he does not need Dick's example to know an escape attempt is a surefire way to earn himself at least a beating. And he really does not want to be punished, especially when he was not even trying to escape in the first place.

"Bruce?" Tim asks, furrowing his brows a little. "Why would he be?" Jason remains silent, not wanting to admit to any crimes. After a moment, Tim shrugs and continues. "I didn't tell him anything. I came to your room to get you for dinner, and Dick tried to tell me you were asleep and weren't hungry, but it was obvious he was lying. So when he admitted you had run off, I went to check the security footage, and it took me only a few minutes to narrow your location down to this wing and this floor. After that, finding you was easy."

Jason blinks. This is more than he could have expected of Bruce's loyal plaything. There is still the possibility that Tim is lying, of course, but… somehow, Jason believes that that is not the case.

"Thank you," he says quietly and means it.

Dick holds him tightly when they curl up in bed that night.

Dick's face was dry when Tim and Jason appeared on the threshold of their room, but it was obvious that he had been going crazy with worry after their fight.

"We'll talk later," Dick whispered into Jason's ear as he hugged him briefly. Jason nodded minutely into his brother's shoulder. Tim may have helped him, but it was still a bad idea to talk in front of him.

And now, after Dick's numerous apologies and promises of protection, Jason lies awake and wonders which of them is right.

He knows what needs to be done. And he also knows Dick will not do it, not with how convinced he is that he is right. And… not with how obviously terrified he is of Bruce.

Jason is strong. And brothers protect each other, he thinks with a surge of emotion. So he will be the one to get Bruce to admit the truth. Whatever it costs him.

With that thought, Jason finally sleeps.

Chapter 9

Eager to begin implementing his plan, Jason is frustrated to run into a problem as soon as the new day begins.

What he is determined to do is talk to Bruce alone. And since Jason does that most days, anyway, when Bruce visits him in the library, he does not think the logistics, at least, should be a problem. The only difference is going to be the topic, Jason thinks with a clench of nerves. Talking to the man about something light and fun like books is one thing, but getting him to admit the truth about his intentions feels daunting, to say the least. Dick may accuse Jason of becoming too relaxed around Bruce all he wants, but he could not be more wrong. Any unpredictable movement from the man makes Jason flinch, and any time Bruce raises his voice above his usual even tone, even if the emotion in it is positive, Jason wants to cringe. But he is determined.

Jason awaits the afternoon with a mixture of excitement and dread. His hopes are dashed, however, when Dick announces he is going to join him in the library. Jason is disappointed after working himself up so much, but, in any case, Bruce does not show up, and Jason tries to quell his disappointment by telling himself he will just try again tomorrow. He does not admit even to himself that the disappointment is mixed with a heavy dose of relief.

That night Jason does not sleep well, because now that he has made up his mind about what he needs to do, the delay is making him worry even more. But the next day is the same. Jason feels his anxiety build all throughout breakfast, the usual morning walk, and lunch, and he cannot wait to escape to the library. And when Dick joins him again, the disappointment and frustration are even stronger. The relief, on the other hand, is a lot weaker, because Jason really wants to get this over with.

It is only halfway through the third day that Jason realizes Dick is doing it on purpose.

He will not leave Jason alone even for a minute. Jason used to enjoy the older boy's presence; he has been alone for so long that he cherishes every sign and every proof that now he has an ally, a friend… a brother. In fact, for the first few days, he clung to Dick, terrified that if he let go, the boy who has so quickly become his only family would disappear, as if he was never there and only a figment of Jason's imagination. But gradually and against all odds, Jason allowed himself to relax and think of other things.

And it is not that Dick's presence is irritating him now, per se, but it has become a major impediment to what Jason views as a very important mission. Dick watches him like a hawk, accompanying him on every walk outside and every visit to the library or any other part of the house. By the end of the third day, the attention is really beginning to chafe.

Further fueling Jason's frustration is the fact that, plan or no plan, he does enjoy his afternoon conversations with Bruce, but with Dick present, they are simply not possible. Bruce does try to join the boys one day, but Dick sits next to Jason as still and pale as a statue, and Jason simply cannot concentrate on any topic, sensing the tension and fear radiating from his brother. Bruce obviously sees it, too, and after only a few minutes of stilted conversation, he excuses himself and leaves. The only other time he stops by, he does not stay even this long, walking away almost as soon as he sees Dick sitting beside Jason. He does not try again.

Jason's next idea is to slip away while Dick is taking a nap. It should give him ample opportunity to find Bruce and talk to him. But his brother's frequent naps suddenly cease, and Jason can tell it is not because Dick is feeling well-rested. Soon, Dick starts looking haggard, and there are huge

black bags under his eyes. Jason knows he is not the only one who notices, when Alfred worriedly asks Dick if there is anything he can do to help Dick sleep better.

Unlike Bruce, Tim does not avoid them, of course. But remembering Dick's warning, Jason only wants to talk to him as a last resort. Besides, he does not want to have this conversation in front of his brother anyway.

This leaves Jason with only one last option.

Tim keeps them up relatively late with some new board game he just has to try out, but the evening can hardly be called a success. Dick, exhausted, starts nodding off around ten, and Jason is too anxious to concentrate on the rather complicated rules.

A couple of hours later, Dick is out like a light the moment his head touches the pillow, so Jason is reasonably certain his brother will not wake to stop or follow him. Jittery with nerves, he waits until he can hear Dick's even breathing. Then, he steals out of bed, creeps towards the door and, with a final glance to check Dick has not woken, slips out of the room.

The house does not look at all the same this late, and even though it is not the first time Jason has sneaked out after dark, this time feels different.

Jason tries to tell himself that there is really no difference between talking to Bruce during the day or at night, but he does not believe his own reassurances. Something about the darkness and the shadows that he can swear are moving fills him with dread, and, for a moment, he stands in the hall, uncertain if he can handle a conversation with Bruce. Not with so many memories of what happened at night at the other Manor pressing close. And at the thought of Bruce suddenly appearing from these shadows, dark and broad and looming, Jason can barely keep himself from slinking back to the room.

In fact, he has already taken the first step backwards when he manages to stop himself.

Jason really has no choice. There are only two ways things can go if he does not do this. If he is right, then his brother will continue needlessly living in terror. And if Dick is right… then Jason will have proved himself the stupid kid Dick suspects he is. Neither scenario appeals to Jason, so he forces himself to move forwards.

The short walk down the hall to the master bedroom is a blessing, because it does not give Jason time to chicken out. He does not pause in front of the door. Instead, he does the equivalent of what he did when the other Bruce only allowed him to shower with cold water and rushes straight in.

Despite Jason's resolve, his hands feel clammy, and his heart is hammering in his chest. It is only once he is inside the room that Jason wishes he never did this, never came and offered himself on a silver platter. He only wants to talk, but suddenly, he realizes there is only one way Bruce is going to take his nighttime visit, and a conversation is going to be the last thing on his mind.

But while Jason is panicking by the entrance, his eyes adjust to the darkness, and in the dim light streaming in from the hall he can tell that there is no lump on the bed. There is no light in the en- suite, either.

All that anxiety turns out to be for nothing. The room is empty.

Although he was terrified just a few moments ago, all Jason can feel now is immense frustration. It is like the universe is conspiring against him; first Dick not leaving him alone, now this. And it is after midnight, so where the hell can Bruce be if not in his bed?

A moment later, it hits him, and Jason actually smacks himself on the forehead as he realizes his stupidity. Of course Bruce is out. Back in their home universe, their Bruce liked to keep up the image of a playboy, and his parties and other… engagements often kept him out late. What if this Bruce does the same thing? But even if that is not the case, there is another explanation, and Jason knows for sure that it is probable. Because he knows for sure that this Bruce is Batman, too.

Well, whatever the explanation, he will be coming home, though Jason of course has no idea how long that is going to take. He wavers, wondering what to do. Going back to his and Dick's room is out of the question. Jason does not think he can muster the courage to try this again. But staying here in the master bedroom without anything to do fills him with anxiety so acute he cannot keep still. And the prospect of waiting in here for what may be hours is so nerve-racking that Jason only contemplates it for a brief second. He needs to keep himself under control for this conversation.

That leaves some kind of common area. The kitchen? But that is Alfred's domain, and although he is probably asleep, Jason does not want to risk it. The library, he rules out immediately. There is absolutely no reason for Bruce to go in there late at night, so waiting there can only be a surefire way to miss him. The sitting room where he played Scrabble with Tim is a bad choice for the same reason. But… the one where he and Dick had that first conversation with Bruce could work. It is not a private room, so he cannot be accused of snooping around, and it is right opposite Bruce's study, where, as Jason knows, the entrance to the Cave is located. Overall, it is a good choice; if Bruce is out as Batman, Jason will definitely not miss him. And if he is out partying, Jason will most likely hear the front door. He nods to himself, turns around and slips out of the master bedroom.

The sitting room is dark; turning on the main lights feels too bold somehow, so Jason settles for the floor lamp in the corner. He tries sitting on the sofa, but he is still jittery, because the change of location does not turn the night into day, and the light of the floor lamp is not enough to dispel the shadows. He jumps up and starts pacing, but after ten laps around the room, his anxiety lessens only slightly. And despite it, Jason is actually starting to feel exhausted.

Suddenly feeling his legs are about to give out, Jason returns to the sofa. By now, he is shivering from nerves and exhaustion, and he cannot resist curling into a ball on his side.

The sofa is soft and comfortable, and after a few minutes, Jason finds he can barely keep his eyes open. That is okay, he thinks. It does not matter what he does until Bruce arrives, so surely it cannot hurt to rest his eyes for a while. Nestling between the back and the arm of the sofa, Jason does just that.

And waits.

And waits…

Jason is woken by the sound of voices coming from across the hall.

Sitting up with a jerk, he realizes he must have fallen asleep and nearly missed Bruce's return. He gets up from the sofa carefully, trying to make out what the voices are saying before deciding whether to reveal himself or wait.

The first voice, deep and rumbling, obviously belongs to Bruce. But the other one…

Jason's eyes widen when he realizes Bruce is talking to Tim – who should be asleep in his own room. Why would he be here, at this time?

Jason furrows his brows. Disoriented after his nap, he cannot make out what exactly they are talking about, but he catches a few words – 'case', 'shipment', 'weapons'… It must be Batman business, he decides, but he does not understand why Tim would be involved. Unless…

He knows that, although the other Batman has been operating alone for the past year, he used to have an accomplice, a teenager dressed in black, orange, and gray. Robin, he recalls, and feels stupid for realizing only now that it must have been Dick. Is that what Tim is, in this universe? It is probably true, since this world's Dick and Jason are no longer living with Bruce. Well, the actual name does not really matter – perhaps Tim is called something else. Being Batman's accomplice, though…

Jason remembers all too well what people in his world used to say about Robin. In that universe, Batman is a monster straight from a nightmare, violent and merciless. But he is the kind of monster you really cannot miss; the kind that likes to be noticed, the kind that likes the game of cat and mouse while his victim still hopes to be saved. He likes to be loud; explosions, flashy weapons, and theatrical moves are his modus operandi. Robin, on the other hand…

Robin was the kind of monster that gave no warning, the kind that seemed to appear out of thin air and wasted no time on theatrics. He just acted, and then he was gone as soon as he had accomplished his objective, as quick and light as a bird. Batman reveled in violence; Robin was grim and ominous, and the contrast only made the pair more terrifying.

Is that what Tim is?..

Jason can hardly believe it, recalling how the other boy talked cheerfully about school and got excited about new games and his favorite movies. But… 'I help Bruce', Jason recalls Tim saying, back on their first day here. So there is really little room for doubt. Was the cheerful and helpful demeanor just an act, then?

Jason does not know what sound he makes, but he does register when the voices suddenly stop.

"Who's there?"

That is Bruce's voice. It is not a growl, but it is not gentle, either, and it sends a bolt of panic through Jason. Without thinking, he leaps over the sofa and hides behind it.

There is the sound of footsteps as Bruce and Tim enter the room. Curling into a ball and shutting his eyes, Jason curses himself. Not that he has found out any terrible secret; he already knows Bruce is Batman, and Tim being Robin can hardly count as a bigger deal. But the shock of the realization, combined with Jason's previous anxiety and the memory of the other Bruce's appetite for more pain after going out as Batman… all of it together is enough to make Jason lose his mind.

The footsteps come closer, and Jason shudders as a big shadow blocks out the light of the floor lamp. Squeezing his eyes tighter, he waits for a hand to land on his shoulder and drag him out.

"Jay?"

Against all odds, Bruce's voice sounds gentle now. Surprised, too, and when Jason hears none of the cruelty and glee he was expecting, he dares to crack one eye open.

Bruce is no longer standing over him. Instead, he is crouching next to Jason, looking at him with concern. Behind him, Tim is hovering, looking uncertain and worried. Jason stares at them, frozen, but neither of them seems poised for attack, at least, for the moment. He uncurls slightly.

"Jay?" Bruce repeats softly. "What are you doing here?"

Jason would take the question as an accusation for being out of bed at such a late hour, but even in his agitated state he cannot misinterpret Bruce's tone. A genuine question, then.

Jason sits up fully and takes a deep breath. He is still exhausted even after his nap. On top of that, he feels scared and strangely disoriented. His thoughts are swirling. So much for keeping himself under control.

"Jay?" Bruce prompts again, still soft and quiet.

"I…" Jason's tongue feels heavy in his mouth, and he struggles to make his vocal cords work. "I wanted to talk…"

His voice trails off.

"You wanted to talk…" Bruce prods again, when Jason does not say anything else. "You wanted to talk to me?"

There is something guarded in Bruce's expression now, and Jason does not like it. Still, he cannot back out now, so he nods.

"Okay," Bruce says carefully. "What did you want to talk about?"

Jason's eyes flick up to Tim and then back to Bruce. He does not want to annoy Bruce with his pauses and garbled responses, but also, he really does not want to have this conversation in front of Robin… or whatever Tim is calling himself.

Bruce notices, of course.

"Tim," he says without turning. "Why don't you go to bed. You've been very helpful tonight, and I'm sure you're tired."

Behind Bruce's back, Tim pulls a face, obviously recognizing the dismissal for what it is and not particularly happy to comply. Still, he makes no objection – not that Jason expected him to – and leaves the room quietly.

Bruce remains crouching next to Jason, making no move to stand, and Jason is pathetically grateful. He is not sure he could handle Bruce looming over him right now.

"Jay?" Bruce says quietly for the third time, and Jason knows he should pull himself together and do what he came here to do. Gentle tone or no, Bruce's patience must be wearing thin by now.

Pushing himself up, Jason slowly stands. Worrying his hands, he tries to organize his thoughts.

"I… I came to ask…"

And then he stops, realizing he is probably the biggest idiot who has ever walked the Earth. He had several days to prepare for this conversation, but now that he is standing in front of Bruce, he has no idea how to word his questions, because he never thought to rehearse them, too focused on getting Bruce alone.

The panic that is steadily rising inside of him must show in his eyes, because Bruce shifts back a little and says, even softer, "Take your time, Jay. Is something worrying you?"

Well… something is worrying him, so Jason nods jerkily.

"Okay," Bruce says. "What is it? Is there anything I can do to help?"

Jason gives up on trying to sound coherent. It is obviously not happening tonight.

"You… You are Batman."

Bruce furrows his brows a little, and Jason would be worried by this sign of displeasure, except he is busy internally smacking himself for sounding like a complete idiot. That was not even a question.

"Yes," Bruce replies, sounding a little confused. "But you already know that." He pauses. "Is there something you wanted to ask about what I do as Batman?"

Jason nods, thankful for the leading questions.

"Just… Do you have to do it?"

Jason's voice is small and uncertain, and he knows he worded that question poorly. But what he really wants right now, tired and anxious, is to know whether there is a chance his new… guardian can be someone… good. Or, at least, not a villain.

Bruce's frown becomes more pronounced, but Jason forces himself to stay still, balling his hands into fists. Bruce looks at him carefully for a few moments, as though trying to analyze the question.

"I do," he says eventually. "I know it is… unusual, but the city needs it. And, to be honest… I need it, too."

Jason really should not be surprised. But the way Bruce phrased it, that he needs it… Jason looks down and blinks quickly not to let his sudden tears escape.

Okay. It is okay. He wished it was not true, but after all, he expected it. On to the next topic, then. Jason looks up.

"Is Tim… Robin?" He checks. He is not sure Bruce will recognize the name, not if Batman's accomplice is called something else here. But apparently, it is Robin, because Bruce nods slowly.

"Yes," he replies. "Tim helps me. He is very good at what he does, and I value his help immensely."

Jason nods, closing his eyes. So Bruce is training the teenager, and apparently, Tim is an apt pupil. Jason's last hope that he was mistaken about Tim flickers and dies.

"So… those injuries?.. Did you… Did he?.." Jason knows he is not making much sense at this point, but Bruce seems to understand nonetheless.

"He got injured when he went out without me," he responds, and his voice loses some of the tension. "He wasn't supposed to. He thought he was just doing some reconnaissance, but things got out of hand, and…" Bruce grimaces before continuing. "I assure you I did not cause them. I have never raised a hand to him."

The last bit surprises Jason a little, but there are other ways to discipline a pupil, he supposes. And breaking an apprentice's bones seems really counterproductive if it means he is going to be stuck at home, recovering, for weeks. No, Bruce must be telling the truth.

But there is still one last question, and Jason dreads to ask, because if Dick is right, he does not know what he will do. But he has come this far, and he has to know.

"Are you fucking him?" He all but whispers, somehow managing to make himself look Bruce in the eye.

To his surprise, Bruce jerks back, as if he has been shot. He almost overbalances, but catches himself with one arm against the sofa, and climbs to his feet, stumbling backwards.

"What?" Bruce's voice is a growl, and in the face of that anger, Jason forgets all about his hopes and theories. He backs away, shaking his head, eyes wide and scared. He should not have asked, he thinks desperately, he should not have, and now he has ruined everything. A moment ago, he was ready to face the reality, whatever it may be, but now he realizes he would have preferred to hold on to a dream. But he has done it now, and now Bruce will definitely drop his nice act and, and…

Jason's breath hitches, and he casts a wild look around the room, trying to find an escape route. But there is a wall behind him, and Bruce is blocking the only exit from behind the damn sofa, and in just a moment, he will step closer and ball his hands into those huge fists, and…

But while Jason is working himself into a panic, it is as if someone has flipped a switch, and Bruce's anger disappears, replaced by a look of concern and guilt.

"No, Jay, no, no, kiddo, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to scare you, you just surprised me a lot," he says in a low, gentle voice so different from the growling that Jason would have trouble believing it is the same person speaking if that person was not standing right in front of him. Bruce looks down at him for a few moments before crouching again, putting himself lower and obviously trying to convey that he is not a threat. "Jay, please, breathe. You're safe. I won't touch you. I'm going to stay right here, I'm not coming any closer."

He does exactly that, and after a few moments during which Bruce does nothing but stay still, Jason manages to calm down a little. Eventually, he gives a small nod.

"Your question, Jay…" Bruce sounds hesitant and maybe even a little desperate. "Why would you think that?"

Jason does not think that 'because you have to fuck someone' is a good enough response, so he just shakes his head, adrenaline still coursing through his veins.

"Just… Are you?"

"Of course not," Bruce says in such a firm tone Jason cannot help but believe him. "Tim is like a son to me. He is. Is my son. And I would never hurt him. Not in any way... and never, ever like that."

This time, the tears that Jason feels rising are tears of relief. Alright, so maybe Dick was right about some stuff, but Jason is not as dumb as he thought, either.

"I think you'd better get to bed, Jay," Bruce says, again in that soft, gentle voice. "It is very late, and you look like you are about to fall asleep right here."

Jason nods, still trying not to cry and hold himself together long enough to get back to his room. Bruce carefully rises from his crouch, telegraphing every movement, and steps back until he is no longer blocking the exit and Jason has a clear path to the door.

"Goodnight, lad," Bruce murmurs as Jason slowly makes his way out of the room.

"Goodnight, Bruce," he whispers before fleeing.

The emotional rollercoaster has left Jason shaking from exhaustion and residual nerves, and he navigates the halls almost on autopilot. He feels profound relief when he finally reaches his and Dick's room and wants nothing more than to fall into bed.

But as he shuts the door, trying to be as quiet as possible, a light flickers on behind him, and a quiet, but furious voice demands, "Where have you been?"

Chapter 10

Jason whirls around, but the rapid movement combined with the new surge of adrenaline makes his head swim, and he has to lean back against the closed door.

When his vision clears, he sees Dick standing by the window, pale-faced, and although Dick's expression is carefully blank, Jason can tell his brother is livid. Having just about reached his capacity for difficult conversations for one night, though, Jason stares mutely at him, and the only thought he is capable of forming is, 'Shit'.

The silence stretches, and Dick clenches his jaw and purses his lips before breathing out noisily through his nose. The hissing sound and the way his upper lip curls upwards as he does that make him look like a little angry dragon, Jason thinks, fighting back a hysterical giggle.

"I'll ask again," Dick says in a quiet, menacing voice completely unlike his usual warm tone when addressing Jason. "Where. Have. You. Been."

The harsh tone sends a cold shiver down Jason's spine. He wonders if he somehow missed stepping through the looking glass earlier tonight, what with Bruce being so soft and nice, and Dick suddenly being so cold and… well, scary. Jason tries to reign in the hysteria that is building inside because of all his stress and exhaustion. He really doubts Dick is going to appreciate him suddenly bursting out laughing.

"I, um," he tries to come up with some plausible excuse that will not make his brother even angrier, but comes up blank. So he tries to redirect. "What, uh, what are you doing up?"

Dick's eyes remain cold and hard.

"I had a nightmare, if you must know. I dreamt my little brother made a stupid decision that got him beaten up and raped."

Despite the exhaustion and the fear, Jason feels himself getting angry, too, because is he seriously supposed to believe that?

"Bullshit," he bites out, drawing strength from the anger. "Like you'd have a nightmare – and about me, too! - precisely on the night I went…"

Jason stops himself just in time, because he is so not ready to talk about tonight's events just now. But he cannot hold on to the anger, and he can feel himself starting to shiver again. Why, why did Dick have to wake tonight, of all nights?

"I have nightmares every night," Dick informs him in a matter-of-fact tone with no inflection. "Nothing special about tonight, except that when I wanted to calm myself with the sight of my little brother, he was not there."

Jason stares at Dick, horrified. 'Sometimes', Dick said when Jason asked if he ever had nightmares. Was he lying, then? And how come Jason only woke once in all this time?

Dick's manner is seriously starting to creep him out, too. Okay, he knows Dick is protective of him, and he has deduced that Dick does not want to let him out of his sight, so some irritation is understandable. This cold fury, however, feels completely unwarranted…

His stomach twisting, Jason suddenly remembers just who is standing in front of him and what this

person is capable of.

He does not know what expression comes over his face, only that Dick's icy façade cracks, and he is suddenly looking at Jason with concern and surprise.

"Jay?" Dick's tone is no longer cold, either; he sounds unsure.

Jason's shivers intensify to the point that his entire body is shaking. Even his teeth are chattering.

"Jay!" Concern morphing into alarm, Dick starts towards him, and this one last thing is finally too much for Jason tonight. He is leaning against the door, so he has nowhere to go. Still, he tries to slide along it, away from Dick. Obviously, he has little success; at this, his tenuous self-control finally slips, and he begins sobbing, the sounds loud and ugly.

"Jason!" Dick sounds desperate now, but in his state, Jason understands nothing but the fact that someone pissed at him – someone who happens to be Robin – is moving towards him, and he is trapped and helpless. Crumbling to the floor, Jason buries his face against his raised knees and covers his head with his arms in a vain attempt to hide.

He is aware of Dick saying something, and the tone sounds pleading, but he is too far gone to care. Hands try to tug at his arms, but they are locked in a death grip. The hands retreat, leaving him alone for a while. In the silence that follows, Jason can feel himself calming down a little as he feels no new attempts to touch him, and his sobs grow quieter. Then, he registers the weight of something on his legs and arms; confused, he raises his head the tiniest bit, just enough to peek, and sees a fluffy blanket being arranged awkwardly around him. Jason tentatively pulls out one hand to grasp the blanket as it starts slipping almost immediately, chasing the warmth.

Someone presses along his side, and when he does not try to move away, an arm is laid across his shoulders, pulling him in and holding tight. A voice is murmuring softly – apologies, endearments, promises… But Jason has sunk into a stupor, and all of it washes over him without any meaning. Raising his head, he settles his cheek over his arms and closes his eyes, which he suddenly cannot keep open. The warmth is making him drowsy, and his whole body feels heavy.

As the voice above him begins to sing a soft melody, Jason finally lets go and falls asleep.

Bright sunlight is streaming in through the windows when Jason wakes.

The first thing he registers is that he is feeling off – way worse than he has ever felt since coming to the other universe. His eyes are crusty, and his head feels heavy and his throat sore in the way it usually does when he cries himself to sleep. He is also not wearing the soft pajamas he has come to associate with rest and safety. Heart seizing, terrified the whole thing about travelling to another world was just a dream, Jason sits up with a jerk.

He is on the bed, and the blanket he was covered with falls off his shoulders to pool around his waist; he is still dressed in the clothes from the night before, minus the shoes. Jason stares down uncomprehendingly at the red sleeve of his hoodie for a few moments. What the hell is he missing?..

A soft sound from across the room makes Jason whip his head up; he regrets it immediately when

his head spins.

Dick is curled up in the armchair, fast asleep. Unlike Jason, he is dressed in pajamas, but he, too, has a blanket draped over him. Squinting, Jason can see Dick's face looks pale and upset even in his sleep.

Jason frowns. Why is Dick sleeping in the armchair? And what has upset him so much?.. A familiar sense of dread creeps up his spine as he wonders wildly whether something happened with -

Bruce.

At the thought of Bruce, Jason suddenly remembers everything; overwhelmed by the memories and the relief and unable to contain himself as his brain tries to process everything he has learned, he springs to his feet. He sucks in a breath, trying to calm himself.

Okay, nothing happened with Bruce. Except for that surreal conversation, which he must relay to Dick. Dick, who…

Jason turns to look at his brother and takes a few steps closer.

He still remembers vividly the fear he felt in the face of Dick's anger. Once again, he feels incredibly foolish for not connecting Dick with Robin before, but, well, forgive him for being occupied with other, more pressing matters than wondering about the identity of Batman's former accomplice. Still, the result is that now he has to somehow quickly reconcile the image of his caring brother with that wraith-like criminal.

But in the bright morning light and more or less rested, Jason cannot believe he really thought Dick was going to hurt him. So what if Dick was that monster's accomplice, he thinks with a rush of annoyance. Jason has not known Dick all that long, but he has no doubt doing all those horrible things was not Dick's choice.

The thought makes him sad. He tries to imagine how it must have felt – how it would feel if Jason was in Dick's place. Excruciating, he realizes; it was bad enough to submit to what Bruce was doing to him, but at least, it was his own life Jason was fucking up. Or saving, depending on how you looked at it. But to be an accessory to someone's murder… nothing more than a tool to inflict pain on so many people…

Jason shudders.

Part of him is indignant over Dick's reaction last night. Whatever Dick's reasons and motives, Jason refuses to go from being one man's slave to blindly following another's orders, even if the intention is benign. But he also gets it. If Dick thinks that Jason's future is to be brainwashed into being the same kind of monster he himself was forced to be, well, Jason can forgive him for being a little overbearing.

It does not mean he is going to accept it, of course. Just that he gets where Dick is coming from.

As if feeling Jason's eyes on him, Dick begins to stir. He watches as his brother's eyelashes flutter and a small frown appears on his face. Dick wakes all the way up and raises his head to survey the room. Almost immediately, his eyes land on Jason, and his face crumples.

"Jay," he breathes, turning fully to Jason and setting his feet on the floor, but making no move to stand. "God, I'm so sorry, Jay, I'm so sorry! I didn't…" He pauses and swallows audibly. "I never meant to scare you like that!"

"Could've fooled me," Jason huffs in reply, but there is no fire behind it. "It's fine. I get it."

Dick shakes his head.

"It's not fine. I…" Dick buries his head in his hands, hunching. "I can't believe I did it. I just wanted to protect you, and I was so worried… And I promise I really had that nightmare, so when I woke up and you were gone…" Dick raises dry, but haunted eyes to Jason's. "I couldn't even tell if it was a dream at all."

Jason swallows, looking mutely at his brother.

"It's no excuse," Dick mutters, back to hiding behind his hands. "None of it. God, I hate myself."

But at this point, Jason has just about had enough.

"Okay, you know what, shut up." This startles Dick into raising his head again, and he stares at Jason in surprise. "You freaked out, so you freaked me out. It sucked, but I get it. Just… just don't do it again, okay? I know what you think, but I'm not that dumb, either!"

"I never said you were dumb, Jay," Dick replies quietly. Jason waves a hand.

"Whatever. So you didn't say it, doesn't mean you didn't think it."

"I really didn't…" Dick begins, but Jason finds he couldn't care less about explanations.

"I said whatever!"

He shouts that last bit, and a ringing silence follows.

"I scared myself, too," Dick confesses to the floor. "I was scared and angry, and that anger… I actually reminded myself of Bruce. He used to get like this, with me, when I did some shit he didn't like." For a few moments, he is silent again, and so is Jason, unsure how to reply. "What if I'm becoming like him, after all, Jay?" Dick continues, quietly desperate, raising his eyes to look at Jason. "What if I'm becoming the same kind of monster? I read about this, you know. After… after I ran away. That you can become the same as someone who abuses you. What if…" Dick's voice trails away, and he squeezes his eyes shut.

And Jason would love to help, but he has absolutely no idea how, or what to say. He may be addicted to reading, but Psychology textbooks have never interested him. In any case, he doubts he would understand them; he is ambitious, not delusional. And now, faced with Dick's fear, he feels wildly out of his depth.

But Dick is not saying anything else, and there is nobody else to help. Jason takes a deep breath.

"Of course you're not." He tries to make his voice as scornful as possible to give it some weight. "So you freaked out once, big deal. I really get it. And I'm okay now, so… so you just have to stop it!"

Dick huffs a quiet laugh.

"I can't just stop it, Jay… But…" He sighs and shakes his head. "So… Please don't be scared again, but – where did you go?"

Hesitant, because part of him is still expecting a repeat of last night despite Dick's reassurance, Jason begins to tell him. Dick keeps quiet, and although a few times he seems on the verge of

saying something and his neutral expression almost slips, he manages to contain himself.

"And so… so that's what I found out," Jason finishes, somewhat lamely. "See! You were kind of right, but so was I! So I'm really not that dumb!"

"Why the hell would you…" Dick begins tiredly, but then he shakes his head again and stops. "Whatever. I promise it never even crossed my mind."

"But you believe me?" Jason presses.

"About you not being dumb? Sure," Dick says, looking distracted.

"What? No!" Jason exclaims indignantly. "I meant, you believe what I just told you, right?"

"Well," Dick says slowly, "I do believe that at least some of it must be true. You're right, it makes more sense if Tim got his injuries while fighting rather than being punished. Not sure I buy he's not a toy, though – but it doesn't really matter."

"It doesn't?" Jason asks, startled. "Kinda seemed that way when you tried to convince me, before."

Dick grimaces.

"I didn't mean it like that. I just… I was too focused on Tim being a plaything. So much that I didn't even think… I didn't even consider he could be Robin. Now who's dumb?" He gives a bitter laugh.

"You're not dumb, either," Jason scoffs.

"Yeah, I am," Dick waves a hand. "After years of being that myself, it doesn't even cross my mind someone else could be forced to do the same shit."

Jason purses his lips, but cannot think of anything to say. For a while, they sit in silence again, but this time, it feels a lot more comfortable.

"Well, it changes things," Dick says, eventually.

"It does?" For the second time this morning, the rapid change in his brother's thoughts takes Jason by surprise.

Dick nods decisively.

"We gotta talk to him."

Chapter 11

Contrary to what a lot of people seem to think, Tim is perfectly capable of understanding the rules. And has always been.

It was not his lack of understanding them that drove Tim to wandering around Gotham on his own since he was a little kid, choosing Batman and Robin as his favorite subjects when he took up photography, or hacking into the school systems when he had something to cover up. After all, it was not like anyone ever expressly forbade any of those things, was it?

Of course, he suspects that if his parents ever stuck around long enough to notice what he was up to when he was not acting the part of their perfect heir, they might have had a thing or two to say about it. But they did not, and Tim never saw the need to inform them of his activities. As far as he was concerned, he was allowed to do anything that was not expressly forbidden – and, with his parents, that meant an impressive amount of freedom.

Bruce's house is different. And it is not that Bruce has a lot of rules or that any of them are all that strict or unpleasant. It is simply that any restrictions chafe after having barely any at all, so for a while after Tim transitioned from being the neighbors' kid to Bruce's adoptive son, some of the new rules felt constricting and irrational. So what if Tim chose to take the bus to Gotham that one night without telling anyone? He had been doing that for ages and never had any trouble. And so what if he thought a few energy bars and an energy drink made a suitable breakfast after being up all night working on a case? Tim found it surprising and even a little absurd that Bruce and Alfred not only cared but also had strong opinions on all these subjects – and more.

In fact, there were a lot of things like that when Tim first came to live with Bruce – and some similar stuff still happens sometimes. Some things, Tim has grudgingly learned to accept. Like, he may not be a foodie, but even he will admit that a properly cooked breakfast feels a lot nicer than those energy bars. And he might still resent not being allowed out without telling anyone where he is going, but the pleasure of knowing that someone cares outweighs the resentment.

Others, he still fights, usually with cold logic, and he is not afraid to argue his point until he is blue in the face. So he did not have the time to study for that test a couple of months ago, big deal. No matter how many times Bruce tries to explain that hacking into the system to correct that grade was wrong, Tim just will not accept it. It is a simple cost-benefit analysis, and Tim would love to see anyone try and sell him the idea that studying for a stupid Biology test outweighed the importance of dealing with a city-wide pandemonium caused by a fear gas leak.

But being Batman's assistant is different from being Bruce's son, and even Tim respects that. Well, he still tests the boundaries at every opportunity he gets, but, to be completely honest, Tim is simply too scared of losing Robin to get too bold. So, usually, he tones down his 'allowed-unless- forbidden' approach and tries to follow not just Batman's explicit orders but also his general rules as best as possible, at least in the field.

Going back to the original point, Tim does know that going out alone and without backup is strictly forbidden, thank you very much. Except – what was he supposed to do when he found a major clue to that confusing case they had been trying to crack for weeks without any success? He had no idea when Bruce would be back from his mission, Dick and Jason were both off-planet, Barbara was away, and Tim could not very well have dragged Alfred into the city, could he?

Had the case been anything else, he might have let it go. Maybe. That was a possibility. Okay, a remote one, Tim admits. But it was.

But people's lives were on the line.

Young women had been disappearing in Gotham for weeks, only to be found brutally murdered and lying in a pool of their own blood. The police were stumped, and Gordon called Batman for help; but, to Bruce's annoyance, the case was proving to be devilishly complicated. All the victims seemed wildly different in profile, including a homeless woman, an art student, and a socialite, to give a few examples. The circumstances and the methods of murder were all different, too, but despite all the differences, Bruce was convinced that the cases really were linked and that it was the work of a serial killer. However, he had nothing to prove his hunch. In fact, the only link seemed to be the time of the crime, each of them being committed exactly at noon on Sunday.

There was actually one other reason Gordon called Batman. A playing card was discovered lying next to one of the first victims; and not just any card – the Joker. It naturally caused significant alarm, but the Joker himself was dead, having been killed by the Red Hood several months ago, so a fan or a copycat was suspected. However, no other crime scenes contained anything of the sort, so eventually, it was written off as a coincidence.

Only it was not, and that was exactly what Tim realized while poring over his spreadsheet during Bruce's absence. Combing through the hacked police database, he managed to find two more Sunday noon murders, thus accounting for every Sunday over the time period they were investigating. But even more importantly, he found out that the Joker card did matter; it was a symbol, after all, just not of what they had all been afraid of.

In all the other cases there was some sign related to games or gambling in some form, either on the crime scene or the victim – a die charm for a key chain, a coat with buttons in the form of gambling chips, a spade dangle earring and so on.

Which led Tim to the conclusion that the murders were the result of some sick game. But what?

It was Friday night; which meant Tim only had a little more than one day to figure out what the new clue meant and, hopefully, try to prevent a new murder. A trip to Crime Alley was an absolute necessity; if there was anyone who could tell him about the city's mad new form of entertainment, they were bound to be there. And since time was an issue, going out in his Robin suit was out of the question; nobody who knew anything would talk to him in that getup.

So, technically, he did not even go out as Robin…

Anyway, what followed was a half-botched undercover mission, some snooping around an old guy's apartment that led to discovering some seriously incriminating photos and nearly getting caught, and a race through Gotham streets chased by a pair of very pissed-off armed men.

Still, Tim managed to figure it all out. Apparently, some people felt life in Gotham was not spicy enough and decided some card games every Sunday would make it better. But gambling money no longer seemed fun, so instead, they would make the loser – the one who drew the Queen of Spades – kill some random innocent woman as payment. The only condition was that there be some link to gambling on the crime scene – hence the dies, the chips, the cards, and so on. Case solved, evidence delivered straight to Gordon.

Okay, so Tim admits he barely got away, but he did it and even made it home on his own. And Tim is fully convinced his broken arm, the bullet graze on his leg, and his bruised ribs and face are totally worth another potential victim's saved life. He solved the case, and the fact that he got beaten up in the process, well… He sees it as part of the job. Sure, it is the part that sucks, but he knew the risks when he signed up.

He should have known nobody would share his opinion. Alfred nearly had a heart attack when Tim woke him up to ask for stitches and a cast instead of breakfast, and, after a few dry remarks, kept pointedly silent on the drive to Leslie's, in the way that meant he was extremely displeased and upset. And not a single word of praise!

Tim felt it was spectacularly unfair, but after Alfred's reaction, he found himself actually dreading Bruce's. Okay, getting benched was a given, what with Tim's injuries. But aside from that… A lecture, Tim could live with. Several, if needed. He could even handle some yelling – not that Bruce did that often now, but back in the beginning, when Tim first bullied his way into the Bats' lives, harsh reprimands and less-than-gentle training sessions were pretty much the norm.

But what if Bruce decided to bench him for good and take away Robin?..

So, after getting treatment, it was with trembling hands and a barely maintained poker face that Tim headed for the Cave where Bruce was writing his mission report. Tim was even more nervous thinking about how Bruce got home well before Tim expected him to, so had Tim waited just a few hours, they could have gone together, and he would not have been in this situation.

But Bruce's actual reaction subverted Tim's expectations so much it actually freaked him out. Of course, he did get benched – well, that was a no-brainer, there was no way he could go out injured as he was – but aside from that, all he got from Bruce was a heavy sigh and a short, but fierce hug. After that, Bruce stumbled back, muttering that Tim should go to bed and they would talk later, and fled to the shower room. The whole thing was so unlike him that Tim's mind went straight to some horror-movie scenarios, like Bruce being replaced by a double or his brain getting fried during dimension travel. Tim was spooked enough he actually considered somehow getting a blood sample from Bruce, but while his adoptive father – or whoever was impersonating him – was in the shower, Tim decided to go upstairs to talk to Alfred first.

Alfred, not exactly alarmed, but puzzled enough by Tim's retelling of what had happened in the Cave, sent Tim to bed and said he would figure it out on his own. Tim protested vehemently, but it was around this time that the painkillers he had been given fully kicked in and robbed Tim of his remaining strength.

So it was only in the morning that Tim found out about the new kids, and although Alfred kept the explanation brief and rather vague – Bruce's alternate self was a bad guy who abused his kids, so Bruce rescued them – it was obvious that it was bad. It did sound serious enough that it explained Bruce's odd behavior; even Alfred seemed shaken, though he hid it well. Tim was full of apprehension and rather morbid curiosity, but, to his disappointment, the only detail Alfred agreed to tell him was the kids' identities, arguing that Bruce would tell him everything else he thought necessary later.

To be honest, the explanation took Tim by surprise. Okay, so he knew he was the third black- haired, blue-eyed kid Bruce adopted, but he prided himself on being good with data and able to separate coincidence from a pattern. And given the circumstances of each of Bruce's adoptions, he had always maintained that they were a series of coincidences, no matter how much Dick and Jason teased Bruce about his 'problem'.

Well, now he wondered if they were onto something.

Still, Tim did his best to get over it and the weirdness of seeing his older brothers so young and quietly anxious and threw himself into the task Bruce set him – of helping them to settle in.

Well. At least, he tried to.

Tim hates feeling like a failure, but the past couple of weeks have made him feel like little else.

Don't get him wrong; Tim may only be fifteen years old and not a psychologist by any stretch of the imagination, but he does understand that traumatized kids may not be particularly receptive to new people and their attempts to draw them out. Still, Dick and Jason – or Dickie and Jay, as Tim has opted to call them in his head to separate them from their alternates – have rebuffed his advances with such constancy that he is starting to maybe feel a little insulted.

They do tolerate his presence when he tags along on walks or sits with them in the library, and Jay is always happy to listen to Tim's stories about school. But they never seek him out themselves, they barely talk in front of him, and they are extremely reluctant to do anything else with him, like watching movies or playing games. And the one time he offered to show them his photographs… Tim is very particular about who gets to see them, and the memory of Dickie and Jay's hasty rejection makes his ears burn even days later.

Tim wishes Bruce would deign to tell him exactly what has happened to these kids, but Bruce has been most unhelpful. Words like 'abused' and 'traumatized' are too vague, and they can mean too many things to be useful explanations. Tim knows, of course, that Bruce has written a mission report, but the folder has restricted access. And while Tim is usually very good at getting the information he wants, he is no match for Bruce, so the file remains locked.

Tim rules out asking Dickie and Jay directly about what has happened to them almost as soon as the idea visits him; his job is to help them settle in and get comfortable, not stir up awful memories.

Left with no other sources of information, Tim tries to observe the kids in an attempt to glean some clues from their behavior, but even that proves frustratingly useless. He sees, of course, how fiercely protective they are of each other and how very anxious they are around Bruce. But that, in itself, is not very informative; Tim can understand the reaction but not the cause of it. He himself has stood ramrod straight in front of his father many times, trying to be as little a nuisance as possible, the way Dickie obviously does. But Tim doubts Dickie is waiting to be told off for not upholding the family name or locked in his room without TV. Getting hit is the next obvious possible cause, and it is probably true. But that is pretty much all Tim can deduce.

Some detective he is, he berates himself.

Spending more time with Dickie and Jay and making a bigger effort to engage them into some activities would probably allow him to get to know them better and collect more data. But if there is one thing Tim hates more than being a failure, it is feeling that he is imposing, so he holds back and hopes his efforts are at least not making the situation any worse. And trying not to let the feeling of being rejected bleed into resentment, Tim does his best to come to terms with the fact that this is the one mission he is probably going to fail.

So it is not an understatement to say that Tim is astonished when, one morning after breakfast, Dickie invites him for a walk with an unusually determined look on his face.

Tim can tell Dickie is trying to act casual, but frankly, he is failing spectacularly. First, there is the fact that neither he nor Jay have ever invited Tim along before; it was always his own idea to join them. Second, unlike the previous days, today is a terrible day for a walk – it is surprisingly chilly and windy, and the sky looks as if it is going to start raining any minute; despite this, Dickie seems determined to leave the house.

Mystified, Tim goes along with it, pretending everything is normal, and eager to see what the boys want.

For now, Dickie is leading them very purposefully away from the house and towards a glasshouse not far from the pond. Tim knows it is filled with some weird aquatic plants, some of which look like they could support his entire weight. He has only been inside once or twice; plants are not really his thing in general, and weird plants that pretend to be something else and look like they have a hidden agenda are a hard no. Still, Tim supposes the warm air of the pavilion is good idea on a day like this.

Jay is silent at Dickie's side. Tim is still curious about what he wanted from Bruce the night before, but it is a curiosity Tim will probably never get a chance to satisfy, so he pushes it down. At least the cool air and the walk are giving Jay's face a healthier look. At breakfast, he was so pale and wan Tim thought he has seen better looking zombies.

Tim was going to let Dickie start the conversation, but after a turn around the glasshouse the silence starts feeling extremely awkward, and he decides to push just a little.

"Was it there in your world?" He asks, his voice sounding startlingly loud after such a long silence. "This glasshouse?" He clarifies, when both boys look at him blankly.

Jay shakes his head; unlike Tim, he looks entranced by all the weird plants and one step from climbing onto one of those giant lily pads.

"No," Dickie replies. His eyes move over the interior of the pavilion, but he seems to be looking through it all. "I didn't think Bruce liked plants so much. Or is it Alfred's, too? Like the garden?"

"No, it's actually been here for ages," Tim says. "Bruce's mom had it built, I think, and he's just kept it maintained in her memory, kind of."

Dickie nods distractedly.

"So, uh," he starts, and Tim involuntarily holds his breath. "You… been here long?"

Dickie is obviously not talking about the glasshouse, but Tim is not sure what he means, so he decides to clarify, "Here? As in, here at the Manor, with Bruce?"

"Yeah," Dickie finally looks right at him, and despite his still casual tone, Tim can tell that he is very interested in the answer. Jay looks away from the lily pads and up at Tim, too.

"Not… that long, I guess," Tim shrugs. "It's been, what… a year since I moved in."

"Moved in?" Dickie looks surprised.

"Well, yeah," Tim shrugs again. "I mean, I met Bruce before, obviously. Dick, too… But I still lived at home for a while after I started helping Bruce, so… so yeah, he only adopted me a few months ago."

Both boys are staring at him now, and Tim is starting to feel more than a little uncomfortable. Before he can ask what is wrong, though, Dickie breaks the silence, "You were helping him. As… as Robin?"

His tone is curiously blank, Tim notes, and so is his expression. Tim nods carefully, not sure what this reaction – or lack of thereof – means.

"And you were doing it before he got you here," Dickie continues in the same tone.

Tim nods again, frowning slightly at Dickie's choice of words.

"Why?" Dickie's voice loses its indifferent tone, and now it is Tim who stares at him. "Why would you do that?"

Tim frowns harder, trying to parse the question.

"I don't know what you're asking," he says, shaking his head a little. "Why would I do what, help Batman? Why wouldn't I?"

"Why wouldn't you," Dickie echoes. "Right. But your parents, how could they let you do it? You were still living with them, weren't you?"

A frisson of irritation shoots through Tim, because this is seriously starting to feel like every other argument he has ever had with Bruce, Dick, Alfred, Jason, and Barbara about his choice of hobbies and his mom and dad's parenting skills. He cannot express how tired he is of these conversations, and hearing these things even from this alternative version of Dick is quickly driving him mad.

"They didn't care, and it wasn't any of their business," Tim bites out. "I didn't ask for their permission, and I didn't need it. Batman needed a Robin, I fit the profile, I wanted to do it, so I did it, end of story."

"So you just what, waltzed up to him in the street and demanded he take you on?" Dickie sounds skeptical, and Tim just keeps getting more irritated.

"I didn't need to. I knew who he was. I figured it out ages ago." He still feels ridiculously proud of it. "So I came straight here."

Dickie is staring at him again.

"You figured out his identity and demanded that he make you Robin. Did you blackmail him, or something? I just – what the hell did you get out of it?"

"I got to be Robin!" Tim wants to throw both his arms out, but with his left one still in the cast, he ends up gesturing weirdly with just his right one. "I've been a fan since I was a kid, ok?" He is so angry he does not even feel any shame admitting it. "I've always been a fan, and I wanted to be just like Robin, and I know I'll never be as good as Dick or Jason, but I still wanted the chance to try!"

A ringing silence follows his outburst. Then –

"I… was Robin, too?" That is Jay's trembling voice, and Tim turns to look at him. The kid's eyes look huge and horrified, for some reason. "My… double?"

"Well, yeah," Tim shakes his head again, bemused. "First it was Dick, then he left, and Jason took his place. Not, like, immediately, but eventually, yeah."

Now Jay looks positively heartbroken, and Dickie, just grim. Tim has no idea what to make of their reactions. Are they really that opposed to the idea of underage vigilantes? He winces internally. Given what happened to Jason, it may be quite possible; after all, Tim has no idea what Dickie has had to experience as his own Batman's sidekick. Tim doubts that it can be worse than dying and getting resurrected, but then, it is not a competition.

"Look," Tim begins in a conciliatory tone, "I know very well it's dangerous, ok? I get it, and I get it's not for everyone. But I wanted to do it. What I do – what we do - is important."

"Do you… need it, too?" Jay asks in a small voice. "Like Bruce? That's what he said about being Batman."

"I… guess I do," Tim says slowly. "I never really thought of it that way, but I love the job, I love the training, and I love knowing that I'm helping Bruce. So… yeah."

"And he just agreed when you, like, applied for the job?" Dickie's voice sounds harsh and sarcastic. "Just like that?"

Tim did not think it was possible for him to hate any version of Dick, who is easily his favorite older brother, but he is quickly reviewing his assumptions.

"No, he didn't." His own voice sounds just as caustic. "But he needed help, and since Dick – our Dick, that is – refused to help, I had to make Bruce agree. It took a few tries, but after I saved his life, he had to give in."

"You didn't ask for your Jason's help?" Dickie checks suspiciously.

"He was… unavailable," Tim replies noncommittally. He is mad, but not mad enough to lose all self-control and start spewing painful secrets, especially other people's.

"And… Dick? Did he have enough of being Robin and refuse to help?"

Tim nods slowly, frowning. He has to admit Dickie's assumption is spot-on. So not everything is all that different in that other dimension, he muses. And if so, he feels he will not give away any major secrets if he tells Dickie and Jay about the manner of Dick's departure.

"More or less, actually, yes. He felt he had outgrown Robin and didn't want to follow Batman's orders anymore. So he left, moved to Bludhaven and established himself as Nightwing. I guess you can say he wanted to be his own boss."

Tim stops, uncertain. Dickie's face has become stark white, and although he is clearly trying not to betray much emotion, Tim can see the horror seeping through the cracks in his expression. Before he can ask, though, Dickie drops his eyes to the ground.

A long silence follows, and then, the rain finally starts to fall. For several long moments, the sound of it hitting the glass roof is the only thing to be heard.

Dickie is still staring at the ground when he asks, "But, still – your parents? How did you end up here?"

Tim hates talking about his parents on a good day, and today is certainly turning out to be not good.

"They gave up custody," he says tiredly. "Bruce became my legal guardian and then adopted me when… when they died."

"You started living with Bruce while they were still alive?" Dickie looks up, sounding equal parts astonished, horrified, and angry. "Did you agree to that?"

Puzzled by the mixture and wishing the conversation to be over, Tim shrugs.

"I didn't really want to, at least, at first. But… It was better that way."

Dickie closes his eyes, inhaling deeply. "And then they died."

Tim stares. Of course, that is what happened, but he is bewildered by the harsh and, frankly, heartless way Dickie has just summarized his family circumstances. The differences between the dimensions must be bigger than he thought, he muses; he has never known Dick to be so callous and unempathetic.

"And then they died," he confirms through gritted teeth, hoping Dickie will get the hint and finally let it go. No such luck.

"Don't you have any other relatives?" Dickie presses. "No other family who would take you in?"

That's it.

"I already had a family!" Tim can barely keep his voice even. "I had Bruce and Alfred and Dick! And okay, Jason and I really didn't get along at first," understatement of the century, but he is so not getting into that now, "but we're fine now, and they are my family!"

There is something acutely painful in Dickie's face now, but Tim is too worked up to figure it out.

"But, Tim, it doesn't have to be like that!" Dickie blurts out, obviously not reading the cues in Tim's expression. "I've been watching you all these days, and you're not like – like him, you don't belong here!"

Something snaps inside Tim; it is like these new kids are playing Tim's Worst Fears bingo, he thinks savagely. Mission or no mission, Tim has had enough.

"I do belong here," he says in a low, intense voice designed to convince not just the two little sadists in front of him but his own self, too. "I'm Robin, and I'm Bruce's son, and I do belong. I don't know what sort of game you're playing or what you want from me, but I refuse to listen to this. I'm done."

And with that, Tim turns on his heel and walks out into the pouring rain.

Chapter 12

Chapter Notes

Dick is finally here, my friends! Don't expect him to solve everything immediately, but... he is certainly going to be the voice of reason.

In his twenty-four years, Dick Grayson has seen people do a lot of stupid things, and, painful as it is to admit, his adoptive father's actions account for a significant chunk of those things.

Okay, Dick no longer reacts as violently as when he was a teenager; the experience and the confidence in his own abilities and views are really doing wonders for his temper. But sometimes, Bruce still manages to do something so spectacularly dumb Dick has to fight with all he has not to tear his head off.

Seriously, much as Dick loves him, occasionally, he wonders if there is something wrong with the man. Not, like, wrong wrong; Dick never suspected Bruce of being crazy or intentionally cruel or anything like that. But he simply cannot wrap his mind around the fact that someone so experienced, trained – including in dealing with victims – and great at meticulously planning every detail can be so clueless. Not to mention that Bruce is actually not a bad dad, loving and attentive, and it is nothing short of incredible how he can be so very obtuse and blind to people's emotions when it really matters.

And yet, here Bruce is, staring at Dick uncomprehendingly and obviously not realizing how insane he is sounding. Also, how tiring he is being, because all Dick wants to do after the month-long mission is sleep for a week and get some good emotions, not deal with whatever mess Bruce has managed to get into in his and Jason's absence. He also feels a rush of petty annoyance towards Jason, who flatly refused to come to the Manor on his first night back, claiming he needed to be fully rested before dealing with their crazy family and opting for one of his safehouses in the city.

Dick closes his eyes, pinches the bridge of his nose and takes a deep breath to keep himself from yelling. He holds the breath for a few beats, then releases it and opens his eyes, dropping the hand from his face.

"Let me get this straight," he begins and is proud of how controlled and level he manages to make his voice. "You went on a mission to the other universe, found and defeated your evil counterpart and destroyed all his evidence, so he is no longer able to threaten the Justice League either in his own world or in ours. That's awesome." Bruce nods slowly, clearly suspicious of Dick's praise when he is obviously less than pleased. Dick waits a beat and then allows his look to morph into a glare. "And then you kidnapped the kids your evil double has been abusing for years and dragged them back here. To the same house they were tortured in. To live with the guy who looks exactly like their torturer." Dick loses the battle to keep calm. "What the hell made you think that was a good idea, B?!"

Bruce's face looks impassive, which only fuels Dick's rage.

"I didn't kidnap them. I needed to keep them safe," Bruce replies in an infuriatingly emotionless voice. "I knew they would be safe here, so this is where I brought them."

Dick shakes his head minutely, spreading his hands.

"Seriously? You expect me to believe this house is literally the only place in the world – two worlds! – where they can be safe? And safe from what, for fuck's sake? You just told me the evil Batman has been neutralized! What are you so keen on protecting them from?"

Bruce is starting to glare a little, too.

"He made your alternate act as his accomplice for several years. As far as the people in that world are concerned, that boy is a criminal, too. I have no way to make sure the police or the other Justice League will not try to apprehend him, and all his family and friends are dead. So are Jay's. I don't trust anyone in that world, so I won't leave them there to fend for themselves. Here, we can protect them and be certain that they receive adequate care."

"Adequate care - quit sounding like a robot, B, I know you can pass for a human when you want to," Dick snaps, but with significantly less fire. He takes another deep breath. He is loath to admit it, but the way Bruce is presenting the circumstances, Dick can sort of see where he is coming from. Not that it makes him right, of course.

"Okay," Dick says on an exhale. "Okay, I see your point. Maybe you're right, and they do need protection. I'll concede I don't know the full circumstances like you do, I wasn't there. But what now? What are you planning to do with them? Why are they still here instead of… well, literally anywhere else? You're not going to tell me people in our world will view them as criminals, or something, are you?"

"They're here because they're staying here."

Dick blinks.

"Excuse me?"

Bruce sets his jaw.

"They're staying here."

Dick's brief calm evaporates.

"Hell no! Are you crazy? Are you, are you seriously that clueless?!" Dick feels one step from losing it. "What the hell makes you think making trauma victims relive their nightmares every time they see you is such an awesome idea?" Bruce does not reply, glaring at Dick silently. "Well? Have you lost your voice? Or is it not even up for discussion?"

Bruce's glare intensifies.

"They're staying here because I know I can protect them here," he snaps. "Where do you suggest I send them?"

"Oh, I don't know!" Dick shoots back, throwing out his hands. "Sorry I didn't come in with a detailed plan with flowcharts and timelines!" He pauses to pinch the bridge of his nose again. "Look, obviously I'm not suggesting you send them to the streets or the first foster family you can get hold of. But surely you can see living here permanently is just not a viable solution? So you must be working on finding one. And I get things like that take time, but in the meantime, they could be staying literally anywhere else! Ok, so Clark and Diana are unavailable at the moment, but... you could just ask Gordon to find a reliable family who could house them for now. Or get someone through the League resources if you're that paranoid."

Dick is ready for another blunt refusal, but instead, Bruce folds his arms, turns away and stalks towards the window.

"B?" Dick prods carefully after a few moments of silence.

"I can only make sure everything is done properly if I'm the one managing everything," Bruce says without turning around, but, to Dick's surprise, he can hear an uncharacteristic note of vulnerability in Bruce's voice.

"Come on, B," Dick replies – gently, because any sort of aggression would be counterproductive here. "We've been through this before. And more than once. Quit being a control freak about everything. You're great at planning some stuff, honest. I wouldn't have anyone else mapping out how to save the planet. But this stuff? Nope. You got them out, you did the right thing. I guess. Now they need help of a different kind, and I won't believe even for a second you are the only one in the multiverse who could give it to them."

There is another silence. Bruce keeps staring out of the window, but Dick is afraid to push more until he sees what reaction his words are eliciting. Eventually, Bruce breaks the silence.

"They're my kids," he mutters in a completely different tone of voice, unsure and a little broken.

He turns back around, and Dick is startled to see Bruce's face is twisted in pain. Dick blinks.

"They're not your kids," he says gently. "They're kids you saved. Like you do practically every day. You can't keep every kid you come across, B."

Bruce stares at him with all the stubbornness of a toddler who is convinced he must be allowed to keep every toy in the store.

Dick sighs and shakes his head.

"You really do have an adoption problem. You're scaring me, honestly."

Dick's tone is wry and teasing, no longer confrontational, but at his words, Bruce actually flinches.

"B?"

But Bruce just keeps looking at him with wide eyes.

"What's wrong?" Dick asks, starting to get concerned.

"Don't say that," Bruce grinds out, back to glaring at him.

Dick raises an eyebrow and tilts his head slightly, wondering what has earned him this reaction. Surely it cannot be that adoption joke? He and Jason have been teasing Bruce about it for ages, and while their adoptive father has always rolled his eyes and grumbled, Dick knows he has never been truly offended. Although… Dick is not sure this joke is a joke anymore.

"Don't say what?"

"That you're scared of me."

Dick blinks again.

Of all Bruce's kids, he has been with Bruce the longest and is usually the best at reading the man's moods and reactions. But even Dick is sometimes fooled by Bruce's stoic expression, level tone,

and stilted body language. And only now, taken aback by Bruce's reaction to what is clearly not meant seriously, Dick realizes how hard the situation is actually hitting his father.

"Shit, I'm sorry, I wasn't thinking. You know I didn't mean it. I'm not afraid of you."

Bruce sucks in a breath before surging forward and wrapping Dick in a tight hug.

"I love you so much, Dick."

Wow, okay, Dick thinks, even more surprised and slightly alarmed, because Bruce is an even bigger mess than he thought. Not that Bruce never says that or hugs them, and after his second son's resurrection and subsequent turbulent reintegration into the family, he has actually been bullied into using his words… some of the time. But the raw emotion Dick can see in Bruce now, behind the cracking façade, is usually reserved for real emergencies such as toxin exposure or serious injuries.

Dick hugs back, patting Bruce on the back a little. After a few moments, his father's arms loosen, and Dick leans away to look him in the face. With lowered eyes and a muttered 'sorry', Bruce drops his arms completely and steps back.

Dick rolls his eyes.

"Did you seriously just apologize for hugging me? I never want to hear that again." He hesitates. "But… that bad, huh?"

"It is."

Dick waits, but Bruce has clammed up and apparently thinks this is quite enough information. Of all the times to revert to his emotional constipation, Dick thinks, exasperated. Well, Dick is not having it.

"Okay – it is… bad. Details, B? I'm going to be interacting with them, are you seriously planning to let me go in unprepared?"

There. Word it like it is a mission. Bruce has got to respond to that.

Dick is not wrong.

"You're right. They're terrified of me," Bruce says stiffly. "They don't believe a word I say, and I must've promised ten times I'm not going to hurt them, it won't make any difference. I can't move without them flinching, and I think they would stop breathing if I told them to."

Dick winces. There is some serious self-loathing in Bruce's voice, and whatever madness possessed the man to drag those traumatized kids back to his universe, Dick is not oblivious to the pain Bruce must feel at seeing the boys he views as his new kids – indeed, the doubles of his actual kids – scared and miserable.

"I've actually made some progress with Jay," Bruce continues. "He seems more willing to… if not trust, then test me, see if I'm being honest. He'll talk to me, and not just when I initiate the conversations. Your alternate, though…" Bruce's voice trails off, and Dick furrows his brows. Surely his double's behavior cannot be that different. Bruce's next words dash his hopes. "I can't even be in the same room as him without him looking like a ghost and cringing at my every word. He won't allow Jay to be alone with me, and-"

He shakes his head, breaking off.

Dick stares and huffs a laugh.

"Who would've thought there's a version of Jason that's more trusting than me?"

Bruce gives him an unimpressed look. Dick raises his hands.

"Okay, okay, got it, I'll quit it with the dumb jokes. But why the difference?"

"Prolonged abuse, what do you think," Bruce says tiredly. "Physical, psychological…" He pauses and visibly steels himself before continuing. "Sexual."

Dick abruptly feels sick.

"What?" He manages to choke out, horrified.

Bruce nods stiffly.

"The very first night, he came to my bedroom to try and… seduce me. He thought I wanted it, tried to keep me satisfied and away from Jay." Bruce looks as sick as Dick feels. He raises his hands to rub his face before continuing, "I talked to them, I told them nothing like that is ever going to happen here, and for now, it seems… Well, neither he nor Jay have tried anything of the kind again. But I don't know if they really believe me."

"And you still decided to keep them here," Dick cannot help but say accusingly.

Bruce sighs.

"I heard you. Just… Read the mission report file before we discuss this again," he says, and really, this is more progress than Dick was hoping for, even if Bruce has not explicitly agreed to find the kids another home, yet. "It's all in there," Bruce continues, rubbing his face again. "I can't stand repeating it all to you, but my report contains all the background information about… my alternate," he spits the word out, "and what he's done to those kids. There are also some follow-up notes about their behavior here."

Nodding slowly, Dick can already feel the dread crawling up his spine. This report will not be light reading. He turns to go, but pauses at the door.

"Just one more question," Dick says quietly, and Bruce raises his head to look at him. "What does Alfred say about this whole thing?"

A wry smile ghosts across Bruce's face.

"His exact words were, 'I have never had much success at discouraging your creative ideas, but maybe your children will'."

Dick scowls. He loves his family to bits, but none of them seem to care that their habit of making him deal with their messes got old years ago.

He really should have dragged Jason along.

Chapter 13

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

To say that the conversation with Tim went badly would be to say nothing, Dick thinks, lying awake despite the late hour. He is incredibly angry with himself.

Okay, to be fair, he never really had much opportunity to hone his people skills, including ones like persuasion and rapport building. With Bruce, the rules were simple: do as you are told, play along, and keep your mouth shut around everyone else. It goes without saying that he was never allowed to have any friends at school – or any other significant relationships with other people, for that matter. As Robin, Dick relied mostly on stealth and fear. It actually took him months to start interacting with others somewhat normally after he escaped, and to be honest, Dick is not certain he is all that good at it, yet.

So maybe Dick would be justified in cutting himself some slack. But he cannot help but feel terribly frustrated, because, ever since he came to this universe, he seems unable to do anything right. He talks to Jay, the kid ends up either wildly upset or terrified. He tries to talk to Tim, the boy gets angry and offended. Probably resentful, too, Dick thinks with a sinking heart and wonders how Tim is going to retaliate.

There is at least the small consolation that Dick has managed to get more information than during their first conversation with Tim. It does not make him very happy, however, because none of that information is in any way comforting.

He expected the confirmation that Tim is brainwashed; that would not be a surprise. But what Dick actually expected was that Bruce has had Tim for years and raised him to be the way he is. Apparently, that is not so, and the truth is… way worse. Dick is pathetically happy he did not dare to ask how Tim's parents died. He can at least pretend it was an accident or something. He is not sure if he can handle knowing the truth, should it be that Tim had anything to do with those deaths.

Batman's fan, Tim said. It isn't unheard of, being a serial killer's fan, Dick thinks bitterly, but honestly, he always thought those fans were usually really weird grown-up people who fell in love with criminals for some unfathomable reason and then wrote letters to them in prison. At least, he remembers reading about that sort of thing somewhere. That a teenager should be one, and since childhood… it says something very disturbing about that teenager's mental state.

Stranger still, Tim does not give off any creepy child psychopath vibes. From what Dick has seen, Tim's usual manner is friendly and helpful, his speech fast and his tone bright. Then again, Dick thinks, if every maniac gave off creepy vibes, they would probably scare away every potential victim, so he shouldn't trust his gut about such things. In any case, Tim has admitted himself that he has been and is helping Batman willingly, and facts are hard to argue with. And not just helping Batman – Tim sees himself as part of their disgusting, dysfunctional 'family' and apparently fits right in.

And that is the other terrible truth Dick has to face – that his own alternate is no better. He does not know why this knowledge disturbs him so much. That man may be Dick's counterpart in this universe, but he is not that man. Still, there is something special and, well, intimate about that connection, some understanding that this fate could have been his if…

If what, Dick wonders. He cannot imagine himself becoming a monster like Bruce, and he just

cannot fathom how any version of himself could feel differently. Then again, his counterpart could just be… naturally inclined towards terror and violence, the way Tim apparently is.

Besides, Dick knows that Bruce in this universe is way more manipulative and subtle; but is it really enough that he doesn't rape his 'children' and rewards them generously for good behavior? Again, Dick cannot believe this could be enough to make him embrace this twisted lifestyle – but he might be wrong. In fact, he thinks with a frisson of alarm, it is very possible that he is wrong. After all, didn't he send Jay into a panic attack with his interrogation? Dick shivers, remembering how naturally that cold tone came to him and how Jay sobbed on the floor, curling away from him.

Dick turns his head slightly to look at Jay's face. Even in his sleep, it looks tense and upset, and Dick knows the revelation about Jay's own counterpart has shaken the kid, too. So neither of them withstood Bruce's methods. Dick does recall Tim saying that Jason ran away, but he is apparently 'alright' with Bruce, too, now. So there is little hope he is any better.

It is more than just the shock of knowing their counterparts are, well, not nice people. It is also that Dick's plan of protecting Jay until he can learn how to get away has gone up in flames. Once again, Dick has no idea what to do, and he turns his head away from Jay and looks up at the ceiling.

Familiar despair takes over. There is no way out of here, no way out of his life; he has no idea why he even tried.

Dick is not sure what to expect from Tim the next time they see him, but the air of genuine happiness and excitement is definitely not it. He frowns slightly, taking his usual seat at the breakfast table across from the boy. Dick spent the morning agonizing over whether he should start the new day by apologizing for upsetting Tim yesterday and came to the conclusion he probably should, if only to mollify Tim and try to make him rethink any plans for revenge he might be having. Tim's blatantly cheerful demeanor is throwing him off, though.

"Good morning," Dick says carefully, and Jay murmurs the same from next to him.

Tim's happiness dims noticeably at the sight of them, but he still greets them pleasantly enough before returning to scrolling though his phone. Dick and Jay murmur their thanks as Alfred sets their breakfasts in front of them, and Dick is just working up the courage to open his mouth and apologize, when Tim looks up from the screen.

"Dick is here," he says brightly. "Our Dick, that is," he clarifies, as if it was not obvious. "He returned late last night, so he's still asleep. I haven't seen him yet. He'll probably be up around noon, I guess. He'll want to meet you, of course."

That sounds… ominous, but it is not like Dick and Jay are going to be able to refuse, so Dick nods. Anyway, he cannot deny he is extremely curious to meet his counterpart, however the meeting may go.

"He came back from his… 'Nightwing' business?" He asks carefully.

Tim nods.

"Yeah, he's been gone a whole month. Jason, too, they went together. But Jason's not here, yet. I guess he'll come tomorrow or sometime in the next few days."

Tim's tone is perfectly cordial, but Dick can tell he is not thrilled to be talking to them. Still, when Jay dares to ask a question, Tim's face softens somewhat as he looks at the kid.

"Does he… Does Jason have a codename, too?" Jay's voice is small and curious.

"Well, uh, yeah, yeah, he does," Tim stammers, looking less enthusiastic to be talking about Jason. Dick remembers his comment about them not getting along at first and wonders what the story is. "He goes by 'Red Hood', these days."

Not a very comforting name, Dick muses, but then, he is dealing with a family of criminals. All of their names are designed to intimidate. Except maybe 'Robin', he thinks, his heart twisting at the memory of what the nickname used to mean.

They finish their breakfast in silence. Tim goes back to staring resolutely at his phone, and Dick cannot bring himself to disturb him. Twice he takes a breath intending to start talking and twice he chickens out. He cannot believe he is this intimidated by a boy his own age, but the fact remains that this boy can make their lives very unpleasant, and Dick has already pissed him off a lot. He does not want to make things even worse.

But the meal is over, and Tim has not looked up from the screen even once since their brief conversation stopped and does not look like he intends to move any time soon, nursing his usual cup of coffee.

Dick and Jay, on the other hand, have no reason to sit at the empty table. With a glance at each other, they stand to leave. Tim still does not acknowledge them, but suddenly, Dick realizes he cannot take any more uncertainty. He clears his throat, making Tim glance up at him.

"Uh, Tim," Dick begins and pauses to wet his suddenly dry lips. "I, I'm really sorry about… yesterday. I know I upset you, and I… Just, it really wasn't my intention. Please… forgive me if my questions were dumb, I was just… trying to figure things out."

It is not the most graceful apology, but it is as sincere as Dick can manage.

Tim looks at him carefully, and Dick holds his breath. After a moment, a small smile appears on Tim's face. Dick would call it shy if he didn't know better.

"It's ok," Tim says. "Yeah, I was upset, but… It's fine. I appreciate your apology."

With an awkward nod, Dick grabs Jay's hand, and they turn to leave the kitchen.

"I want you to stay here in our room today, Jay," Dick tells his brother the moment the door closes behind them.

Predictably, Jay scowls.

"No way! Why? Is it because of your double? What do you think he'll do to me?"

"I don't know, but yes, because of him," Dick replies. "Until… until I've seen what he's like."

Jay scoffs.

"Dickie, come on. If Bruce won't touch me, why would this guy?"

Frustrated at being opposed at every turn, Dick closes his eyes and exhales in a rush.

"Jay, I'm not asking for much," he says, opening his eyes and looking imploringly at the glaring kid. "I just want to talk to him alone, first, see what he's like and what he might want. Please?"

"But Dickie," Jay argues, "what's the point of me sitting in our room? You wanna talk to him alone – well, fine, he's your double, you get to call dibs." Dick closes his eyes briefly at the childish logic. "But they all know it's our room, so if he comes here, he'll see me anyway. Can't I just go to the library? I'll stay there, I promise!"

Jay's glare has morphed into an impressive pair of puppy eyes, and Dick finds it hard to resist. Besides, he thinks, Jay actually has a point. He will be out of everyone's way in the library; well, Bruce goes there, sometimes, but Dick can believe now he will not do anything to actively hurt Jay… for now, at least. And Tim might still be harboring some resentment over yesterday's incident, but it seemed mostly directed against Dick. Yes, he thinks, Jay should be safe enough in there.

"Fine," he gives in. "You go to the library, but please, Jay, don't wander, okay? I'll come find you when I've talked to… him."

Brightening, Jay gives him a brief hug before scurrying to the door, but pauses, just shy of opening it. His face suddenly looks uncertain.

"But… you'll be fine, right?" He asks anxiously. "He won't do anything to you, will he? Why would he? He's you!"

Dick winces slightly at Jay's wording.

"He's not me, Jay, he's my counterpart in this world. But no, I don't think he'll rush in wanting to hurt me… or you… at least, not right away. But I just want to… see."

Jay still stands frozen with his hand on the door handle.

"Go, Jay," Dick urges. "It'll be fine. I promise. I just… I hate not knowing stuff, and… before I let him close to you, I want to know more. That's all."

Jay purses his lips, but does not argue. He looks as if he wants to say something else, but, in the end, he just nods and turns to leave without another word. The door closes gently behind him.

Dick stares at it for a minute, feeling anticipation and apprehension rise inside of him. Shaking himself, he tears his eyes away from the door and goes to the bed. As always, he is feeling tired, so lying down is an attractive idea. Besides, even after hours of staring at that ceiling there are a couple of bumps in the paint he still has not committed to memory. Of course, he has no way of knowing for sure that Dick… the other Dick… will come here to get him, but something tells him he will.

So Dick waits.

Dick jolts out of his stupor, hearing the sound of nearing footsteps in the hall. With a rush of both panic and excitement, he sits up jerkily and stumbles off the bed, throwing a glance at the digital clock sitting on the nightstand. According to it, it is quarter to eleven, much earlier than noon when Tim said the other Dick would be up. Is he that eager to meet the new kids? Dick swallows, staring at the door with his heart beating wildly.

A moment later, the footsteps stop in front of the room, and there is a soft knock on the door.

Feeling as if his feet are made of lead, Dick makes his way to the door and, with a deep breath, pulls it open.

He cannot say for sure what he expected his older double to look like. He has not really given it much thought, preoccupied with other things as he was. He has also had weeks to get used to the idea of alternate dimensions and doubles and all that, so thinking of his own alternate no longer feels all that weird. But all of that was in his head, and seeing that alternate in real life feels… indescribable. It is a recognition that goes beyond acknowledging familiar features and tickles something at the back of Dick's mind and deep in his chest.

Of course, he can see his own self in the young man. The other Dick is taller and broader, but, after all, only nine years older than him, not sufficient time to change beyond recognition. They look so similar – of course they do – that it feels like looking at an older brother he never had. It feels like this man is… family.

The sharp stab of longing brings Dick back to the present. The man – Richard, he decides, because it feels too weird to refer to him by his own nickname and because Dick really needs some sort of barrier to stop fooling himself – the man is not family. Dick lost all his family many years ago, and only Jay gets to claim this title now.

He schools his features, trying to look collected and unruffled, and studies Richard's face more closely. To his surprise, the young man is smiling warmly, blue eyes exactly like Dick's own crinkling – and how is it that none of these dangerous people feel dangerous or creepy, especially when they are smiling? Richard's body language is relaxed and open, and he makes no move to force his way into the room.

"Hi," he says, and hearing his voice for the first time sends a jolt through Dick. "This is really weird, isn't it?" He gives a little laugh, light and warm just like his smile. "Well, we'll get over it. I'm Dick. I'm very glad to meet you, kiddo, though I wish the circumstances were different."

Part of Dick is slightly annoyed by being addressed as 'kiddo', but mostly, he just feels overwhelmed. He still has not said anything; he can see Richard's smile beginning to slip just a little as the silence stretches, and forces himself to speak, suddenly desperate not to let that smile disappear completely.

"Hey," he manages to say in a hoarse voice. "I'm… I'm Dick, too," he finishes lamely and flushes.

Richard laughs again, soft and amused.

"Is Jay here with you? I thought we could all go have a little chat, get to know each other a bit."

And just like that, the spell breaks.

Richard still looks and acts as nonthreatening as can be, but Dick's defenses are back up. He is glad he listened to Jay and allowed the kid to escape to the library. Dick is not sure he would have been able to lie convincingly, in his overwhelmed state, about Jay not being there, and the kid himself can never keep a low profile when Dick wants him to.

"No," he replies stiffly. "He didn't feel like staying here. I'm not sure where he went."

"Oh, ok," Richard says, looking disappointed. "I was hoping to chat with you both, but I guess I can meet Jay later." What Dick would not do not to let that happen, but nobody is asking him. "Shall we go outside, maybe?"

Well, that is the one thing Dick will never refuse.

Chapter End Notes

After so much angst, it feels so good to write about the one person here who is warm and cheerful.

Chapter 14

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

As Robin and then Nightwing, Dick has seen many things that turned his stomach. But only once has he felt worse than after perusing Bruce's mission file, and that was when he read Jason's autopsy report.

He does not even think it is because the victims are so closely linked to Jason and himself. He would probably not be faring much better had it been anyone else. Mercifully, Bruce's report was all text and no pictures; it also mentioned the existence of child pornography, but all the evidence was destroyed along with the other Batcomputer.

After finishing the report, Dick sat with his head in his hands for a solid minute. Intellectually, he always knew he was very lucky that, after his parents' deaths, he ended up with a good man as his guardian. His life could by no means be called normal or easy, and the amount of violence he saw on a daily basis since childhood would probably horrify most people. But he was always loved and well cared for, and the person who held the authority over every aspect of Dick's life as he grew up ultimately had his best interests at heart, even if that person did act like a stubborn asshole at times.

But Dick had never felt his good fortune as acutely as he did at that moment. The good fortune that it was Bruce who took him in – and that Bruce turned out to be who he said he was and remained kind even behind closed doors.

Dick's alternate's life turned out to be very different, even if their initial circumstances were the same.

Dick spent half an hour soaking in the shower afterwards, sitting huddled on the floor of the shower stall and trying to relax under the hot spray. He wished he could rinse Bruce's report from his mind, but it was no use. Every time he closed his eyes, his head started spinning, and his mind started conjuring all those images the report did not contain, of beatings, rapes, and humiliations.

Imagining himself as a maniac's victim was bad enough, but when he thought of Jason, when he remembered how small his younger brother used to be, how vulnerable… And, according to the report, the other Jason was even younger than theirs was when he was kidnapped by the other Batman, and so, even smaller and more delicate than Dick could imagine him. That thought made Dick want to break down sobbing. He fought with all he had to focus solely on the boys; if he actually imagined Bruce doing any of those things to either of them, he would definitely lose his dinner.

Eventually, he dragged himself up and turned off the water. Drying himself with his favorite huge green towel, Dick tried his best to keep his mind blank. He needed to pull himself together; it was already very late, and he needed to be up at a reasonable hour to start dealing with this mess as soon as possible.

It was only long years of constant practice of compartmentalizing and managing himself after emotionally taxing cases and missions that allowed Dick to get any sleep that night.

In the morning, Dick woke a lot earlier than he expected to, given the late night and his exhaustion. It was like his brain allowed him the minimum required hours of sleep before making him snap

awake and reminding him immediately of everything he had learned the night before. It really felt as if he had closed the report file a moment ago, with how clear and vivid the memories were.

Unlike the previous night, though, Dick felt little horror but a lot of determination to go and fix at least the part he could fix. Namely, Bruce's spectacular mistake. He still felt shocked his father chose to keep the rescued kids at the Manor instead of sending them as far away from their personal hell as possible and getting them all the help his money could buy.

Well – there was little point in dwelling on how crazy that was; Dick's time would be better spent trying to come up with a plan to help those poor kids. At least Bruce had already taken care of the medical stuff and started on the papers for them, but that was nowhere near enough.

But first things first. And the first thing Dick had to do was actually meet those kids.

No, scratch that.

First, he had to call Jason.

"I swear, Dickhead, if you woke me at this hour because you 'want the whole family there for breakfast' or some other stupid shit like that, I'm gonna come to that breakfast with a gun and shoot you."

"Empty threats, Little Wing!" Dick tried to force some levity into his voice despite his mood. He was already nervous about how this conversation would go, and Jason sounded genuinely annoyed, not just grumbling for the sake of being difficult. Dick did not take it personally; after the intense mission and living basically on top of each other for a month, he totally understood Jason's desire to get some rest and breathing room. But waiting was not an option. Not being told about the new kids as soon as possible – and even sooner – would only make Jason angrier afterwards. "As if you would dare to bring a gun to Alfred's table!"

Jason gave an annoyed sigh.

"Again, Dickface, what do you want? You have about five seconds before I hang up, and don't expect me to answer again."

"Ok, fine," Dick said, dropping his cheerful tone in the hope that the change would make Jason realize it was a serious matter. "Jay, I need you to come to the Manor."

"Fuck you, Dick!" Jason burst out, without listening further. "Are you fucking serious right now? I said I would come when I'm ready! What, the old man can't handle not knowing every detail about the mission for one day? It's not even his business-"

"It isn't that," Dick cut in. "Bruce hasn't asked about that. Well, beyond the basic questions. It's… it's something else." He paused, trying to formulate a short and concise summary of what had happened. Hopefully, one that would not make Jason want to shoot Bruce. It was not an easy task.

"Well?" Jason said impatiently after a few seconds of silence. "Are you going to tell me or am I somehow supposed to guess? Sorry to disappoint, but I haven't acquired mind-reading powers in the very few hours since we last saw each other."

"Okay, Jay, look, please promise you won't fly off the handle," Dick said and immediately winced. As if that ever prevented anyone from getting angry. Least of all, Jason.

"A couple more minutes of this, and I'm not making any promises at all," Jason sounded as if he was talking through gritted teeth. "What the fuck is this about? What has the old man done now?"

Dick sighed. He was so happy about all the tentatively mended relationships in the family that he hated absolutely anything that could fracture the peace. Especially between Bruce and Jason. Still, he had to tell Jason the news. Like a child, he wished for a fairy godmother who would swoop down right that minute and give him the gift of amazing diplomacy, or something. But he was not a Disney princess, so he had to make do with his own abilities. Dick took a deep breath.

"You remember that discussion with the League a few weeks back? About a Batman from another universe who kept threatening them?"

"Yeah," Jason's tone was suddenly less angry, almost worried. "Why? Did something happen while we were away? Did he come here? Is Bruce alright? Or… Tim? Alfred?"

"Yeah, no, everyone is fine," Dick said, encouraged by this show of concern. "They – the League – decided someone should go and deal with the threats, and, well, since it was Batman's double, B volunteered. So he went there… a little over a couple of weeks ago now… It went fine, he dealt the with the bad guy, so everyone is safe, both our League and the one in that other universe. So that's all good." Dick paused again.

"Ok," Jason said, sounding slightly confused. "That's all good – but? There is a 'but', right? That thing I'm not supposed to get angry about?"

Dick decided to bite the bullet.

"The bad guy, the… the other Batman. He had kids. Us, Jay. He had us. Our alternates."

Dick could hear Jason suck in a sharp breath. Although he could not see Jason, he could tell the exact moment his brother realized what Dick was trying to tell him.

"Let me guess."

"Yeah."

Drained after his conversation with Jason, Dick trudged downstairs to grab some breakfast and replenish his strength at least a little before moving on to the other difficult conversation he needed to have today. He admitted he felt some relief at the fact that only Tim was in the kitchen; even Alfred was not there, having prepared breakfast and left on some errand. Dick really needed a breather after the almost forty minutes he had spent listening to Jason's yelling and talking him down from his plan to burst in the Manor, guns blazing, and take the kids away immediately.

Although Dick agreed wholeheartedly their alternates needed to get away from Bruce and the house, a violent scene like the one Jason would no doubt cause hardly seemed like a healthy transition for two traumatized kids. Not to mention that, to Dick's knowledge, nobody had actually asked them what they wanted to do and where they wanted to be. And finally, he really, really

wanted to keep things civil with Bruce and hoped he could talk their father into helping to relocate and rehabilitate the kids instead of opposing Dick and Jason's efforts.

The eventual plan Dick made Jason agree to was to let Dick talk to the kids, see how they really were and what they wanted, and then have Jason join him in the attempt to talk some sense into Bruce – after enough time for Jason to calm down and prepare himself for a non-violent confrontation. Preferably, unarmed, too.

Dick felt more than a little guilty for being able to have only a brief conversation with Tim and giving his youngest brother only one hug. The kid looked very happy to see him, but definitely seemed upset about something – not to mention, injured. On any other day, Dick would have prioritized Tim over any other business, but he was anxious to finally meet his and Jason's alternates, suspecting they might be needing him more than Tim at the moment. After all, Tim's injuries were clearly not new, and whatever else was worrying him, the kid was obviously trying to hide it and not willing to talk about it just then. In fact, Dick probably would have missed it, were he not so well attuned to his family's moods.

So Dick made a mental note to talk to Tim in the evening – more difficult conversations, just what he wanted on his first day back home – and only asked his brother for a brief retelling of how he got injured, promising to ask for every detail of the case later. Even preoccupied as Dick was, he could tell the kid was bursting with pride at having solved a complicated case by himself, even though it got him hurt and benched.

Tim looked disappointed when Dick apologized for having to leave, but quickly nodded his understanding. The new kids were stressed and traumatized, he confirmed, and Dick knew he was making the right call wasting no more time before meeting them. He could tell Tim was stressed by the situation, too, and made another mental note to ask his little brother how he was dealing with it all. But that would have to wait until evening, too. Giving Tim another hug, this one brief, Dick headed upstairs with a strange feeling of anxious anticipation.

And now, sitting in his favorite spot just beyond Alfred's garden, Dick studies his alternate with very mixed emotions.

On the one hand, Dick feels inexplicably happy to see him. The boy – Dickie, as Tim called him as he told Dick about the past couple of weeks – went from being just a stranger who happens to look exactly like Dick to feeling like another younger brother in less than a minute. The moment Dick laid eyes on him, if he is completely honest. Dick is still furious with Bruce for having the emotional intelligence of a brick of wood, and the plan to get the kids away has not changed at all. But now that he has met his double, Dick can absolutely see where the 'they're my kids' comment came from.

On the other hand, Dick is upset, to put it mildly, by the way the boy is behaving. Even sitting on the grass, Dickie is holding himself rigid, looking tense and uncomfortable. His head is lowered, his face is blank, and he is mostly avoiding Dick's eyes. Dick squints. In fact, he would say his alternate looks… afraid.

The realization surprises Dick. Sure, the overall change must have been overwhelming for both kids, and staying here with the man who looks exactly like their abuser cannot have been good for

their mental health. But he did not think the fear would extend to himself. Why should it? What would Dickie have to fear from his own counterpart?

He seemed glad to see Dick, too, when he first opened the door, Dick is almost sure of it. And yet, that emotion disappeared very quickly, and Dickie has been trying to look almost indifferent ever since. And now, sitting opposite the boy, Dick can feel nothing from him, except maybe that fear… with an almost imperceptible undercurrent of hostility.

Dick was not expecting hugs and kisses, but the reaction he is getting is so strange that Dick is feeling wrong-footed and unsure how to proceed.

Oh, who is he kidding. Of course he was expecting them – the hugs, at least. He is dealing with… some version of… himself, after all, and he has always found physical contact reassuring and comforting. In this situation, he would definitely be wanting a hug from someone he knew was safe. Then again, Dick thinks with a pang, this version of him has had too much unwanted physical contact in his life, and it is entirely possible hugs bring him no comfort at all.

Dick clears his throat. Dickie darts a look up at him without raising his head and quickly looks away again. Resisting the urge to frown, Dick makes himself stretch his lips into a smile, knowing the kid will at least hear it in his voice.

"How are you doing here, kiddo?" Dick asks, figuring he has to start somewhere, and he might as well begin with the question that bothers him the most.

"I'm alright," the kid's answer is predictable, really - predictable and uninformative. Dick begins to purse his lips involuntarily, but what the boy says next is not predictable at all and causes Dick's jaw to drop, instead. "Sir," Dickie tacks on after a small pause.

Dick stares, bewildered and even a little shocked. Even if he was not speaking with his own double, he feels nowhere near old enough to qualify as a 'sir' when addressed by a teenager in a casual conversation.

"Sir?" He forces out. "Why on earth would you call me that? Just 'Dick' is perfectly fine. You don't need to be formal with me."

To his growing consternation, Dickie ducks his head even lower, if only a touch.

"Sorry, Dick," he mutters.

Dick shakes his head slightly, and this time he cannot stop his brows from furrowing.

"It's alright, kiddo," he says. "Everything's alright. I get that you must be overwhelmed by all the change, and that can be confusing. I, uh," Dick really wants the kid to be comfortable, but he suddenly finds he cannot continue this conversation with the top of Dickie's head. "Could you look at me?" He asks gently, hoping very much Dickie will not take it as an order.

No such luck. The kid does not exactly snap his head up, but he is close. Dickie's expression is no longer blank; instead, his face is tense and guarded. Dick tries to smile again to try and put him at ease, but the alarm bells going off in his head make it hard to act casual and cheerful, and he is afraid that the smile looks more like a grimace.

"So, uh," Dick tries again. "How have these past weeks been? What have you and Jason been doing?"

"Not… not much," Dickie replies. His voice is tense, like his expression. "Reading and walking,

mostly. We played games and watched movies with Tim a few times. D… Bruce had us looked over by a doctor." He pauses and then continues with obvious anxiety. "Is there something we should have been doing?"

"No, no," Dick says hastily. He was not trying to give the kid the impression they should have been doing chores, or whatever he is thinking. "I was just asking. Did you… did you enjoy that? The walks, the movies, all that stuff?"

Dickie nods rapidly. "Yes. Tim has been very helpful showing us around."

Dick huffs a small laugh. "I have no doubt. Tim loves being helpful."

To his surprise, at this harmless comment, Dickie's face sours, though he quickly forces his expression to revert to blankness.

The whole conversation is going very strangely, Dick thinks, frustrated, and the worst thing is, he has absolutely no idea what he is doing wrong. Dick is not a mind-reader, of course, but usually, he is a lot better at figuring out people's reactions and emotions. What he is getting from Dickie is making no sense whatsoever. And it is made even more irritating by the fact that Dick is having this conversation with his own double, so he feels he should be much better at navigating it.

Dick is suddenly afraid that not only Bruce but none of them are qualified to deal with these kids; with what he has read in the report, it is entirely possible they are too traumatized and should be handled by a professional therapist. Dick remembers what Bruce told him about the differences in the boys' behavior and wonders if he should have tried talking to Jay, first. Well, he can do that later; for now, there is still one more thing he can try. Maybe it is the stress of being in this place that is getting to Dickie and making him so scared? If so, Dick is ready to offer the solution immediately, Bruce and his paranoia be damned.

"How are you feeling, being in this place?" He asks directly. Subtlety be damned, too; Dick needs some answers, and he does not think he is going to get them by beating around the bush. The kid's eyes widen; his lips twitch, but he makes no answer. "Because if you want to get away, that's perfectly fine. You can come to stay with me, you and Jay. I'll deal with Bruce, he won't be a problem." The kid is still silent. "Would you like that?" Dick prods carefully.

Finally, Dickie licks his lips.

"You want me… us… to come with you? To… Bludhaven?"

"Yes," Dick replies, but he cannot gauge whether Dickie's reaction to his offer is positive or not. "If you like. I won't force you, you can choose to stay here if that's what you want."

Dickie swallows visibly.

"Do you want us to help you?"

The question seems like a complete non-sequitur; Dick blinks at the boy, wondering how they got to Dickie offering him help instead of the other way around.

"Help me?" He asks, feeling that he is losing the thread of the conversation again.

"As… Nightwing," Dickie clarifies.

"Oh," Dick says, understanding, but no less surprised. He has no idea what to say. The actual answer is no, but then, what if Dickie does want or need it, for whatever reason? Such as wanting

to atone, in a certain way, for what he has done as a killer's accomplice? Or wanting to feel useful, because he needs something to ground him? Or just for something to do, because reading and walking do not sound like sufficient occupation? And Dick is completely against the kid helping him out in the field, but letting him handle some of the non-violent parts of the job might actually be useful for them both.

"It's an option, if you want to," he settles on saying, shrugging minutely.

And, once again, the conversation takes another unexpected turn that leaves Dick completely shocked.

The fear he saw in Dickie earlier disappears as if it was never there. The kid straightens and looks Dick right in the eye; the expression on his face is that of barely controlled rage. For a brief moment, Dick actually feels intimidated before remembering himself.

"So you're looking for a sidekick," Dickie says in a low, intense voice. "Is that right?"

The kid's mood swings are definitely freaking Dick out now. He wonders how he can pacify Dickie, because all this drama is definitely not doing the kid any good.

"No, not really," Dick says in a placating tone. "I work alone, usually, and I just said it was an option in case you felt you needed something to do. I definitely won't make you do anything like that. Nobody will."

But his reassurances appear useless. Dickie keeps glaring; if anything, he looks even angrier.

"I won't let you do that to Jay," he continues, and Dick can hear the threat in his voice. "I won't let you. You can do anything you like to me, but if you try to train him to be like your Robin, if you try to turn him into that monster, I swear, I will do anything in my power to make you pay."

Dick is used to being threatened; in his line of work, it is par for the course. But even threats delivered by men twice his size have rarely made him as stunned and shaken as he is now.

"I…" Dick stops and swallows. He needs to backtrack; okay, so the kid is that opposed to violent activities, no big deal, Dick just needs to reassure him that it is far from the only occupation they can choose for themselves. He opens his mouth to say just that, but suddenly, a different thought crosses his mind. Dick stops and frowns, shaking his head a little.

"Hold on," he says slowly. "A… a monster? Let me ask you one thing," he looks at Dickie carefully, gauging his reaction. "You do know what Robin is, right?"

Dickie scowls at him.

"You know I do. It's my name, after all. Yours, too, wasn't it?"

Dick winces in sympathy.

"Yeah, okay, I know you recognize the name, of course you do. But I meant, do you know what Robin is as a role? With Batman? Do you know what it is here?" He stresses the last word, because he does remember from Bruce's file what Dickie was forced to do as Robin in his world. But surely the kid understands it cannot be the same in this universe? He is traumatized, but not dumb, he has to understand.

"He's Batman's accomplice," Dickie replies scornfully. "How could I possibly not know when I've been that?"

Dick blinks. He is certain now he is missing something big, but he still does not understand what it is.

"I wouldn't necessarily use the term 'accomplice'," he replies slowly. "Sidekick, maybe, although I've never been all that fond of that word, either. But, you know, 'accomplice' implies he is, like, a criminal. That they both are."

Dickie closes his eyes and sucks in a breath. Then he opens his eyes and looks right at Dick. If looks could kill, Dick would definitely be dead, because the kid's eyes are filled with actual hate.

"A criminal," Dickie breathes out with a humorless laugh. "And what, like, he isn't? This may be a different universe, but it can't be that different. Since when is killing people not a crime?!"

Dick's brain short-circuits. His double did not just say 'killing', did he? What the hell is going on here?

"Killing people?" he echoes. "What the actual f… I mean, what on earth are you talking about?" A thought occurs to him. He did explain what he meant, but maybe, just maybe… "No, wait, you got what I was asking, right? Dickie, I know what your Batman was like, I've read Bruce's report. And I know what he forced you to do. But I'm asking you whether you understand what Batman and Robin are here, in our universe."

"As if there is a difference!"

Okay, now Dick is getting a little annoyed and more than a little concerned for his alternate's mental state. Stunned, too, because even if the kid is not all there, he has to realize a 'vigilante' is not the same thing as a 'serial killer'… right?

"I'm not sure I follow," he says carefully, reining in his temper. "How can it be the same thing? Okay, I know there's violence involved, too, but we don't do it to hurt people! Fighting crime is never easy, and of course, we get into all kinds of crazy situations – but that's just part of the job! We're trying to help people!"

Dick is fully prepared for more vitriol and aggression, but instead, his double's face and whole posture go slack, and suddenly, the kid is blinking at Dick, looking as if he has taken a dip in icy water. Dick pauses, uncertain and even afraid to interrupt whatever is happening.

"Fighting crime?" The kid says in a small voice after a long silence, the confusion in his tone a sharp contrast to the earlier scorn.

Now it is Dick's turn to be confused.

"Ye-es," he says carefully, stretching the word. "What, um… how did you think… I mean, that's the whole point of being a vigilante, no?"

The confusion on Dickie's face only deepens. His mouth opens and closes several times, and he looks like a beached fish.

"Dickie?" Dick calls gently. "Kiddo, are you okay?"

"A - a vigilante?.. Your Batman, he… he fights crime? He doesn't kill people?" Dickie's voice has gone hoarse and quiet, and he is clearly having a hard time forcing the words out.

The reaction is still not making much sense to Dick, but he chooses to focus on something else for a moment.

"He most definitely does not kill people," he says emphatically. "It's, like, his number one rule. The one he never breaks. He's definitely not a serial killer like your Batman, and I know dressing up as a bat to deal with criminals is… an unorthodox way of helping people, but I promise that's what Bruce is trying to do. Me and Tim, too, by the way, if that needs to be said." He frowns. "But… Bruce told you all that, right?"

His double shakes his head mutely. His face is white, and Dick can see his lips are trembling.

"Wait," Dick breathes, "but someone did tell you that? Right? Tim? Or Alfred?"

The kid shakes his head again as tears begin to roll silently down his cheeks, and oh, everything falls into place now. Swallowing a groan, Dick lets his head fall back and looks at the sky. How, he rages internally, how is it that a bunch of detectives have completely overlooked the fact that their charges think they are still a criminal's prisoners?

Dick would love to go and strangle – not in the literal sense, but boy, is he close – his oblivious family members. But first, he has a kid to reassure and comfort.

He lowers his head to look back at Dickie and is just in time to catch the kid as he pitches forward, sobbing his heart out.

Chapter End Notes

Dick is doing so much emotional labor I actually felt tired writing this chapter.

Chapter 15

Chapter Notes

I think I preferred piling on those misunderstandings to unraveling them. Still, we need to get through this.

Dick lets his double press close and hide his face in Dick's shoulder. The kid is also covering his face with his hands, so the position is not very comfortable, but Dick shifts around until he feels stable enough and then wraps his arms around the sobbing teenager as tightly as he dares.

Dick is glad that the kid finally feels safe enough with him that he has allowed himself to let go like this. But at the same time, Dick is having a hard time staying still; he is so angry with Bruce and Alfred and, to a smaller degree, Tim, that he wants to run back inside immediately and yell at them until he is hoarse. Thank God he talked Jason into staying away for a few more hours; things would have definitely come to blows – at least – had Jason been present for this revelation.

But Dickie needs him, so yelling will have to wait. The kid is babbling now, garbled words tumbling out between heart-wrenching sobs, but Dick cannot understand any of them. It probably does not matter; Dickie is so upset he is unlikely to be making any sense or understand anything Dick might say to him – or even hear it, given how hard he is crying. At some point, he drops his hands from his face and wraps his own arms around Dick's middle, instead, hiding in Dick's embrace completely. Dick rocks him gently, murmuring reassurances in a soft, gentle voice, cheek pressed to the top of his double's head.

It takes a long time for the kid to stop crying. In fact, he does not, not fully; he is still hiccupping occasionally, but at least his sobs die down. He sags in Dick's embrace, no longer holding on so frantically, but does not let go. Dick stops talking, too, and shifts his arms in such a way that he can pet Dickie's hair with one hand while continuing to hold him. The boy relaxes even further, becoming almost dead weight, and now Dick is supporting him almost fully. He would think Dickie has fallen asleep, were it not for his hands that are still loosely fisted in Dick's shirt, and the hiccups that are becoming less and less frequent.

Dick starts humming softly, an old song he remembers from his childhood. In his arms, Dickie suddenly goes rigid for just a moment, and Dick is afraid he made a mistake, realizing that the kid probably recognized that song – after all, it was one of his mother's… their mothers' lullabies. He falters, unsure if the memory is helping or hurting the kid, but Dickie's hands spasm, and he breathes out an almost inaudible 'no', which Dick takes as encouragement to keep singing. He does, carefully at first, and then more confidently as Dickie shudders and then relaxes again, sighing raggedly.

Dick has hummed the lullaby and a couple of other songs, too, when he suddenly feels the kid go completely limp. Concerned, he tries to draw away and see if Dickie is alright, but the boy's head lolls, and he begins to topple sideways without Dick's support. Alarmed now, Dick catches him before he can hit the ground, and turns him slightly so that his face is visible.

Against Dick's expectations, the boy is not asleep. His eyes are open, but dull and unseeing; his face is devoid of any expression. Dick jostles him slightly, murmuring his name, but the kid does not react. Cursing under his breath, Dick shifts until he can fully support the boy's body, one arm

under his knees and the other behind his back, and then stands up, lifting Dickie and heading towards the house at a brisk pace.

Dick has enough experience with victims to have seen this kind of reaction before. Way to go, Bruce, he thinks angrily, terrorize a child so much that telling him he is safe sends him into shock. He climbs the stairs as quickly and as carefully as he can, walks along the hall to the kids' room and tries to open the door awkwardly, eventually managing to push the handle with his elbow and nudge the door open with his foot.

Dick is completely focused on his task of edging into the room sideways in such a way that Dickie does not bang his head on the door frame, so the gasp and the shrill voice from behind him take him completely by surprise.

"What have you done to him?"

Dick whirls around as quickly as he can while holding Dickie and nearly drops the kid from the shock of seeing the tiny copy of Jason staring at him with a mixture of rage and desperation. And he really is tiny, younger and smaller than Dick's brother was when Dick first met him, but no less fierce than his older double.

Jay's fists are clenched, and he looks a second away from attacking Dick. In fact, he probably would, Dick thinks, if Dickie's unresponsive form was not shielding his enemy. Jay still takes a few hurried steps closer, looking torn and obviously not knowing what to do to help his brother.

"Let him go! What's wrong with him, what have you done?"

Jay's voice is edging towards hysteria, and Dick shakes himself. The situation is getting out of hand, and he needs to react quickly before it spirals completely out of control.

"Jason, stop," Dick says firmly and loudly, to cut through the boy's panicked exclamations. Jay falls silent, eyes wide, and stares at Dick, trembling. Having accomplished the task of getting Jay to listen, Dick gentles his voice. "Dickie needs to rest. Let me put him down, and then we'll talk, and I'll explain everything to you."

Jay opens his hands and then balls them into fists again. He is clearly far from happy with this plan; his eyes flit from Dick's face to the door and then down to Dickie. Then he visibly steels himself and nods jerkily, stepping back to let Dick get close to the bed.

Dick would prefer to move slowly to avoid spooking Jay, but his arms are already getting tired, so he walks quickly forward, causing Jay to recoil, and lowers Dickie carefully onto the bed. He spends a few moments fussing over the boy so that he is resting comfortably and checking his pulse and breathing; then Dick straightens and turns to look at Jay.

The boy's eyes are still wide; he is breathing fast, and his hands are trembling. Dick sighs internally; he already feels exhausted although it is not even lunch time, and having to deal with Jay's fear right after Dickie's mental breakdown is not helping matters. But there is no time to feel sorry for himself or rage at his family again; he needs to help Jay before his terror turns into a proper panic attack.

Dick relaxes his stance, shows the kid his empty hands and softens his expression; he is not smiling, exactly, because he does not want to look creepy, but he tries to convey with every aspect of his body language that he is not a threat. Jay's eyes track him as Dick slowly crouches down.

"Hey," Dick says softly. "I know you're very worried right now." Dick does not want to mention

the fear – that would be a fast track to making his own brother defensive and combative, and he suspects that this Jason might be the same. "And you're right, your brother is going to need your help." Dick is trying to keep Jay focused on having a task so that he does not spiral; he pitches his voice low and tries to make it friendly without being overly sweet in an attempt to calm the kid. For now, it seems to be working.

"I'll," Jay swallows, nodding, "I'll help him – how? What do I do?"

"You'll just need to stay here with him and watch him for a bit, okay?" Jay nods again, slowly; he is still wary and ready to fight, but Dick can see he is not breathing as fast now, and his eyes look a little less wild.

"But," Jay darts a glance at his brother before looking back at Dick, "what happened to him? How… Why did you hurt him?" To Dick's alarm, Jay's eyes abruptly fill with tears. "He said you wouldn't! He's you, why did you do that?"

"Jay, no, no, stop, please don't cry," Dick says hurriedly, raising his palms in a gesture of surrender. "I promise I didn't hurt him. I swear, all we did was talk." Dick pauses, trying to give himself time to think. He can gather from Dickie's reaction that neither kid knew they were not in danger, but if Jay takes it the same way, well… Dick really does not want to send another child into shock. How on earth is he supposed to tell Jay the truth, then?

At least the boy obviously knows who Dick is, no need for awkward introductions.

"What could you talk about, that he's like this!" While Dick was thinking, Jay was apparently working himself into another panic.

Well, there is nothing for it. Just start explaining.

"I was telling him about how things are here," Dick says as calmly as he can. "It looks like nobody took the time to explain to you properly that this universe is very different from your own and that you are safe here." Jay is looking at him suspiciously, but is neither panicking nor interrupting, so Dick counts it as a win. "Jay, could you clarify some things for me, please? Can you tell me what Bruce said when he brought you here, to this universe?"

Jay frowns, looking confused.

"I don't… He said," his frown deepens, "he said he'll take care of us. He said he won't fuck us and that we're allowed to get food whenever, and go anywhere in the house. He gave us the clothes – well, Alfred did." Jay stops, looking unsure. "Was there something – something else we should know?"

Dick is very carefully controlling his expression, because he does not want to scare Jay again, but his heart breaks as he listens to Jay speak with the air of being grateful for even the mere basics of decent behavior. None of it is what he was asking about, though.

"I see," Dick replies evenly, "that's good. But what did he tell you about himself?"

Jay shakes his head a little in confusion.

"Just… uh…" Dick waits, but Jay does not say anything else, just looks at him anxiously.

"Did he tell you what he does?" Dick prompts.

"Oh!" Jay's face brightens a bit. "He's Batman!" He frowns again. "He didn't need to tell us, we

saw him… back in our universe, I mean. Our Bruce was Batman, too, yours beat him up."

"Okay… But what does he do as Batman? Did he tell you?" Dick insists, because he really wants the full picture.

Jay shrugs, suddenly looking sad.

"He didn't tell us, but…" He drops his eyes, looking away from Dick for the first time. "I told you, our Bruce was Batman, too. So we know."

"Right," Dick exhales, closing his eyes briefly. So Dickie was telling the actual truth, not misinterpreting some awkward explanation of Bruce's. He clears his throat, and Jay raises his eyes. "Here's the thing, Jay. You don't know, because our Batman is not the same as yours. Our Bruce is not a serial killer or a sadist. He fights crime, he's a vigilante. We all are – myself, Tim, and Jason. You're safe here. Nobody is going to hurt you in any way, ok? No-one's going to starve you, beat you, or rape you. You hear me? Jay?"

Jay dropped his head as Dick was nearing the end of his explanation, and now Dick ducks his head, too, trying to catch the kid's eyes.

"Jay?"

The boy shakes his head, still not looking up, and Dick fights to stay in place, knowing that moving closer is only going to scare him. Jay still does not say anything, but raises his hands jerkily to press the heels of his palms to his eyes and sucks in a shuddering breath. Dick sighs quietly, feeling his heart sink. He knew it was too much to hope for Jay not to be upset, not after Dickie's reaction.

He is still pondering the best course of action when Jay drops his hands and looks right at him. To Dick's amazement, there is a shaky smile on his face.

"So he's a good guy. Right?"

Stunned by the easy acceptance, but not about to look a gift horse in the mouth, Dick nods. "Yeah, kiddo, yeah, he is. You're safe, I promise."

Jay laughs wetly. His eyes are slowly leaking tears, and he wipes them carelessly with the back of one hand.

"I knew he felt like a good guy," he mutters as if to himself, laughing a little. He sniffles, focusing on Dick again. "But… What happened to Dickie?"

Dick sighs, still surprised, but feeling profoundly relieved that this round of explanations seems to have gone significantly better. Jay will probably have more questions later, but for now, this is more than enough. "He just… He's been very worried, hasn't he? This whole time – thinking that you were both still in danger?"

Jay nods, looking down again.

"Yeah…" He sniffles again. "He's been… He was sleeping all the time, at first, and then he wasn't sleeping at all, and… he told me he has nightmares every day." Dick winces in sympathy. "He was trying to protect me," Jay finishes quietly.

Dick nods sadly.

"I see. Well, it was a bit much for him to realize all at once that he doesn't need to be so worried all

the time, so he sort of… He needs some rest, Jay. He knows now that you're safe, but he needs some time to - to fit it into his worldview. Does that make sense?"

"Yeah," Jay frowns anxiously. "But he's gonna be ok, right?"

"I think so, yes," Dick replies, glancing at the boy on the bed. He is still not looking anywhere near okay, but it has been less than an hour. Shock does not wear off that quickly. "I know it looks scary, and, well… obviously, he's not doing great right now, but he should come out of this state."

"When?" Jay asks worriedly. Dick hesitates.

"Not sure, kiddo. I'm not qualified to say. We'll monitor him for a few hours, but if he's not any better by tonight, we'll call our doctor for some advice, how does that sound?"

Jay nods uncertainly.

"That lady, right? Who came to see us? Shouldn't we… should we maybe call her now?"

"There's… not much she or anyone else she suggests will be able to do right now," Dick says apologetically. "It's basically very strong stress, Jay. He's going to need a lot of help, so we'll definitely be calling a doctor, don't worry. For you both, kiddo. Just – right now, Dickie needs to rest."

Jay nods again, sighing.

"Kiddo, look… I really need to go talk to Bruce, so… Can you stay here with Dickie for a while?" Dick is not very happy to leave a kid alone with someone who looks, well… a little dead, but leaving Dickie alone is not an option. He is not surprised when Jay nods eagerly, though. "You won't be scared?" He checks.

Jay stares at him, bewildered. "Scared… of what?"

He has probably seen – and felt – a lot worse in his life, Dick thinks, wincing internally. He sighs. "Never mind. Can I… Can I stand?"

Jay actually scoffs at that, and a smile ghosts across Dick's face at this show of spirit. He straightens carefully, anyway, avoiding sudden movements, takes a blanket from the foot of the bed and covers Dickie with it. Turning to Jay, he is glad to see the kid is not displaying any unease. Still, he decides against trying to hug the kid, although he is dying to, figuring it is too soon for that. Well. They will get there.

Closing the door to the kids' room, Dick takes a deep breath and closes his eyes. That is two difficult conversations down, only about a hundred to go. Awesome.

Well. After being soft and nice and understanding for this entire time, he is not above letting off some steam by laying into his family, who are, after all, to blame for this whole spectacular mess.

He heads to Bruce's study to start with the main culprit, but, to his bitter disappointment, his father is not there. He considers checking the Cave, but he really cannot be bothered running around the

entire house trying to find Bruce, not when he is already so exhausted. So instead, he digs his phone out of his pocket and texts Tim, asking him where Bruce and Alfred are. A moment later, the phone chimes, and Dick curses under his breath, because, according to Tim's reply, both men are out. Angry at the universe for delaying his revenge, Dick heads downstairs to the kitchen to get a drink and try to calm down a little.

The sight of Tim pouring himself an obviously contraband cup of coffee – because Alfred has restricted him to just one until lunch, so Tim is clearly sneaking an extra cup while the butler is out – does nothing to help Dick's rapidly sinking mood. Usually, he does not bother enforcing Alfred's rule beyond the occasional gentle scolding, but today, the sight makes him grind his teeth. Recognizing that he is so angry he is about to blow up at Tim, Dick makes himself take another deep breath, holds it for a few moments, and slowly releases it.

It does not help.

Caught red-handed, Tim flushes, but the look on his face quickly turns into worry as he takes in Dick's stormy expression.

"Dick?" He says uncertainly. "What's wrong?"

Dick grits his teeth and reminds himself to save the yelling for Bruce and Alfred; after all, they are the adults here. But then again, he thinks with a new surge of annoyance, Tim has eyes, too. Perfectly functional ones. Did he not see what was happening to Dickie and Jay for over two weeks?

"Tim," he says, controlling himself as best as he can. "Please tell me this one thing. How is it that none of you thought it necessary to explain to Dickie and Jay that they are safe?"

Tim stares, wide-eyed.

"W-What do you mean?" He stammers. "I… Of course we did! I know Bruce told them they are, and – and I told them, too! Back on their first day, I said…" He stops, frowning.

"Yeah? What did you say?" Dick asks, still angry enough that he is ignoring Tim's clear signs of discomfort.

"I said…" Tim pales. "Well, shit. I guess I just told them Bruce would send them to school and they could get all the books they wanted, 'cause they were worried they had to earn them somehow, and…" Tim stops, looking guilty.

Dick exhales noisily.

"But why?" Tim asks worriedly. "What's wrong? I mean, Bruce must have told them they're safe anyway when he brought them here, so… And… they know he's a hero, he's Batman, so… what's the big deal?"

"The big deal?" Dick stares at his youngest brother incredulously. "Wait a sec, Tim, are you kidding? Haven't you read the mission file?"

Now Tim is the one looking incredulous.

"Of course I haven't! Don't you know that it's locked?"

Dick blinks, confusion momentarily replacing his anger.

"Well, yeah, but didn't Bruce give you the password?"

Tim scowls.

"He said I don't need to know the details. He just said his alternate was a bad guy, so he had to take your and Jason's doubles here to protect them."

Dick stares.

"And that's it?"

"Well," Tim says, looking confused and upset, "he also asked me to help them settle in. Which I've tried to do, but they haven't been very responsive. In fact, I'd say they've been avoiding me. And…" He breaks off and shakes his head. "Never mind. Anyway, that's all. Why? Will you at least tell me what I've been missing? 'Cause I'm starting to think it might explain some things."

"No kidding," Dick breathes. He suddenly feels very guilty for attacking Tim – clearly, his little brother has been doing the best he could while having very little information himself. "God. I'm gonna kill Bruce."

Tim huffs.

"Well, you have some time before he gets home. So can you at least explain first?"

Dick runs a hand down his face.

"Basically, the other Batman was a serial killer and a sadist to boot, and he abused my and Jay's alternates for years. Well, Jay's double was with him for one year, but," he waves a hand, "details. Anyway, Bruce defeated his evil alternate in front of them and decided to take the kids here in some… crazy attempt to protect them, but he never told them that he is not a serial killer but a vigilante." Dick's voice keeps getting louder, but he seems unable to control it. "And so those two kids have been thinking all this time that they exchanged one prison for another and that we are all a bunch of sadistic criminals!"

The ringing silence that follows is broken by a quiet but shocked voice asking, "What?"

Dick whirls around, breathing heavily.

Alfred is standing in the doorway, frozen and looking as pale as the white wall next to him.

"What the hell do you mean, what, Alfred!" Dick is so far gone he ignores both Alfred's color and his no-swearing rule. "Ok, so Timmy here wasn't even told the basics, but you're not gonna tell me Bruce told you nothing, either! Are you?"

Alfred purses his lips.

"I assure you, Master Dick, I was operating under the assumption that Master Bruce has told our two young charges everything they needed to know and that their reactions were merely the result of their trauma. I have told Master Bruce several times that staying here is hardly beneficial for them, but I have not been successful at making him agree with me."

"And so you decided to just leave it to me," Dick says bitterly. "Thank you very much, Alfie. Somehow, now I'm the one who has to deal with this entire fucking mess."

It is a sign of how guilty Alfred is feeling that he does not mention Dick's swearing.

"I'm very sorry, my dear boy," he says softly. "I really should have been more observant, but unfortunately, I was too busy helping Batman with the new trafficking case, since Oracle is unavailable, and did not realize that Masters Dickie and Jay were, in fact, actively avoiding me. I should have prioritized them, and I truly am sorry."

Dick squeezes his temples, closing his eyes. He feels the beginnings of a headache.

"Great. Just… great. Everyone is busy, nobody is noticing anything, and meanwhile, two traumatized kids are getting even more traumatized, because a bunch of detectives can't tell anything is wrong. I just…"

He shakes his head.

"Oh God," Tim suddenly breathes. Dick opens his eyes and looks at him, furrowing his brows.

"What now?" He knows he sounds brusque, but he really cannot help it, at this point.

"They said… Just yesterday, we were talking in the glasshouse, and Dickie told me… Oh no. He kept trying to find out how I ended up with Bruce, and asking about my parents, and implying that it was wrong, my being here, and in the end… In the end he told me I don't belong with you guys." Tim somehow looks both relieved and upset. "And I kinda blew up at him and told him I wouldn't listen to it anymore and stormed away."

"Oh, Tim," Dick sighs. So many misunderstandings, so many people hurt, and all because Bruce still has no idea how to communicate. Anger draining out of him, Dick crosses to his brother and pulls him into a tight hug. After a moment, he pulls back and looks at Tim carefully. "Is that what was bothering you earlier?"

Tim looks startled and flushes. "I didn't think you noticed. Well… yeah."

"Oh, baby bird, of course you do belong," Dick sighs again, drawing Tim close and resting his chin on top of the kid's head. "Don't you ever doubt that."

Tim clings to him with his good arm.

After a few moments, Dick draws back and exhales, turning back to Alfred.

"Ok, Alfie, fine, so neither of you realized Bruce apparently expects everyone to be a telepath. But – the practical stuff? All you got them was clothes, and they say all they've been doing is reading and walking. Ok, they've seen Leslie, point to B. But – therapists? I dunno, stuff to do?"

"Master Bruce wanted to select a League-approved therapist, so that the children felt comfortable discussing everything openly," Alfred responds, and Dick deflates a little. At least they seem to have talked about this. "However, he seems to have run into some… issues, compiling the list of available people. As far as I know, however, Master Bruce was going to speak to the children about this very soon, so I believe those issues have been resolved."

"Not completely useless, then," Dick grumbles under his breath.

"The entertainment was on me," Tim pipes up, sounding guilty. "But, well…"

"Yeah," Dick says on an exhale. "I got it, Timmy. Not your fault, kiddo."

"I take it that you have been able to clear this rather horrific misunderstanding, then, Master Dick?" Alfred asks, and, with a jolt, Dick remembers his alternate, lying upstairs.

"Kind of," he says. "I mean, I explained it to them – properly… And Jay seems to have taken it surprisingly well, but Dickie… I think it's a huge shock to him. An actual shock, I mean, he's gone completely unresponsive. I've left Jay to monitor him, for now, but if he's not better by the evening, we're gonna have to call Leslie, I think, see if she can put us in contact with someone who can help."

Alfred looks concerned.

"How about you go rest, Master Dick? You've had a very trying morning. I will go upstairs and see how Master Dickie is doing. I should also prepare something for Master Jay to eat, it is nearly lunchtime."

Dick wants to snap that some help would have been nice before it all went to hell like this, but finds he is simply too tired to argue. The exhaustion is more mental than physical, though, and he realizes that the last thing he wants is to lie in bed, staring at the ceiling. No, right now, he would just really like to punch something.

Well. That can be easily arranged.

Finally leaving someone else in charge, Dick heads down to the Cave.

Chapter 16

Chapter Notes

So as far as I can see, if there's one thing I've managed to do, it's to make almost the entire comment section hate Bruce. Okay, folks, let's see what's going on inside that thick skull, then. Fair warning: it's not pretty.

Like, seriously. I don't know how this got so dark. Nothing graphic, though. But mind the tags. This is where the child trafficking thing begins, and I have to admit it is more gruesome than what I've seen in most fics in this fandom.

Thanks to his many years as Batman, Bruce knows he is able to drive almost in any condition. Sure, the Batmobile has an autopilot, but sometimes it is not a viable solution, such as when he is chasing someone. Besides, it is not the only car Bruce has driven in his life – including his nocturnal one. So Bruce knows he can drive even exhausted, half-conscious from blood loss, and half-mad with fear.

It is only this knowledge that allows him to sit behind the wheel of his civilian car in good conscience as he drives home from the WE meeting where he apparently just had to show his face. Bruce is not sure, though, how much showing his face actually helped; he has intentionally pulled many stupid stunts to maintain his public image as the air-headed Brucie Wayne, but today, he was fully intending to behave normally and not hinder his staff's efforts to close that Very Important Deal everyone has been discussing for months.

Instead, he zoned out almost as soon as the meeting began and then promptly fell asleep, only to be woken by his own snore.

He never snores. Except, apparently, today.

Being who he is, of course, he heard not a word of criticism from his staff. But their dismay and fury were so palpable that even Bruce was unable to miss the general mood.

If Bruce was in the habit of shifting blame to others, he probably could have blamed Gordon for this. He does not answer to the man, of course, but the Commissioner has been getting frantic because of the recent surge in human trafficking, so Bruce could not refuse to help. Not that he would, anyway, but it was ultimately the Commissioner's insistence that made him work almost around the clock to the exclusion of nearly everything else for the past several days.

He understands the reason for the man's determination, of course. Although human trafficking is, unfortunately, nothing new in Gotham, this most recent case stands out. It is not even the fact that the victims are children, nearly all of them under the age of ten; it is the use to which they are put. Usually, children are trafficked in Gotham to be 'only' made into sex slaves, which means there is at least some time to try and save them – just about the only good thing in such cases.

This time, however, the victims that are brought in through the port appear to be ordered specifically by a new crime ring that deals in… very sick entertainment.

In his line of work, Bruce has seen many atrocities, but watching a child being brutally gang-raped and then murdered on camera just about exceeds his limits. Apparently, the people who make these videos do not share his disgust. Instead of auctioning off the kids, they allow their clients to bid for the opportunity to not only watch but participate in the crime – all anonymous, of course, and offered to a small circle of tried and tested individuals, which makes it all the more difficult to identify and catch them. The rest have to make do with paying to watch these sick videos. And unfortunately, there are many sick people in Gotham, so the new business is flourishing, thus easily allowing its owners to afford generous bribes for the city officials to look the other way and keep mum.

Bruce knows without needing to be told that the case is extremely time-sensitive, to put it mildly.

For the purposes of the case, Bruce made himself watch one of those videos – one of almost a dozen by now – and spent the next hour throwing up every single bite of food he had had that day, until only bile was left. He very carefully avoided showing any of it to Alfred, who has been helping him, and said nothing at all about the case to Tim.

Keeping the information from Tim, however, has turned out to be a difficult task. Having nothing else to do since he has no classes, and extremely proud of himself for solving the gambling case, the boy has been spending even more time in the Cave than usual, and Bruce has exhausted his whole arsenal of tricks trying to restrict him to more age-appropriate… if not activities, then at least case topics.

And to be honest, the question of how age-appropriate any of it is has been plaguing Bruce with renewed intensity recently. Tim obviously sees no issue with fighting crime instead of hanging out with his peers or making plans for college or anything else a kid his age might consider normal. Neither did Bruce's older sons – when they were Tim's age… and look where it got them – above all, Jason. The thought of all the plans and dreams his second son used to have but no longer does is one of the things that tortures Bruce the most.

But despite the years that have passed Bruce still has no idea what he should do about his brave, obstinate Robins. Benching them certainly never worked, and he is not about to make the same mistake again. Not that he even expects Tim to listen; the boy has spent too many years doing what he likes and being sneaky.

The truth about what happened to the two new additions to their household is another thing from which Bruce has been attempting to shield his youngest son. He knows that it is probably not very fair to expect Tim's help when the boy knows so little, but Bruce is having a hard time separating what Tim needs to know from all the things that will hurt him needlessly, and…

And maybe even see Bruce in a different light.

Because Bruce definitely is seeing himself in a different light. Intellectually, he knows he was not the one who hurt those kids. He feels sick even thinking about it. But meeting his alternate turned out to be very different than he had imagined. Bruce has never backed down from difficult missions, but, had he known what it would be like, he might have taken Clark up on his offer to be the one to go.

If asked, Bruce would have said that facing his alternate would be no stranger than going up against someone simply very similar to him in appearance. So what if they had the same face? It would not even be the first time. But there must be some sort of… dimension magic involved, he thinks. Meeting his double felt like meeting his own actual self, only deranged, twisted and sadistic, and now Bruce cannot shake the feeling that some of that darkness must exist in him, too. Could he have become the same, he wonders? Could he still?

Bruce is perfectly aware of what Jason thinks of his 'no killing' rule, and God knows he has seen enough in the past month alone to want to break it; but in the light of the confrontation he does not allow himself to consider it even for a moment. He knows it is a slippery slope, and he no longer trusts himself. In fact, the thought of whether he could become the same kind of monster as his double has tortured Bruce to the point that it is affecting his actions in the field, too. Twice now he has been injured - luckily, not badly - because he hesitated, afraid to use too much force to defend himself and win, afraid of getting lost in the violence and fighting for the sake of fighting instead of making the city better.

Bruce knows, of course, that that universe is just one of many, but that thought brings him no comfort. Instead, it only makes him wonder what other horrors the others might be hiding and what other atrocities he may be committing against his children and other people.

And then, of course… there are the children themselves. Bruce aches to comfort them, but he has never been any good with words. Not that physical affection comes naturally to him, either; but Dick has trained him well, and now Bruce's knee-jerk response is to hug an upset child. Except that, in this case, it is simply not an option, not when he is the monster haunting their dreams and making their blood run cold.

So instead, when he is not drowning in detective work, Bruce throws himself into arranging Leslie's visit and dealing with the explanations, trying to come up with convincing cover stories for his lawyers, and finding a suitable therapist for the two heavily traumatized kids. The latter task turns out to be far from easy; Bruce does not want Dickie and Jay to have to pretend, so a League- approved therapist is a must. But there are not many of them, and not all of them are suitable. One that Bruce knows and likes does not work with kids; another who seems alright is unreachable. The third potentially suitable candidate is young and inexperienced, so he himself refuses to take on such difficult cases. Finally, Bruce decides on two candidates, a man and a woman, whose profiles he intends to discuss with the kids as soon as he has a moment to breathe.

And those moments are hard to find, these days. Bruce sleeps even less than Tim, who seems allergic to the activity, and when he does, it is often not in the comfort of his own bed but on a cot in the Cave. To be honest, Bruce is dreading a repetition of that first night and chooses the path of the least resistance by simply avoiding the room where it happened – if he is not there, he figures, neither boy can try to seduce him again. Besides, when he is particularly tired and vulnerable, his mind betrays him and makes him relive those awful memories of seeing Dickie, terrified, on his knees, begging to be raped.

For Bruce, the only glimmers of light in this sea of misery used to be those brief afternoon conversations with Jay in the library. He is surprised but infinitely happy that he does not seem to terrify the younger boy the way he frightens Dickie. It gives Bruce the hope that he is doing something right, after all, because Jay seems to respond and to enjoy their conversations, too. It reminds Bruce of happier times – like when he was first learning to be a father to Dick or when he was reading aloud to Jason and helping him with his homework.

But those conversations are over now, because Dickie will not trust Bruce alone with his brother, and Bruce refuses to terrify him for the sake of making himself feel a little better.

At least, there is one thing that is making him decidedly happier – and that is that Dick and Jason are finally back, safe and sound. No need to imagine them risking their lives God knows where; one less thing to worry about.

Sighing, Bruce drops the WE files into a drawer and stands above his desk for a moment, staring down at nothing in particular. The door to the Cave is completely silent on its hinges, so the quiet sound of familiar footsteps is all the warning he gets before Dick's voice slides into the room, dripping with contempt.

"I have a great idea, B. I'm going to take your World's Greatest Detective mug and exchange it for World's Biggest Moron. What do you think?"

Bruce raises his head and turns to look at his eldest son, who has just climbed through the clock and is looking at him with cold fury in his eyes.

"I think you might be in good company today, thinking that, chum," Bruce says lightly after a moment, when Dick offers no explanation. Dick looks momentarily surprised before his face darkens again.

"What's that supposed to mean?" He demands. "What else have you done now?"

Bruce shakes his head slowly.

"I just… Something at WE. Never mind. What is it that you wanted? Did you meet the children?"

Dick smiles – but it is not a pleasant expression. His smile looks dangerous, almost predatory.

"Oh yes, I did. Fantastic chat," he says sarcastically. "Now would you care to explain this one small thing – why did you choose to make the kids believe we are all sadists?"

Bruce's brain misfires. He wonders if he is dreaming – or maybe just going crazy already. He stares at Dick, unable to formulate any kind of suitable answer, because he simply does not understand where this question has come from.

In the face of his silence, Dick looks even angrier. He drops the smile, and his face twists into a snarl, instead.

"I knew you were emotionally incompetent," he says in a tense voice that is shaking with rage. "I used to think that adopting a child without telling me was the worst of it. Right until you decided to give my name away without even asking. And then until you chose not to tell anyone that Hood was Jason. But I really thought what followed made you understand some things! But apparently, I am the moron here, 'cause there is simply no way to justify this… this fucking mess that you've created!"

Dick is yelling by the end of his tirade, and Bruce suddenly feels a pulsing headache. Barely able to hold himself together, he grits his teeth and makes himself take a deep breath through his nose.

"Dick," he says quietly, because that is the only volume he can manage, "please. I can see that you are very angry with me, and it is probably justified. But please, I am asking you, do me a favor and tell me exactly what I've done wrong. I want to fix whatever it is, but I can't unless I understand."

Dick makes a low hissing sound.

"Anyone would understand," he spits out. "Only you would need it spelled out for you."

Bruce's heart twists, because he does not understand. He supposes Dick is still angry he chose to keep the rescued kids close, but Dick already knew that yesterday and still talked to him in a civil

manner, and not… like this.

"Dick," he nearly whispers. "Please. Just tell me."

Dick explodes.

"Bruce! Not only did you drag those kids here – but we've been over that – but you've also completely neglected to tell them you're not a sadistic maniac! What the fuck is wrong with you?!"

Of all the things Dick could have said… This is not what Bruce was expecting. He frowns, confused.

"What? Of course they know that."

Dick snorts derisively.

"Oh? And how the hell would they?"

"They saw me defeat the other… the evil Batman," Bruce says slowly.

Dick actually laughs at that, but the sound is as ugly as his previous smile.

"Oh yeah? Like that's enough? You beat up another man and took them – clearly, you must be the good guy! Anyone spot the contradiction?"

Bruce is starting to lose his patience.

"Well why else would I take them?"

"I dunno, B!" Dick yells back at him. "Spoils of war?"

And that…

Bruce stares at his son, stunned, silent, and horrified, because now that he is thinking back he realizes he really did not explain anything properly. In the moment, he thought it was obvious that if he defeated the villain, he himself cannot be one, but he sees now how incredibly flawed that logic is. And as it is finally dawning on him how those two kids must have been viewing their situation and how terrified they must have been, his legs actually start to give out.

With a shout, Dick is there in an instant, holding him up and guiding him towards the sofa. Bruce sinks onto it, feeling boneless, and he knows that, for all his self-control, he cannot hide the abject horror that is leaking into his expression. He can hear Dick calling his name, but he cannot find his voice to answer.

"Oh, no, seriously, not you, too," Dick groans from next to him, and that catches Bruce's attention. "Get a grip! You're a spectacular moron, but we'll fix this, come on, B…"

Bruce forces himself to speak.

"What's that supposed to mean – not me, too?"

Dick hesitates. He does not look angry anymore, just concerned and tense.

"The kids, they were… They thought they were still in danger, and when I told my alternate the truth, he, uh… he went into shock. He's lying upstairs now."

Bruce squeezes his eyes shut. He actually feels nauseous, and he forces himself to breathe just so as not to throw up. Next to him, Dick is fussing again, calling his name and shaking his shoulder, but for a moment, Bruce cannot think beyond the nausea and the horror at what he has done.

It is the sound of the door opening and closing that jerks him from this state.

"The fuck is wrong with the old man?"

Bruce forces himself to open his eyes and sees Jason cross the room quickly to crouch in front of him, darting a worried glance at Dick.

Dick falters, and Bruce just stares at his second son, realizing two things at once: that Jason is going to be absolutely livid when he learns the truth and that Bruce cannot bear to lose him again. He knows it is inevitable, but he simply cannot bring himself to speak.

At their silence, Jason's worried look turns to irritation.

"Are we still playing the guessing game? Well I'm still losing, 'cause, surprise, surprise! Still not a telepath," he snaps.

"We're talking about the kids," Dick says quietly.

Jason scowls.

"Yeah, old man, heard you replaced me twice over."

Dick actually facepalms at that. "Jay… not now."

"Oh what," Jason spits out, his tone not exactly cruel, but harsh and unpleasant. "Like that's not true? You and I are adults and won't listen to him, so he goes and drags our doubles here – kids who will def-"

"Jay, that's enough!" Dick snaps at him again, cutting him off. "Seriously – not. Now."

Dick sounds grim enough that Jason actually listens and frowns.

"Fine," he huffs. "But what's happening? Why is B looking even more like a vampire than usual?"

Bruce knows he has got to own up to his mistakes. He knows he cannot keep hiding behind his eldest son, but he is having trouble making himself speak. Still, he opens his mouth and forces out the words in a hoarse whisper.

"I… I made a mistake."

Jason rolls his eyes.

"Hate to break it to you, old man, but that's not news to anyone. I already know you dragged two traumatized kids here, you dumb asshole, and have been traumatizing them even further with your ugly face and this mausoleum."

Not caring about the insult to his looks or his home in the slightest, Bruce forces himself to continue.

"There's… more," he says, still in that rough whisper.

"The fuck?" Jason exclaims. "More of what – more kids?"

Bruce shakes head minutely.

"Oh, just spit it out!" Jason orders.

To his own astonishment – if he could actually feel it under the numb horror that has settled over him – Bruce feels tears prickling his eyes.

"B!" Dick exclaims, grabbing his shoulder again.

"The hell is wrong with you, old man?" Jason's words are still harsh, but his eyes are frantic.

Bruce inhales raggedly.

"Jason… Jay, please," he begs. "Please, don't leave!"

Jason stares at him, completely bewildered, before looking at Dick.

"Are you sure this is the right guy?" He asks his brother suspiciously. "Not another copy from… somewhere else?"

Dick exhales angrily. "Of course I'm sure!"

Jason throws up his hands.

"Jeez, ok, fine! You checked him for a concussion?"

Bruce finally pulls himself together.

"I'm not concussed," he says tightly, "and I am the right… copy. I fucked up," both his sons stare at him, because he never swears, "I didn't explain anything properly after bringing the children here, and they've been terrified this whole time…"

Jason rears back, eyes flashing green. Dick glances worriedly between them.

"So wait," Jason begins, voice shaking with rage, "you dragged two abused kids here and didn't even think to tell them you wouldn't abuse them?" He shoots to his feet and looms over his father and brother. "Are you fucking… That's a new low even for you, you sick bastard!"

"I did tell them!" Bruce feels like a child who is trying to defend himself in a situation where nobody is going to listen. "I told them I wouldn't touch them!"

Jason is shaking his head, looking ready to sock Bruce in the jaw. Apparently thinking the same thing, Dick jumps up, too, forcing Jason to take a step back and practically shielding Bruce with his own body.

"He did tell them they're safe. He didn't explain the differences between universes," Dick says quickly, raising his hands. "He thought them having seen him defeat the bad guy was enough to realize he's… not."

Jason clenches his fists. "I thought we made it clear that you've got to use your words, you moron!" He makes a violent gesture with one hand. "That's it! We're taking those kids and leaving - right now!"

Bruce just stares up at his sons, anguished, but not feeling like he has any right to defend himself.

"You can't," Dick says quietly.

Jason barks an ugly laugh.

"Watch me!"

"No, Jay, you really can't," Dick continues quickly. "Your double's more or less fine, but mine's… He went into shock when I told him they're safe. We can't move him right now, it will only traumatize him more."

Jason snarls and lunges forward. Dick intercepts him and pushes him back with one arm across his chest. Bruce watches them as if from behind a glass wall.

After a few moments of struggling, Jason drops his arms and huffs.

"Ok, fine, but – why didn't Alfred and Tim say anything to them? Or is his incompetence catching?'

Dick sighs.

"He didn't tell them."

Jason closes his eyes and raises his face to the ceiling.

"I can't even. If I had my guns, I think I'd be ready to start shooting," he growls.

Dick pinches the bridge of his nose.

"Jay… not helping."

Bruce clears his throat in an attempt to make it work.

"I didn't realize my initial mistake," he says stiffly, "so I didn't think to tell Alfred about it. I told him what happened in the other universe, but… nothing more. Tim, I told only the barest facts. I didn't want him to know…" He trails off.

Jason lowers his head and eyes him suspiciously.

"Know what?"

"The extent of the abuse," Bruce forces himself to finish.

Jason inhales sharply. "And what is that supposed to mean?"

Every word feels like poison in Bruce's mouth as he makes himself say them. "He beat and raped them for years."

Jason looks as if he has been doused in icy water. He is trembling slightly as he turns to Dick.

"You didn't tell me about the rapes," he says quietly, shakily. His voice becomes dark and accusing. "You just said he beat them up and forced the other Dick to help him as his accomplice."

Dick shifts uncomfortably from one foot to the other.

"I didn't want to… trigger you." Jason's eyes start glowing again, and Dick hastens to continue, "Jay, I just didn't want to say it on the phone, of course I would've told you-"

"Learning from the best, I see," Jason cuts him off coldly.

"Jay, please," Dick says quietly. With a bitter laugh, Jason turns to Bruce.

"Did you at least kill him?"

Bruce wants to lower his eyes, but he forces himself to continue looking at his second son. His silence is answer enough for Jason.

"Yeah," Jason says, laughing humorlessly, "yeah, why would you? You wouldn't even kill my murderer, what's a pair of raped kids, right?"

"Jason, please," Bruce begs, sounding like a broken record, and hears his voice break.

"Fuck you," Jason replies, and the coldness in his voice is worse than the burning fury from before.

"I broke all his bones," Bruce offers quietly, and his words sound ridiculous to his own ears.

"Have a gold star, asshole," Jason says in the same horrible tone. Then, after a moment, he asks, addressing Dick, "How old are they, anyway? You just said, younger."

"They're ten and fifteen," Bruce replies instead.

Jason stares at him with what can only be described as anguish.

"You know what - I, I can't deal with you right now. I'm taking them away – yeah, heard you, Dickface, not today – and that's the end of it." He takes a deep breath. "Where are they? I want to meet them."

"Upstairs," Dick says gently. "But you should calm down first, Little Wing. You look scary."

Jason exhales.

"Right," he says and shakes his head as if to clear it. "I… I guess I'll go say hi to Alfie, then."

He turns and stalks out of the room. Bruce feels the sound of the closing door like the lid of a coffin. A moment later, Dick drops his hand on Bruce's shoulder.

"He'll come around."

"I don't deserve it," Bruce mutters through numb lips.

Dick sighs loudly.

"Quit it with the martyr complex, B," he says, and although there is still some irritation in his voice, he mostly sounds calm. "When will you learn to own up to your mistakes and fix them? Actually, on that note, when will you start learning from your mistakes?"

Bruce glances up at him.

"I am owning up to them. I just have no excuse."

Dick drops down to sit next to him again and leans around Bruce to look him in the face, keeping a hand on his shoulder.

"Well, what were you thinking, doing that?" He asks, almost gently, and it sounds like a genuine question. "I mean, ok, you probably didn't have time - or you didn't think to explain immediately.

But later?"

Bruce stares straight ahead and remembers all the things that keep him awake at night.

"Nothing," he says quietly. "I wasn't thinking anything."

Chapter 17

Chapter Notes

I needed a breather after Bruce's POV. As someone rightly pointed out in the comments, it was intense. It was surprisingly easy to write, but also hit me surprisingly hard and wasn't easy to shake off. So this one's kind of slow.

As the door closes behind Dick's double, Jason turns worriedly towards the bed. Despite his brave words just a few moments ago, he can admit he does feel unsettled, seeing his brother so still and unresponsive. And somehow, despite being physically relaxed, Dick still looks… miserable. Like he was crying and then stopped, but his face retained the upset expression.

Jason shifts from foot to foot indecisively. The adult Dick told him to just stay and keep watch, but he feels itchy, like he should be doing something, not sitting around and watching his brother… well, maybe not suffer, exactly, but definitely not improve. And what if Dick gets worse? Jason bites his lower lip. What is he supposed to do then? Whom is he supposed to call? Where is he supposed to go?

Jason makes himself take a deep breath. He has not gotten this far by expecting others to swoop in and help him. And sure, maybe he has not gotten very far… in the sense that his life used to really suck until very recently… but he is still alive, right? Sure, Jason is aware that that is a very low bar to clear, but he still refuses to feel scared and helpless. He will deal with whatever happens – when it happens. For now, all he can do is follow the adult Dick's instructions and just… wait.

Just standing over Dick is dumb, though. Walking around to the other side of the bed, Jason climbs onto it and scoots closer to Dick until his side brushes against his brother's. He shifts and fidgets for a few moments, getting comfortable, and eventually settles on his side facing Dick, who has not reacted in the slightest. Jason reaches out tentatively and fumbles under the blanket until he finds the older boy's hand, squeezing it lightly.

Sighing, Jason closes his eyes. Like this, he can almost make himself believe that Dick is just sleeping.

His thoughts turn to what he has just learned.

A small part of Jason feels vindicated – he was right about Bruce, and Dick was wrong! - even though he knows it is petty. Another part is truly happy, joyous, even, because he no longer needs to try and reconcile himself to the fact that he is living off a criminal's good graces. But mostly, Jason just feels… empty. The whirlwind of emotions he experienced during the brief conversation with Dick's double – anger, horror, tentative hope, relief, joy, worry – has left him drained.

The emptiness is not a bad feeling, though. If anything, it is close to contentment, a calm, settled state with no trace of anxiety. And he is probably experiencing it for the first time in… Jason frowns, trying to remember. Over a year, he decides; life was not nice to him even before he got caught by Bruce. No, he probably has not felt this calm since his mother last held him. Certainly, meeting Dick and gaining a brother in him helped; but the constant threat that has been hanging over them both has been poisoning every moment of peace Jason has felt here.

Jason revels in the calm contentment for a while, listening to Dick's breathing and holding his hand. But as time passes, he finds he cannot stay calm. It is not just Dick's state, although that, of course, is his biggest concern at the moment. A small, distrustful, nasty voice at the back of his head is demanding why he is taking the word of some stranger that everything is alright. Sure, that stranger is Dick's double, but look in what state Dick ended up after meeting him! And again, Jason has nothing but his word that he did not hurt Dickie…

But no, he argues with himself, even though it is possible that the other Dick is lying, everything he said squares with Jason's experience in this universe. Bruce has never once touched him or Dick and has only been kind and soft, Alfred has brought them nice clothes and given them good food, and Tim has been nothing but friendly and helpful, even though he had nothing to gain from it. And surely someone would have made some move in over two weeks, had they intended to?

Jason's confused thoughts are interrupted by someone knocking softly on the door – Alfred, he can tell by now. Jason sits up and waits for the door to open, but it does not – because nobody opens their door without their permission here, he remembers. Jason does not want to get up; he could just call out for Alfred to enter. But he cannot shake the impression that Dick really is asleep, so, not wanting to disturb him, he makes himself slide off the bed and pads to the door.

It is, indeed, Alfred who is standing outside. He is balancing a tray with what looks like light lunch on one hand, and he gives Jason a small, pained smile as he looks down at him.

"I have brought you something to eat, Master Jason," he says gently. "I expect you must be quite hungry by now. You are, of course, welcome to eat downstairs, but I thought you might not want to leave your brother just now."

"Thanks," Jason replies uncertainly; food was the last thing on his mind, but now that it is in front of him, he finds all that emotional upheaval has given him an appetite. He reaches out to take the tray from Alfred; unlike the butler, he needs both hands to hold it.

"May I come in?" Alfred asks as Jason starts backing into the room with his food. Jason stops and eyes him suspiciously. Seeing his look, Alfred slowly raises his hands and explains, "I only wish to check Master Dick's condition. Should it worsen, I shall call a doctor."

"Oh," Jason says, nodding. That makes sense. He steps to the side to let Alfred pass and heads towards the nightstand to put down the tray. Task accomplished, he turns to see Alfred leaning over his brother, checking his pulse and breathing and laying a hand on his forehead briefly. Jason waits eagerly, hoping to hear that maybe Dick is better and he has just missed it or that Alfred has some kind of magical solution that will make Dick improve faster. But Alfred just sighs a little before straightening and looking over at Jason.

"I am very sorry, my dear boy," he says, and Jason's heart seizes briefly as he worries that Alfred is about to tell him, after his inspection, that Dick will not get better at all. But Alfred continues with, "I should have been paying a lot more attention to you both. I was not aware that Master Bruce has neglected to explain the situation to you fully, and I was too busy with another very pressing matter to notice your unease and the toll that this situation has been having on you. I am very grateful to Master Dick for stepping in and hopefully putting your mind at ease. I should, of course, have said this to you much sooner, but allow me to assure you that nobody in this house wishes you ill."

Jason nods, suddenly feeling a lump in his throat. Alfred sighs again, starting to move away from the bed.

"So how's… how's Dick?" Jason asks timidly.

"We should keep monitoring him for now," Alfred replies. "There is no immediate solution, unfortunately, but some quiet rest and warmth will do him good. You can also try talking to him a little, if you are up to it."

"Talking to him?" Jason asks dubiously. He cannot see how talking to someone in this state could help; and surely 'quiet rest' means he should keep, well, quiet?

"It might help to draw him out," Alfred explains. "Maybe it won't work, but it is a possibility. It could serve as an… anchor, you might say. Something steady and soothing for him to focus on, so he feels that coming back is not that frightening. Does that make sense?"

"I guess," Jason says slowly. "I was holding his hand, earlier, before you came. Is that ok?"

"Very much so," Alfred smiles. "You can try that again, too."

An idea crosses Jason's mind, but he has no way of implementing it. The flash of inspiration and then disappointment must show on his face, though, because Alfred tilts his head.

"What is it, my boy?"

"Oh," Jason answers, flustered. "I just… I dunno what to talk to him about, but I thought… maybe I could read to him, instead. But I don't have any books, so, so that's…" He trails off, shrugging.

Alfred looks mildly surprised.

"As far as I am aware, the library is still where it was this morning. Surely you can pick a suitable story there?"

"Yeah, but," Jason frowns, "we can't go to the library – obviously… And I can't take anything out of it." He hesitates. "Can I?"

"Of course you can," Alfred says, seeming even more surprised. "Any books you like, you may bring with you wherever you wish. Meals are the only exception. I insist on not having books at the table after Master Jason very generously shared his dinner with a couple of novels when he was younger. Aside from that, there are no restrictions."

Astonished, Jason nods dumbly. It seems that, today, everyone is determined to overturn everything he knows about this place. The changes are good, for sure, but somehow, he still feels uprooted and disoriented.

"Would you like to fetch something?" Alfred prompts gently as Jason just stands there. Jason glances uncertainly at Dick. Noticing, th butler assures him, "I will stay and keep an eye on your brother, lad. He will be alright."

Jason wavers, some small part of him still suspicious even despite all the reassurances. But he cannot stay glued to Dick forever, he tells himself. And besides, he will be back again in just a few minutes. What could possibly happen?

Jason's errand in the library takes only a few moments. He knows exactly which book he wants,

because it is the one he was reading earlier - or, rather, trying to. Despite his insistence to be allowed to go to the library instead of staying in his and Dick's room, Jason found he simply could not concentrate on anything he was reading, so now he thinks he might as well start over.

But despite wanting to trust Alfred and believe that Dick is alright alone with him, Jason's suspicion does not disappear. Instead, it grows, rapidly turning into anxiety, and, grabbing the book, he rushes out of the library and almost flies down the hall.

It is at the foot of the stairs leading up to the bedrooms that Jason pays for his hurry and inattention. Hurtling into the hall by the staircase, he only has a moment to notice the huge body right in his path and has no chance to stop or even slow down before he slams right into it. His book flies out of his hands and tumbles to the floor.

"Oof," rasps a rough voice, and big hands grab Jason's shoulders to steady him.

Jason panics. He did not have the time to see the man's face, but, judging by his size, he would have thought it was Bruce. Only the man does not sound like Bruce, so who the hell is holding him?

Whimpering, Jason tries to yank back, and, surprisingly, the hands let go. Trembling, he takes a few hasty steps back and raises wide eyes to the stranger.

The stranger - who is looking at him with equally wide eyes and is seemingly frozen in place. It is a young man; huge, almost as tall and broad as Bruce and built like him, too. That is the first thing Jason notices about him. The next is the shock of white hair above his forehead, contrasting sharply with the rest, which is black. And lowering his gaze to the man's face, Jason feels a chill run down his spine. There is something wrong with the man's eyes; Jason cannot put his finger in it, but they are an odd greenish color and seem to glow eerily. And – Jason swallows – locked on him.

The overall effect is terrifying.

Jason hears his own breath tear out of his lungs, and he cannot force himself to move, although he wants desperately to get away. A tense silence reigns for a few moments, and then the stranger seems to shake himself.

"Jason?" He asks, sounding astonished.

Jason stares, his panic growing steadily. He probably should not be surprised that this man knows his name – there are not many people at the Manor, and anyone who comes here probably knows about the new arrivals. But he does not like it in the slightest; the man looks alarming, even dangerous, and – angry. But as they stand there, the stranger's face gradually loses its scary look and fills with something like wonder. His eyes no longer glow, and his lips twitch in something like a smile.

"Jay?" He asks again, softer. "It's you, right? Urgh, why am I even asking. It's ok, I'm not gonna hurt you. I won't come closer, ok, kid? Come on, now, deep breath."

Jason tries desperately to obey.

The man keeps murmuring to him, talking him through his panic, and eventually, Jason's breathing slows and goes back to normal, and he no longer feels like a trapped wild animal in front of a hunter, even if he is still not at ease. Seeing him calm down somewhat, the man smiles and nods.

"Good, that's good, kid. Sorry for scaring you – wasn't exactly expecting to run into you like this.

You ok?"

Jason unfreezes enough to nod.

"Sorry," he says in a small voice. "I wasn't… I was in a hurry."

"No harm done," the man smiles, and, against all odds, Jason feels himself quickly warming up to him.

"This yours?" Bending, the man picks Jason's fallen book off the floor and holds it up to see the title. "All Systems Red, huh?" He stares at the book for a moment and laughs incredulously before looking back at Jason's face. "Not exactly Jane Austen, but not too bad. Hey, you read any Jane Austen yet?"

Jason shakes his head mutely. The man chuckles delightedly.

"Wow, so I get to introduce you! That's…" He laughs again. "Trust me, kid, you'll love it."

Jason nods slowly. He is no longer feeling threatened, and any talk of books is great, but he cannot help but find this whole situation strange.

"Uh," he begins and pauses to gather his courage. "Um, who are you?" He eventually dares to ask, because he thinks he has met all of the Manor's current inhabitants, and nobody said anything about any new arrivals.

The man looks surprised for a moment, and then his lips curve into a wry smile.

"You mean you haven't figured it out, yet?" He says in a strange tone. Jason stares – and then stares some more. There is only one thing the man can be implying, and, now that Jason is looking closely, he thinks he can see familiar features, but this is… impossible…

"I'm Jason, kid," says… his double. "The local one, obviously. What, am I really that unrecognizable?" He continues in a teasing tone.

Jason's eyes go wide again, but for a different reason this time. He quickly looks the man over from head to toe and can only think one thing.

"There's no way I'm ever getting that big!" He exclaims, and the other Jason throws his head back and laughs loudly.

"Seriously, kid?" He manages. "That's the first thing that came to your mind?"

Jason feels himself blush. "Sorry," he mutters.

His double waves a hand. "Don't be stupid. It's funny. And, uh, maybe you won't. Get this big, I mean. Comes with the weird hairstyle and the glowy eyes," he gestures to his face.

Jason frowns and opens his mouth to ask, but his alternate suddenly looks uncomfortable and, raising one hand to scratch the back of his neck, quickly asks, "Where were you rushing, anyway?"

"Oh," Jason says, realizing that, for the duration of the conversation, he has completely forgotten about Dick. With this thought comes the jolt of alarm. "I was just getting a book to read aloud to – to Dick. He's… like… out, and the other Dick said he's really stressed, so… And Alfred said I should talk to him, but that'd be dumb, so I went to get a book, and that's… that's where I was going," he finishes lamely and blushes again because of his jumbled explanation. He feels annoyed

with himself; he wants the other Jason to like him, but, with him talking like that, the man will probably decide he is just a dumb little kid.

For a moment, it seems like Jason is right. His double's face darkens, and his eyes begin to glow eerily again, though not as brightly as before. After a second, though, he closes them and inhales deeply; when he looks back at Jason, his eyes are back to their muted color, and there is a small smile on his face.

"That's nice of you, kid," he says with something resembling fondness. "But I'll do you one better. How about we go upstairs together, and I read to you both?"

Jason pauses. He is still worried about Dick and about whether everyone is telling the truth, so that small nasty voice at the back of his head is insisting that bringing this strange new person to Dick's room is not a good idea. Admittedly, that same voice is grudgingly acknowledging that Jason has no way to stop this huge man, should he want to come, anyway.

But… the offer is so, so tempting. Jason used to love it so much when his mom read to him, and nobody has offered to do it since her death, because who would? Giving in, he nods, grinning.

The rich, rumbling voice washes over Jason as he lies next to Dick, holding his hand again. The other Jason reads well; he sounds smooth and pleasant, and the way he does different voices makes it seem like several people are reading together.

The story is somehow both full of action and slow enough not to feel overloaded, and Jason finds himself swept away. When he closes his eyes, he can almost see the terrains of the distant planet.

Sometime around chapter four, Jason feels his hand being squeezed lightly. He jerks, eyes flying open, and raises himself on an elbow. His alternate pauses his reading, looking at him quizzically, but Jason only has eyes for his brother.

Dick's eyelids flutter, and his face suddenly looks a whole lot more alive, although he is still not moving. As Jason watches with bated breath, Dick's eyes focus on him. A tiny smile appears on his face, and he whispers Jason's name almost inaudibly.

He still looks exhausted, and, in a moment, his eyes fall shut. But this time, Jason knows he really is sleeping. Squeezing Dick's hand a little tighter, he feels happy tears prickling his eyes, and hopes that no nightmares interrupt the sleep that his brother so desperately needs.

Chapter 18

Chapter Notes

Who here hasn't received their share of angst, yet? Oh, that would be you, Jason.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

"Is he coming to?" Jason asks, lowering the book.

Jay shakes his head, propped on an elbow and looking down at Dickie, but he seems happy. After a moment, he sniffles and raises his head to look at Jason, giving him a watery smile.

"No," he says in a hushed voice. "Well, he did for a second, I know he saw me, he said my name. But I think he's asleep now."

Jason sets the book aside, gets up and crosses to the bed, bending over Dickie so that he can check the kid's state himself. Jay is right, he thinks; Dickie's eyes are closed all the way now, and he finally looks peaceful, his breathing easy and even. Good; Jason has very carefully not raised his eyes from the book for the past couple of hours, because the sight of the kid, checked out and immobile but somehow still miserable, tinted Jason's vision green and made him want to go and yell at Bruce some more. And maybe do more than yell. Even now, he feels himself getting angry and makes himself close his eyes and take a deep breath. The last thing he needs is to send his little copy into another panic attack.

He is not altogether successful. When he looks at Jay, the kid is eyeing him anxiously, even though he seemed perfectly content to lie in bed and have Jason read to him for almost two hours. Jason grits his teeth and struggles to control himself; unsurprisingly, his double does not find whatever his face is reflecting reassuring. Something too closely resembling fear crosses Jay's face, and Jason can hear his breath hitch. Straightening with a jerk, Jason makes himself back away from the bed and digs his nails into the soft flesh of his palms to ground himself.

The green recedes.

"Sorry, kid," Jason rasps. "Still not gonna hurt you. Just got a bit angry thinking about how your brother got like this."

The fear disappears from Jay's face, but, to Jason's surprise, it is replaced by alarm. The kid pushes himself up so that he is sitting up fully.

"What do you mean?" He demands as loudly as he dares so as not to disturb Dickie. "How did – did they do something? His double said they just talked! Did he hurt him?"

Jay's eyes are frantic, and Jason frowns, raising his hands in a placating gesture. Angry as he is with Bruce and Dick, he is not about to let the kid continue to think they are monsters. Everyone has had enough of these crazy misunderstandings already.

"Nothing like that, mini-me," he replies soothingly. "I just meant they should've talked to you properly. And immediately after you got here. Preferably, before, in fact. Then it wouldn't've been such a blow to his nerves to find out you're safe."

"Oh," Jay deflates, sagging.

For a moment, they are both silent, Jay breathing through his receding panic and Jason through his residual anger.

"Should I go?" Jason asks quietly when he feels fully calm.

Jay hesitates.

"It's fine, mini-me," Jason assures him, "if you want me to go, just say so, I won't get mad."

Jay scrunches up his nose briefly at the nickname, but the rest of his unease seems to disappear as he considers Jason question.

"Can you maybe… stay and read some more?" He asks timidly, eventually. "Just a bit. It's so nice, no-one's read to me since…"

He trails off, but Jason does not need him to say it.

"Since your mom died," he finishes with a pang.

"Yeah," the kid mutters, looking down at his hands.

"Sure I can," Jason says on an exhale. He raises the book again and flips through the pages. "We're just finishing chapter four, so how about another one, and then we get a bit of rest?"

"Thanks," Jay's face lights up with an eager smile, and he settles back down, curling up next to Dickie.

Now that the other kid is really asleep, Jason lowers his voice as he continues the story. For a while, he reads without stopping. But soon he feels himself getting tired, and as the characters get into detective work, trying to figure out who might be trying to kill them and how, he finds he is having a hard time keeping track of what is happening. Thumbing through the pages, Jason sees he still has about a third of the chapter to go, but he really needs a breather; after doing so much talking, he is getting hoarse and dying for some water.

Lowering the book, Jason takes a deep breath and is about to apologize to Jay and promise to continue later. But when he looks at the kids, he sees that they are both asleep now. Well, this is even better; Jay and Dickie both need rest, and Jason can slip out and take a break without feeling guilty.

Getting up as quietly as he can so as not to disturb either kid, Jason leaves the book on the chair and crosses to the door. Hand on the door handle, he turns to look at the sleeping kids.

Jason is feeling more settled now, but he can admit that seeing Dickie for the first time was… startling, to put it mildly – maybe even more so than meeting his own double, surprising as that may seem. When he first entered the room and his eyes fell on the boy on the bed, he actually stopped in his tracks, full of conflicting emotions at seeing his big and annoyingly perfect brother so vulnerable and frail – and young.

Jason scowls a bit. He does not want to feel so protective and angry on behalf of any version of the Golden Boy, but… He sighs. It was a lost cause from the get-go, trying to be indifferent. It does not matter what colors he wears; he protects kids, and the identity of this one does not matter.

If only he could say there have never been any exceptions to his rules, Jason thinks with residual

guilt.

Well. It is too late to wish for that now and no use regretting what he cannot change. Shaking his head and hoping both kids feel a bit better when they wake, Jason sighs again and walks out of the room.

Jason is getting a bottle of water from the fridge when he hears Alfred come in. He turns, all negativity forgotten for a moment. Whatever else happened, Alfred never ceased to occupy a special place in his heart, and out of the whole family, Alfred is the only one towards whom Jason feels only warm affection, not poisoned by resentment, distrust, or jealousy. He only saw the butler for a few moments in the kids' room when he and Jay came upstairs, and they have not had the opportunity to do more than greet and hug each other briefly.

"Hey, Alfie," he says with a small but genuine smile before raising the bottle to his lips and downing half of it in one go.

"Master Jason," Alfred acknowledges. His tone is calm and even, as always, but Jason can see his eyes are warm and happy. It is nice to be able to evoke such feelings at least in one person, he thinks. Yeah, he knows that Bruce used to like him, too, but that was back when he was little and cute and – mostly – obedient. As for Dick, Jason suspects it is mostly guilt for not saving him that made the Golden Boy eventually accept him; well, that and the need to maintain his perfect image even in his own eyes. To be honest, Jason is still not sure why any of them tolerate him after what he did to Tim – especially the boy himself.

"How are the children?" Alfred asks, distracting Jason from his rapidly souring mood.

Jason lowers the bottle, takes a moment to swallow and sighs before answering.

"Asleep," he says in a low voice. "Been reading to them for this entire time. But hey," he continues, brightening, "Dickie woke up. Came to, I mean. Just for one second, then he fell asleep. But Jay says he recognized him. And he looks much better now, so I think he'll be fine."

Alfred looks relieved.

"That is very good news," he says. "It is most unfortunate that none of us realized the situation, and the poor child worked himself into such a state that finding out he was safe caused him to go into shock."

There is a note of guilt in Alfred's voice, and although Jason knows the situation is mostly Bruce's fault, he still cannot help scowling. But before he can open his mouth to ask Alfred what happened to his usual attentiveness and perceptiveness, Dick walks into the kitchen. Jason grits his teeth and sets the now empty bottle on the counter before crossing his arms and glaring at his brother. But Dick does not even glance at either of them.

"Hey," is all he says, making a beeline for the fridge. Alfred frowns.

"You are going to spoil your appetite, Master Dick," he says disapprovingly. "Dinner is…"

"Not nearly soon enough," Dick says, rummaging through the fridge at top speed and pulling out

ingredients for a sandwich. "I missed lunch, Alfie, and I'm starving. I didn't have the time to write my mission report last night, so I spent the past two hours staring at the screen. My brain feels like a squeezed lemon. Besides, come on, dinner is not for a couple of hours yet! Don't be heartless."

Alfred chuckles.

"I wouldn't dream of it. Speaking of lunch," he says, frowning, "I believe Master Bruce has not had any, either. Is he still in the study?"

"No," Dick says, hastily throwing his sandwich together. "He went down to the Cave after we talked. I think he's still there." He takes a huge bite and frowns, chewing. "I tried to get him to rest," Dick says with his mouth full, earning a disapproving look from Alfred. He ducks his head in apology and swallows before continuing. "He looked horrible, to be honest. But he brushed me off and said he needs to work on some case."

Jason feels his vision go slightly green again.

"So instead of cleaning up his mess he just decides to bail," he bites out. "Just like him-"

"Master Jason," Alfred interrupts, giving him a look full of admonishment. "I am not happy with the way Master Bruce has handled the situation, either, but I assure you he did not 'bail'." Faced with Alfred's displeasure, Jason bites his tongue, and after a moment, the butler continues. "He has been working on an extremely time-sensitive and difficult case for the last several days, and I have been helping him. I am not attempting to pretend we are not to blame for how things have turned out, and had I known the children have not been told they are safe, I would have acted differently. But, under the circumstances, we had to prioritize."

Pausing in the assembly of his second sandwich, Dick frowns.

"What's the case?" He asks. "Why the rush? And has Tim not been helping you? I get that he's benched, but he can still analyze data and run back-end and all that."

Alfred hesitates, and Jason is starting to feel concerned; Alfred is rarely this indecisive.

"Normally, I would leave it to Master Bruce to decide what information to share, but I fear he will not be forthcoming with it, and he does need help, whether he admits it or not," the butler says eventually. "Commissioner Gordon has asked for his assistance in the recent child trafficking case."

Jason inhales sharply, and Alfred glances at him.

"The fuckers," Jason hisses, ignoring Alfred's frown; the situation deserves strong language. "I leave for one month, and they think it's safe to start again. See," he spits out, turning to Dick, who winces, "that's your fault, you two are the ones who interfere when I try to clean up the city! You don't let me kill 'em, and this is what it-"

"It's not the first such case we've handled, though," Dick interrupts him, and Jason seethes. "What's different about this one, Alfred?"

"It is… an unusual one," Alfred admits reluctantly. "And although solving such cases is always a priority, this time we have even more of an incentive."

"Get to the point, Alfie," Jason says through gritted teeth. "What's so different about this one?"

"The victims are not sold to the buyers to be kept," Alfred replies tightly, and Jason stills.

"Clients," Alfred pronounces the word with extreme disgust, "are sold the opportunity to… violate and then murder them. While being recorded on camera."

A ringing silence fills the kitchen. Jason is aware that his hands are gripping the counter so tightly he can feel his fingers cramp; he finds he cannot make himself inhale. The anger is too much; usually, when he is this angry, the feeling either energizes or exhilarates him, but right now, all he can feel is a sudden pulsing, splitting headache. It is not even Pit rage that fills him but regular rage, only amplified by the supernatural component. For once, the world is more black than green.

"What?" He hears Dick choke out, through the haze. Turning wild eyes to his older brother, Jason sees that Dick's sandwich lies in front of him, forgotten – in fact, Dick looks like he is regretting eating the first one.

Alfred nods grimly.

"The case is too disturbing for Master Tim to be involved, and Master Bruce has tried his best to let him know as little as possible. Therefore, we have shared the workload between the two of us."

Dick exhales loudly and turns to look at Jason. His expression morphs into worry.

"Little Wing?" Jason hears. There is not a single coherent thought in his head, though, all of them drowning in a sea of green and black. Dick is suddenly standing much closer, and Jason turns his head to stare down at the hand that has somehow appeared on his shoulder. The hand moves, and he can feel himself shaking with its movement. Jason wills himself to breathe.

"I'm gonna kill 'em," he tells the hand, sounding detached, almost indifferent. "Try to stop me, and I'll put a bullet in you, too."

Dick is silent next to him. Jason is still, breathing through his anger, and gradually, his headache begins to recede.

Eventually, Alfred sighs.

"Yes, well," he says. "There have been several victims already, and Master Bruce has been dedicating as much time as he can to find the culprits and prevent more… crimes."

That does sound like a plausible excuse for Bruce and Alfred to be as oblivious as they have been, but Jason is not ready to sort through his feelings yet. He forces himself to let go of the counter and rubs his face with one aching hand in an attempt to clear his vision.

"I think I should go down to see B," Dick says. His hand leaves Jason's shoulder. The spot where it was feels cold.

"That is a good idea," Alfred says approvingly. "And since you are going downstairs, do me a favor and bring him some food. Shall I make you something else, too? What about you, Master Jason?"

Jason shakes his head numbly; looking up, he sees Dick do the same and eye his sandwich with disgust now. Jason can relate.

"I should come with you," he says abruptly, and Dick looks at him, startled. Jason feels far from ready to face Bruce, and the prospect of working with Batman fills him with even less enthusiasm. But until he gets enough information to start his own investigation, he is going to have to grit his teeth and bear it.

Apparently, Dick is not looking forward to working with him again either, because he hesitates, looking uncertain. Jason feels anger rising up again; well, whatever Dick and Bruce may think, he is not going to be kept away from this case in some misguided, disgusting attempt to save those criminals' lives. And if they refuse to share information, well then, he has his own sources. Who do they think they are, anyway, he seethes, this is his city, too, and-

Before he can explode, Alfred's voice cuts through his thoughts.

"I was hoping you might lend me a hand with preparing dinner, Master Jason," Alfred says, sounding again like his usual self, calm and collected. "I confess the workload has taken quite a toll on me, too, and I would not say no to a little help, seeing as I have more people to feed today than before. I would also appreciate some company, lad."

Jason balls his hands into fists. What he would love to do is put those fists to some good use or, better still, retrieve his guns from his safehouse and do a little bloody recon. But he finds he cannot refuse the man he considers his grandfather.

"Fine," he mutters and moves to the sink to wash his hands.

Behind him, Dick murmurs a quiet thanks when Alfred hands him a plate for Bruce and leaves the kitchen.

A moment later, Alfred steps up to Jason and pats his shoulder gently.

"Nobody is excluding you, lad," he says gently, and Jason hates him for being so perceptive. "This time, I will make sure we all share information and get the opportunity to help each other, where necessary. Right now, though, I would like Master Dick to try and get Master Bruce to eat and take a little break. You might not be able to see it just now, because too much has happened too quickly today, but it has all been far from easy for your father."

Jason nods, staring down into the sink, and trying to swallow past the lump in his throat.

"I know it feels like we are losing time, but unless we take at least a little of it to care for ourselves, we are not going to be any use, either to those children upstairs, or the potential victims. So for now," Alfred's voice becomes businesslike, "please direct your energy towards more peaceful goals and crush this garlic for me."

Huffing a small laugh, Jason takes the knife Alfred has laid next to him and moves to do as he is told.

For some reason, Alfred decides they are eating in the dining room instead of the kitchen tonight, and when Tim arrives, Alfred directs him to set the table.

"Hey, Tim," Jason says quietly as Tim goes past him to grab the dishes from a cabinet.

"Hi," Tim mutters in reply, ducking his head a little, and makes himself scarce.

Jason sighs. Sure, he has apologized for attacking the kid and assured him nothing like it would happen again, and Tim has accepted the apology. Obviously, it does not mean they have become

best friends, though. They have patrolled together a few times, and even hung out, at Dick's insistence, but Jason can see Tim is still extremely uncomfortable in his presence. To be honest, he is not even sure why the kid has accepted the apology – unless he was pressured into it.

Jason feels a stab of guilt; he hates knowing that Tim is still afraid, and, for a moment, he feels no better than Bruce, terrorizing a kid with his presence. Then again, he thinks heatedly, it is not like he kidnapped Tim without an explanation and forced the kid to live with him after he had a change of heart. So - completely different.

Once again, Alfred interrupts his thoughts.

"Master Jason, could you go upstairs and see if the children are awake yet? I will prepare a tray for Master Dickie if he is, as he should probably rest a little more. But I think it would be a good idea for Master Jay to leave the room for a bit."

"Sure," Jason mutters and, with a last look at the dining room doorway, leaves the kitchen.

He makes sure to knock very gently, prepared to go away if the kids are still asleep and do not answer. But after a few moments, the door opens, and Jay appears on the other side of the threshold. Seeing Jason, he raises a finger to his lips and slips out into the hall, closing the door carefully behind him.

"Hey, kid," Jason says and feels something inside him relax when Jay seems happy to see him. "Dinner's ready. You wanna come downstairs to grab a bite? It's not great for you to be cooped up in here all day. I take it Dickie's not awake yet?"

"No, he's still sleeping," Jay answers. He hesitates. "I'm not really hungry," he says unconvincingly. "I think I'll just stay here. Is that ok?" Jay's eyes are big and anxious.

Jason rolls his own.

"Yeah, no, I'm not buying that, mini-me. I can hear your stomach rumbling," his alternate flushes, and Jason grins. "It's ok. You really need to eat, and Dickie's gonna be fine now, alone. We know he's better, so you don't need monitor him every second. He'll be safe."

Jay bites his lip and glances to the side. Curious, Jason tilts his head and is about to ask what else is bothering him, but before he can do that, his double takes a deep breath and looks back at him.

"Yeah, ok," he says, attempting to smile. "Let's go."

Dick and Tim are already in the dining room when Jason comes in, his double trailing behind him. They both smile at Jay when they see him, and the kid smiles hesitantly in return.

"Hey, Jay," Dick says warmly, and for a split second, Jason feels an irrational flash of jealousy, because Dick never smiled at him like that when Jason was a kid, no matter how much he wanted his so-called big brother to like him. He squashes the feeling. Jay is not him, and he deserves all the affection he can get. Forcing a smile, Jason extends a hand to usher his alternate towards the table.

A moment later, Alfred appears with the food.

"You are to serve yourselves today, boys," he says. "I am going downstairs to help Master Bruce." Putting the dishes on a side table, he goes back to the kitchen.

"I actually got him to sleep for half an hour," Dick says, grabbing his plate immediately and moving towards the side table.

"Once again, you have succeeded where I could not," Alfred says wryly, reappearing with more dishes. "Did he eat?"

"Yeah," Dick says, ladling food onto his plate and motioning for the others to follow his example. "I brought the tray back, it's in the kitchen."

Alfred nods and leaves, reaching up to remove his apron as he goes.

"Come on, Jay," Jason says drily. "Better grab some food before Dick eats it all."

Dick sputters indignantly, and Jay hides another smile as he picks up his plate and goes to fill it.

Everyone is mostly quiet during dinner, each of them lost in their own thoughts. Dick finishes first and clears his throat.

"I think I should go downstairs and help B and Alfred," he says, glancing at Jason. He is about to say something else, when Tim pipes up.

"Oh, wait for me, I'll come, too," he says, downing his glass of water and moving to stand.

"Uh, Tim, hang on," Dick says quickly, and the boy stops, looking at him expectantly. "I, uh," Dick cuts his eyes to Jason, clearly asking for help.

"It'd be best if you stayed upstairs, tonight," Jason jumps in. It is not that he feels like helping Dick all that much, but he fully intends to go to the Cave himself and shake all the details about the case out of Bruce. Obviously, he cannot do that if Tim is there, too, so keeping him away is a must.

Tim narrows his eyes, looking between them.

"Why?" He asks suspiciously.

"Jason and I need to tell Bruce about the mission," Dick replies smoothly, having recovered. "And as Alfred is down there, too, someone needs to be up here in case Jay or Dickie need anything. Dickie's doing better, now, but we still need to keep an eye on him. So can you please stay with Jay? Maybe play some game in your room and check in on Dickie from time to time?"

Nice save, Jason thinks, though neither kid looks very pleased with the suggestion. Neither of them dares to object, though. Dick gives him a tiny conspiratorial smile out of the corner of his mouth.

Chapter End Notes

I do hope you can tell Jason is also… a bit of an unreliable narrator when it comes to his family's feelings towards him. You can also probably tell I was really hungry when I wrote this.

Chapter 19

Chapter Notes

Urgh, even when I set out to write something 100% comforting, I still end up with angst. There's some fluff, too, though, and it's a much better ratio than usual.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

There is something soft and fluffy in Dick's hand. He frowns without opening his eyes, still too drowsy and comfortable to want to move even his eyelids. Instead, he squeezes it a bit to try and figure out what it is. Probably just the blanket, he thinks; his hand must have fisted in it as he slept. Only… it is the wrong texture, and it is too thick and firm – and small, and weirdly shaped…

Curiosity wins, and Dick finally opens his eyes. And stares.

What his hand is wrapped around is the leg of a stuffed toy – an elephant, to be precise. It looks old and worn, but well cared for, no tears or stains on its soft grey fur. Moving his hand to rub its ear between his fingers, Dick wonders where it came from. Maybe Jay forgot his toy when he got up – he always sleeps clutching it and puts it on the nightstand for the day. But no, Dick thinks, frowning harder, Jay's toy is a little fox. Dick raises himself on an elbow so that the nightstand is in his line of vision, and there it is, propped against the wall at an angle, right next to the picture of Jay's mother.

So where on earth did this elephant come from?..

Pushing himself up slowly into a sitting position, Dick turns and scans the room. It is definitely their room, and nothing looks out of place, so that is comforting. But – the last thing he remembers is leaving it; he definitely does not remember coming back. Looking outside, Dick sees it is morning – again… and he already remembers waking up and going to breakfast intending to apologize to Tim.

Dick frowns again. But no, wait, now that he is thinking about it, he can remember more than just intending to apologize – he did apologize, and Tim said… the memory sends a jolt through him – Tim said his double had arrived. And then the other Dick came to meet him, and they went outside, and…

The desperate hope that rises inside him actually makes Dick gasp. The other Dick – Richard – told him they were safe, he said that Bruce was not a criminal, that none of them were… The mingled feeling of hope and relief is so intense Dick feels a sob building in his chest, and he raises his hands to his mouth to stifle it, dropping the toy onto the bed beside him.

Trying to wrestle himself under control, he makes himself exhale slowly and breathe evenly as he tries to evaluate the situation more rationally. Admittedly, it is hard to do when his lips are trying to stretch into an uncontrollable smile and his eyes are watering with tears of joy, especially as he recalls Richard holding him and humming his mother's lullaby. But it is imperative that he think it all through properly. So, with a superhuman effort, Dick manages to regain control of his facial muscles and then gets up and starts pacing slowly, trying to remember everything he can in order.

But no matter how hard he tries, Dick remembers nothing after Richard humming his mom's

songs. His memory is simply blank until the moment he woke up in bed. And that…

Dick shudders, stilling.

That can only mean two things. Either something made him black out and remain unconscious for the next… almost twenty-four hours, or…

Or the whole thing was a dream. His heart seizes.

No, he thinks desperately, please, no. It is too cruel – to let him hope like this and then take it away – again. Only if last time it was Bruce who destroyed his dream of safety and freedom, this time, he has nobody to blame but his own mind. Dick stares unseeingly in front of him. Is he really… is he actually going crazy? Not that he would be surprised, after all that he has been through…

And what is more probable, he thinks with rising hysteria - his double appearing just when he was losing hope again and telling him everything he has ever longed to hear… or his mind finally slipping, fractured by too much fear and bitter disappointment?

Dick sucks in a shuddering breath and squeezes his temples, attempting to regain control of himself. He casts around for anything to anchor himself, any thought that might help him remain sane. And…

The elephant. Dick whirls around, breathing heavily. The elephant was not there yesterday morning, or any morning before that – so it cannot have been a dream. He staggers back to the bed and stretches a trembling hand to grab the toy, clutching it to his chest as he straightens and almost crying with relief. He is also dressed, he notes, so that is a point in favor of being unconscious. Not that that is not alarming, but at least the conversation with Richard must have been real…

Dick is so lost in his thoughts he does not hear the bathroom door open. But the sound of his brother exclaiming his name penetrates the haze he has sunk into, and he lowers the stuffed toy just in time for Jay to crash into him, throwing his arms around Dick's middle and sobbing.

The sound of Jay's crying rips at Dick's heart and sends a new jolt of adrenaline through him. Frantic, he clutches his brother just as tightly and clenches his jaw in an attempt to hold himself together. Going crazy is not a luxury he can allow himself, Dick tells himself firmly, tempting as it may be to retreat into fantasies of comfort and childhood songs, not when he has Jay to protect. And it is obvious now that, even if the memory of the conversation is not a dream, it is not accurate, either – because why would Jay be crying if they are safe?

Jay is still sobbing, and Dick both wants to ask what happened to upset him like this – and does not. But as he is working up the courage to do it, because of course he must, Jay's arms loosen, and the kid stumbles back. Dick forces himself to look Jay in the face, bracing himself… and is stunned by the absolutely radiant smile that his brother is sporting despite his wet cheeks.

"Dickie," Jay breathes with a small happy laugh, wiping away his tears. Dick stares, astonished and afraid to let hope reignite inside him. "Dickie, you're awake!"

Dick shakes his head, trying to clear it.

"Awake?" He forces out and stops to lick his dry lips. "So I was out… right?" Jay nods, eyes still shining with tears. "How long?"

"Almost a day," Jay answers, and Dick feels profound relief at the confirmation that last morning did happen, but it is mixed with the anxiety about the reason for his missing memories.

"But why? What happened?" He asks, and Jay's smile falls a little.

"Dick – the other Dick, your double – said it was, like… a big stress for you, to find out we're safe," the kid says with a small frown. "And Jason – my double – said Bruce should have talked to us when he got us, that it would've been easier. For… us to believe, or something."

Dick frowns a little, too. Why would a good thing like that shake him so badly? He should have been either crying with joy, or questioning the truth of what he was told, that would make sense, not falling unconscious with no reason…

But… now that he thinks about it, he does remember the last moments before the world slipped away – feeling so relieved and so stunned at once that he felt unable to process what was happening. Maybe the explanation is not so outlandish, after all.

"Dickie?" Jay calls softly, looking up at him. Dick shakes his head, taking a breath.

"I'm… fine," he says, and, to his own surprise, he finds that he means it. He is no longer panicking, and while there is some residual trembling from all the adrenaline, underneath it he feels more rested and alert than he has in the entire time he has been in this universe.

He studies Jay's face carefully. His brother looks… happy, he thinks with something akin to wonder, truly happy. It could still all turn out to be a lie, a voice whispers at the back of Dick's mind. But… call it intuition or naïveté… something inside him feels so settled and calm that Dick knows for sure that what Richard has told him is true.

It does not automatically make things okay, of course. Even with this new knowledge, Dick still feels a cold fear run up his spine when he thinks of Bruce. And not being a family of criminals does not equate to being wonderful, loving people from whom they have nothing to fear. Not the kind of stuff the other Bruce used to do to them, okay, but these people are still more or less strangers.

Dick says none of this aloud.

"Your double?" He asks instead. "So he's here, too?"

Jay nods, his smile widening again, and Dick finds himself mirroring the expression.

"What is he like?" He asks.

"Huge!" The kid blurts out, and Dick cannot help a startled laugh. "He was kinda scary, at first, 'cause he has these weird eyes, and he's so big, and he was angry at something…" That does not really sound all that great, Dick thinks, slightly alarmed, but before he can ask, Jay barrels on. "But then he came upstairs and read us a book! And it helped! You, I mean – Alfred said I should talk to you, but I thought reading to you was better, and then Jason offered to read to us both… And you woke while he was reading – you remember that?"

"Uh…" Dick sifts through his memories, but comes up blank. "No, kiddo, sorry, I don't."

"That's ok," Jay says, though he looks a little disappointed. "He reads so well, though, I wish you'd heard it. But I think we can ask him to do it again, it was so…" The kid sighs, almost dreamily. "Like home," he settles on saying. Then he frowns. "You missed four whole chapters, though! So I'll have to tell you what happened – or we can just start over!"

Dick laughs happily, raising a hand to ruffle his brother's hair. Jay grumbles, but before he can reach up to smooth it, Dick pulls him in for a hug – which brings his attention back to the toy

elephant, which he is still clutching in one hand. Letting go of Jay, he raises the toy and looks at it curiously.

"Where did this come from?" He asks. "I found it on our bed when I woke up. It isn't yours, is it? I don't remember seeing it before."

"Nah," Jay replies, running his fingers through his hair repeatedly, "it's your double's. Tim said Dick – the other Dick – has had it for ages, that it's like some elephant in the circus?.."

"Zitka," Dick says quietly, looking down at it. Usually, thinking about the circus is too painful, so he avoids intentionally stirring up those memories. But in this strange, newfound safety, he allows himself to drift, running his fingers over the toy's fur; the memories feel bittersweet, but do not torture him like they usually do. It feels… strange. "And I call him Richard. My double. Feels confusing, us both having the same name." Jay hums, inclining his head a little. "Why is it here, though?"

His brother shrugs one shoulder, looking a little embarrassed.

"Tim had her in his room, and I noticed her when we were hanging out there last night. He said anyone can borrow her if they're feeling, like… sad, and… Well, I thought you kinda needed her," Jay finishes, flushing. Dick laughs, lowering the toy and moving to hug his brother again. "You seemed to like her!" Jay mumbles against his chest, sounding somewhat defensive. "You held on to her, and you looked happier! I swear you did!"

"I believe you, Jay," Dick says affectionately, squeezing the boy a little tighter before releasing him. "Thank you, kiddo." His voice turns more serious. "I mean it. Thank you."

"For what?" Jay asks, looking down, his cheeks still pink. Dick tips the kid's head up, gently.

"For caring," he replies softly. "And for being there."

"I didn't do much," Jay mumbles, but he looks pleased.

"You did more than enough," Dick says, pulling Jay forward with an arm around his neck and kissing the kid on the forehead. "No-one could've done more."

For once, Alfred is not in the kitchen when Dick and Jay come downstairs; only Tim is at the table with his usual cup of coffee. Instead of scrolling through his phone, though, today, he is staring morosely out of the window, sitting sideways in his chair. He turns and brightens up when he sees Dick.

"Hey!" He greets. "Glad to see you're up, Dick! How're you feeling?"

"Better," Dick says, smiling a little. Tim is the first inhabitant of the house – aside from Jay, but that does not really count – Dick is meeting after talking to Richard. It feels strange, seeing Tim for the first time without the filter of misunderstanding distorting his perception. It is even stranger to remember his feelings the last time he saw the other boy – just yesterday, Dick thinks with a start, but that feels like ages ago. Dick feels almost ridiculous now, remembering how wary, almost afraid, he was of Tim.

Dick winces internally as he remembers all the things he said to Tim in the glasshouse, looking at them from a new angle. No wonder Tim was angry, he thinks; Dick kept asking him none too tactfully about things that are clearly very painful and outright told him he did not belong with his new family. Dick feels the desire to apologize again – sincerely and with no other motive, this time. But he would rather not have that conversation right now, a little tired after the morning's emotional rollercoaster.

"Alfred's out," Tim says, taking a sip of his coffee. "The food's over there," he points to two covered plates on the counter. Murmuring their thanks, Dick and Jay take their plates and move to sit at the table.

Dick keeps sneaking little glances at Tim as he eats. The other boy definitely looks unhappy today. Dick furrows his brows a little, wondering if Tim is still upset with him and whether he should go ahead with the second apology now, after all. Before he can even start constructing it in his head, though, Tim beats him to it.

"I'm really sorry about how – how things went," Tim says awkwardly. "Bruce didn't tell me… I didn't realize you didn't know you were safe, so I didn't…" He stops and huffs in frustration. "I would've done things differently if I'd known, and I would've told you, you know, about Batman being a hero and… all that."

"It's fine," Dick says, a little dazed, because he was not expecting an apology from Tim. "I'm sorry, too – about all that stuff I said back in the pavilion. I know I said that already, but I didn't realize how it all must've sounded to you, 'cause…" He winces and looks down briefly. "You must've thought I was deranged, asking you all that stuff like that. It's not how I meant it."

"You must've thought I was a psychopath," Tim counters, "so we're even."

Tim and Dick look at each other silently for a moment, and then simultaneously burst out laughing. Jay looks bemused.

"We kinda did," Dick admits, wiping a tear. Tim shakes his head.

"It's such a mess," he says on an exhale, leaning back. "I dunno why Bruce let it happen. He's…" Tim pauses, and Dick waits to hear what he will say with bated breath. Tim huffs. "Ok, he's not exactly the most sensitive person, or whatever, but he usually thinks things through better than this."

"So…" Dick hesitates. "What went wrong this time?"

"I don't know," Tim sounds frustrated. "I know he's been keeping stuff from me lately – case stuff. With your case – I dunno, maybe he was trying to keep it confidential, or something like that, as you're here… But there's something else now. And now Dick and Jason are involved, too, so they must know." Tim scowls. "They all went out last night, and I haven't even seen them since dinner." He looks upset again.

Dick frowns a little, trying to squash his alarm at hearing his and Jay's double are 'involved' in something – Tim probably does not mean anything sinister, he tries to convince himself.

"Perhaps it's something dangerous," he offers. "Seeing as you're their little brother… and son… they're probably just trying to protect you."

Tim scoffs.

"Of course it must be dangerous," he says, a touch derisively. "And important." He stares down

into his cup and then raises it to take an aggressive sip. "Bruce is probably still mad I got hurt, that must be it. He probably thinks I can't handle it, whatever they're investigating."

"How did you get hurt?" Dick dares to ask. "Really?"

"Went out to do some recon and ended up chased by two armed goons," Tim winces. "It was the night you guys got here, only a little earlier, so there was no-one to back me up. But I had to go, 'cause it was a series of murders, and I finally got the clue I needed to prevent another one. It was time-sensitive." He pauses, looking between Jay and Dick. "Shit. You must've thought Bruce beat me up, or something, right?"

Jay ducks his head, and Dick winces, nodding. Tim exhales loudly.

"Such a mess. Really sorry. I can't even imagine how terrifying it all must've been. On top of moving to a new place, too. I know how disorienting that can feel."

"It's not your fault," Jay pipes up. Dick nods in agreement.

"Still," Tim shakes his head. "And just, for the record, he doesn't. Beat me, I mean. You probably already know that, but… I guess it won't hurt to say it again."

Intellectually, Dick is already almost ready to accept that. But Bruce is still… Bruce, and he does not want to think about the man long enough to gauge if he truly believes it. So he changes the subject.

"So… What are you planning to do about it? That thing you think they're hiding? What do you think it is?"

Tim's eyes light up with mischief.

"Oh, I intend to find out." The mischief morphs into determination. "And then I'll prove I'm good enough, and not telling me was a mistake."

Chapter End Notes

Yeah, not telling him was definitely a mistake.

Chapter 20

Chapter Notes

Just some more angsty introspection from Tim. If someone's feeling better, someone else is getting the angst. It's a balance, folks.

Raw determination is great, but Tim needs at least a vague plan before he can act. And seeing as he has none yet, he figures he might as well accompany Dickie and Jay on their usual walk after breakfast. This time, he does not need to invite himself awkwardly and suffer the feeling of being barely tolerated; Dickie asks him to come, enthusiastically seconded by Jay, and, unlike last time, Tim does not sense any ulterior motive.

They talk of unimportant things as they walk idly along the path to the pond. With the misunderstanding out of the way, the atmosphere does not feel tense or charged, like it did before. It just feels like Tim is just hanging out with some friends – made even better by the fact that these friends know about his night job, so he does not need to hold back. Jay is no longer shooting Tim wary looks out of the corner of his eye, and Dickie laughs readily at his stories about school and patrol. It is only when Dickie tries to share some of his own that the mood changes.

He is obviously caught in the moment when he begins talking, responding to Tim's retelling of a funny incident during patrol last month. But halfway through the story, which includes a prank his friend pulled, he stutters, looking stricken, and then falls silent and actually stops walking. An extremely awkward silence follows; Tim frowns, wondering what has triggered Dickie, and Jay looks at his brother with concern, pressing close. For once, though, Dickie does not react to the kid, looking tense and lost at once.

"So you… you weren't with the other Bruce for this entire time? Like – until… our Bruce got you out?" Tim asks Dickie after a pause in an admittedly clumsy attempt to get him to snap out of whatever has come over him. Dickie starts, looking at him strangely, and then puts an arm around Jay as he starts walking again. Tim follows.

"No," Dickie forces out, looking at neither of them. Clearing his throat, he continues in a more normal tone. "No, I escaped… about a year ago."

Tim stumbles, staring at the side of Dickie's head. From what Dick told him – which, admittedly, was not much – Tim thought Bruce had swooped in and freed both boys from… well, he did not think about it in such detail, but – a locked room in the other Manor or… a cell in the Cave or something like that. But if Dickie had actually escaped…

"But," he begins slowly, carefully, "then, why were you at the Manor when Bruce came?"

Tim is fully prepared for Dickie to tell him where to shove his questions; in fact, he feels that would be fair after Tim's own reaction to Dickie's questions about his family. And he really hopes the other boy will not take this conversation as Tim's attempt to get back at him for those questions. It is nothing like that; it is simply that Tim cannot resist trying to collect more data. But, to his surprise, Dickie does not bat an eyelid, though his voice remains low and unhappy.

"He dragged me back," he says, and Tim inhales sharply. When Dickie said 'he', surely he did not

mean?..

"'He'… as in…" Tim's voice trails off. Dickie gives him another strange look.

"Our Bruce," he clarifies, and Tim feels a weight lift from his chest. Dickie's next words make it return tenfold, though. "He killed my friends, all the people who gave me shelter after I escaped. He burned the house down with all their bodies inside and dragged me back. That's…" Dickie pauses to take a deep breath. "That's when I met Jay." The kid makes a small, wounded noise. "And that's when your Bruce came charging in."

Tim stares ahead, stunned and horrified. It makes sense, he thinks, remembering what Dick told him about Jay only being with the other Bruce for a year. So Jay must have been chosen to replace Dickie when he ran away. Glancing at the younger boy, whose face is tense and upset, Tim feels his heart clench; being a sadist's victim would have sucked under any circumstances, but having an older brother would have been at least some comfort. To endure all of that abuse alone… But then, Tim realizes with a jolt, Dickie did endure all of it alone – and for years.

"I'm… I'm so sorry," is all he can think to say. His lips feel numb. "And… I'm sorry I asked."

"That's fine," Dickie replies on an exhale. He shakes his head. "It's not a secret, just… It was just painful to remember, since… they're all gone, and…" He is silent for a moment. "And I'm the reason," he finishes miserably.

"You're not," Jay says immediately, scowling. Dickie gives him a fond but pained look.

"He's right," Tim agrees. "You didn't kill them. And you have no control over what a sadistic psychopath does."

Dickie does not look convinced, but neither does he argue.

Climbing a small hill near the pond, the boys settle down on the grass. Jay presses close to Dickie again, and the older boy slings an arm across his brother's shoulders. Their slumped postures and upset expressions are such a sharp contrast to the earlier ease and laughter that Tim cannot help but hate himself a little.

"I'm sorry," he says again guiltily.

"Don't be," Dickie's tone is firm despite his body language. "Just… let's talk of something else, ok?"

"Sure," Tim agrees without hesitation. He casts around for a different topic, but he is still reeling a little from Dickie's revelation and cannot come up with anything quickly enough. "Uh…"

"Do you help with cases often?" Jay asks quietly. Tim breathes a sigh of relief at the prompt.

"Yeah," he says, "pretty much all the time. I mean, I go to school, and stuff," he amends, "but I spend a lot of time training, investigating, and patrolling, all that." But while a change of topic is good, this specific one makes his own mood sour, albeit in a different way. "Which is why it is so annoying that they're keeping stuff from me," he mutters through gritted teeth.

Dickie inclines his head curiously.

"So they don't usually do that?"

"No," Tim replies, rubbing his neck, "they don't. What sucks is, it began recently. Ever since I

cracked that last case," he huffs, "which is so unfair!"

Admittedly, there was another time Bruce and Dick kept things from him, Tim muses. But back then, their behavior towards him was notably different. Now, instead of keeping him close and worrying about him, nobody even… seems to notice him. Not that he expects much from Bruce; okay, so the man adopted him, but that was a necessity, he did not sign up for dealing with Tim's insecurities. Alfred, though, has always been observant and gentle. Dick, too, seemed fond of him, and it still stings that he promised to talk to Tim and never came.

Don't be a baby, Tim tells himself sternly. Everyone must be busy dealing with Dickie and Jay's circumstances, and he is certainly not going to begrudge the kids the attention. Except… is that where the others are directing their attention? And if so, how come nobody thought to talk to them? What could everyone possibly be doing?..

Dickie's hesitant voice snaps him out of his thoughts.

"Don't you think you're going to get in trouble if you try to snoop, though?"

Tim waves his good hand dismissively, looking out to the pond.

"Worth it. Besides," he continues, "there's really only one thing… ok, two… they could do that I'd care about, and if I'm being pushed out like this, then-" his mouth twists, "neither of them really matters."

Tim turns to the other boys and is surprised by how tense they both look. He frowns, trying to puzzle it out. A moment later, it hits him; now that he knows how they have been viewing the past couple of weeks, he has a pretty good idea of how they might interpret a poorly worded explanation. He rushes to clarify, aiming to be as clear as possible.

"It won't be anything cruel," he says, throwing up a hand, "I won't get a beating, and they won't starve or lock me up or anything like that. I just meant… Bruce might bench me – but I'm already benched, and if he's not letting me help with anything, then… none of it matters." Tim swallows the lump in his throat. "I guess they could also kinda… chuck me out of the family altogether, if they think I'm too annoying, but… I really think the probability of that is pretty low."

"Why would they think you're annoying?" Dickie asks quietly with concern.

Tim shrugs, looking away.

"I dunno. Not that they ever say anything, it's just… That's what my parents thought. And I'm not even related to the Waynes, so…" He exhales, running a hand through his hair. "Anyway," he continues, feeling that his little pity party has gone on for too long, "I don't intend to get caught. I'm actually pretty good at this stuff."

"Snooping around?" Dickie asks, teasing gently.

Tim huffs a laugh.

"Well… yeah, actually. I mean, I've been following Batman and Robin for years, even before I met them properly."

"Following them?" Jay pipes up. "What for?"

"I took pictures of them," Tim grins. "Studied their patrol routes and followed them around the city."

"Pictures?" Jay asks curiously; Dickie just looks confused. Tim's grin widens; he always loves talking about his photography, even if he still feels the sting of rejection from when he offered to show his work to the other boys.

"Yeah, I love photography. And it's not just Batman and Robin, I take pictures of all kids of stuff. Landscapes, portraits, still life… Sometimes, just… abstract shots," Tim waves a hand. "It's all about constructing a balanced composition. I guess the great thing about Batman and Robin was, I often got awesome action shots with them. It's not easy, especially at night, but I love a challenge. I've a DSLR, it's my favorite, but I also have a mirrorless camera with a fantastic zoom, and I just gotta show you that one shot I got one night on a full moon – I accidentally caught a plane flying straight at it! It's…" Tim breaks off and flushes, suddenly realizing he has been gushing. "Sorry," he mutters, dropping his eyes.

"What for?" Dickie exclaims with uncharacteristic enthusiasm – or just more than Tim has seen from him so far. Fighting his embarrassment, Tim glances up at him. Both he and Jay look far from annoyed. In fact, they seem intrigued. "It sounds awesome. I'd love to see that plane shot." Dickie hesitates. "Is it… is that what you wanted to show us back in the library that day?"

"Well," Tim answers slowly, trying to figure out the reason for Dickie's strange tone, "not that picture, specifically, I mean, I just thought I'd show you some of my recent stuff, but… yeah." He frowns. "Why? What did you think it was?"

"Nothing," Dickie replies quickly, but Tim can see him exchange a brief look with Jay. He wants to ask, and he is already opening his mouth to do it, but Dickie derails him with another question about his photography, and Tim decides to let it go. Whatever the misconception was, now they know the truth – which is the important thing.

After lunch, Jay disappears to the library, as usual, and Dickie follows him, though Tim can see he is far less excited about the pastime than his brother. Tim feels a little guilty at ditching Dickie like that; he remembers Dick's accusation about the new kids only walking and reading for fun. And he would suggest something else, only he really wants to go down to the Cave and start trying to figure out what everyone is hiding from him. He briefly contemplates asking Dickie to join him, but dismisses it; Dickie is unfamiliar with the layout of their Cave and might actually be more of a hindrance than help.

None of it matters, though, because when Tim arrives downstairs, the Cave is not empty, so any snooping is out. Bruce is sitting at the computer; he turns when he hears Tim's footsteps and watches him approach.

Tim has not given much thought to how he would feel, seeing Bruce for the first time after the whole spectacular misunderstanding with Dickie and Jay has been cleared up. If asked, he probably would have shrugged and said it would not matter, because why should it?

And yet, he feels unusually awkward and anxious as he descends the last few steps and heads towards the computer. It is not that the thought of another, evil Batman is suddenly scaring him; neither is he particularly angry for Bruce essentially setting him up for failure, telling him nothing and then expecting him to be of actual help to the new kids. It is more the fact that Tim cannot fathom what drove his adoptive father to behave as he did, and that means Tim does not have full

data – and Tim hates not working with full data. And then, of course, there is the resentment at being excluded; okay, Tim can deal with not having been told enough about Dickie and Jay, seeing as no-one has, obviously, but he is certain there is something else to which only he is not privy.

"Tim," Bruce greets him quietly. His face is impassive, as always, but there is something different about his tone. It seems even more measured than usual, almost cautious – and heavy, as if Bruce is thinking about every word he utters, even is that word is just Tim's name. This does nothing to calm Tim's nerves.

He makes himself continue moving forward until he is almost within arm's reach of Bruce.

"Hey Bruce," he replies, aiming for casual and probably missing by a mile. "What're you doing? Can I help?"

The questions that Tim must have asked dozens of times without any ulterior motive feel very different today – like a test. Because if Bruce says no, if he has no need for Tim's help, no need for Tim, then…

"No," Bruce says, and Tim's heart plummets. Tim is not sure what expression he makes, but it must be devastated enough that Bruce's eyes widen, and he clumsily attempts to soften the blow. "Just, not right now, Tim, thank you. I'll need some help with the new database later, though."

It is not enough. It is not nearly enough, and Tim finds himself blinking rapidly and swallowing so that he does not fall apart right then and there. If he could just be allowed to argue his case…

"Is this because of that last case?" He hates how high and shrill his voice sounds. His control is slipping. Forget arguing his case; it will be a miracle if he does not start blubbing like a baby. "'Cause I got hurt? Or – or 'cause I went out? You know I had to – you were gone, and Dick, and they were gonna kill someone else, I had to do it! I-"

"Tim," Bruce cuts in. He does not stand, but he has straightened in his chair and is leaning forward slightly, hands balled into fists. "What is because you went out? What are you talking about?"

"You're benching me!" Tim's chest is heaving. "You're benching me for good, aren't you! It's- It's not fair! I solved it! I saved people! You're mad I got hurt – but it's nothing! Just an arm, and I-"

"Tim!" Bruce finally stands. He seems to debate with himself for a moment, but then, clearly coming to some decision, he steps closer to Tim and lowers himself on one knee, raising his hands to rest them on Tim's shoulders and squeezing lightly. Tim clenches his jaw and tries to focus on the warmth of Bruce's hands in an attempt to keep himself grounded, under control. "Tim, I'm not benching you – not for good, I mean." Bruce says in a softer tone and then pauses. "I already know that benching any of you indefinitely does not work," he continues wryly. "You're only benched until you fully heal. Now, we are going to talk about rules and acceptable risks again, but the cape is yours, and I am not trying to… This is not meant to be a punishment, Tim, I promise."

He looks and sounds earnest, and Tim tries to calm himself. He is maybe even a little embarrassed at his own outburst; Bruce just said one word, it does not need to mean anything… He takes a deep breath.

"Then why haven't you said anything about that case?" Tim asks tremulously. "We tried to solve it for weeks, and we couldn't figure it out, and I put it all together. Look, I'm not a baby, and I don't need, like, heaps of praise, but I…" He trails off, wondering if he has crossed the line between explaining himself and whining, yet. "And then you didn't explain anything about Jay and Dickie,

and I understand that they should get some privacy – but you didn't see fit to tell me anything." To Tim's own surprise, he can feel himself actually getting a little angry. "And now you're all clearly involved in something, and again, you're telling me nothing!"

Brief bout of anger over, Tim feels tears prickling his eyes again.

Bruce exhales, closing his eyes.

"Tim," he says softly, opening them again, "I do think you did well. I am very proud of you, please, believe that. I am sorry I did not tell you that. Things have been…" Bruce sighs. "I must apologize for more than that, of course. I really am very sorry I have been the cause of this… horrendous misunderstanding, and I realize it must have taken a toll on you, because you and Dickie and Jay have been talking at cross purposes this entire time. I also apologize for telling you nothing but the most basic facts about that mission – I…" Bruce breaks off, looking frustrated, and Tim stares at this rare display of emotion. "I was trying to protect you. What those two children have endured at my alternate's hands is… 'terrible' does not even begin to cover it, and I did not want you to know more than the bare minimum."

Well… Tim resents that, sure, but after this morning's conversation with Dickie, he is quite ready to believe that Bruce is not exaggerating. And while some information would have been appreciated, the rest of it… most of it was probably not Bruce's story to tell. Mollified, Tim nods slowly.

"But… there's more, isn't there?" He says. "You and Dick and Jason… Even Alfred. You're all distracted by something. Aren't you?"

He knows he is right when Bruce's expression turns guarded and even a touch calculating. Bruce's hands leave Tim's shoulders, and he stands up slowly. For a moment, he just looks at Tim.

"We are," he says eventually. Tim waits eagerly, but the silence stretches – so, apparently, Bruce thinks that is enough information for him. He huffs.

"No, wait, come on," he says, doing his best not to sound whiny. "Bruce, why won't you tell me what it is? I want to help!"

Bruce sets his jaw, still saying nothing, and a thought suddenly crosses Tim's mind that makes him freeze.

"Unless," he starts shakily, "unless it's some family business. It is, isn't? That's why you guys are all involved. I, I'm sorry, I don't want to impose…"

Tim breaks off as Bruce starts shaking his head, frowning.

"Tim, what do you mean, 'impose'? You are part of this family, so any 'family' business includes you." Bruce pinches the bridge of his nose. "It's a case, Tim." Tim perks up, but Bruce's next words make him scowl. "It is a case, but I don't want you helping with it."

"But why?" Tim breaks in. "Haven't I proved I can handle stuff? Tough stuff, too! Why do you still think I'm so – so – deficient that you can't trust me?"

Bruce jerks his head, frowning, and Tim can see he is getting a little angry, too.

"There are things I can't tell you, Tim. And it's not about trust. You're too young, not deficient, to deal with some things. Dick and Jason are going to help me, and that is enough."

Tim glares.

"So you guys are off fighting aliens or whatever, and I get to do nothing?"

Bruce's expression is back to its infuriating calm.

"We are not fighting aliens. And why nothing? The new database is up, and you can go right ahead and start cleaning it up. You know perfectly well we need clean data, so you can't tell me it's not an important task."

And with one final, quelling look, Bruce turns and stalks away towards the locker room. Tim glares at his back.

"No, not unimportant, just lame," he mutters through gritted teeth, moving to take Bruce's place at the computer.

Don't be a baby, Tim tells himself sternly for the second time in one day. This time, though, it has nothing to do with being excluded from the Bats' business.

Whatever emergency there is, Jason must have decided that bonding with the new kids takes precedence over it. He appeared after dinner, and although Dickie briefly seemed alarmed at his eyes and size, Jason's rough but playful manner seemed to win him over in barely any time. Jay, for his part, followed his alternate like an imprinted duckling. So after dinner, Jason dragged the three of them to a sitting room to play board games. Jay tried to persuade him to read aloud, armed with some impressive puppy eyes, but Jason ruffled his hair with a laugh and told the kid he needed to take his nose out of the books sometimes. Jay scowled, but seemed mollified when Jason promised to read to him later.

Obviously, Jason could not tell Tim to scram in front of the new kids, so Tim ended up playing with them, not finding any good excuse to decline. But now, staring at the board and waiting for his turn to throw the dice, he wishes he had. Jason only ever agrees to hang out with him if Dick is there, and it is clear that he does not exactly welcome Tim's company.

In fact, Dick not being there is another thing that upsets Tim. Of course, Tim realizes that Dick is busy – not just with the kids but, apparently, with some new major case, and Tim cannot expect his brother to drop everything to deal with his worries. Tim does not blame him in the slightest, and he would never think of complaining about it to Dick – or anyone else, for that matter. It does not mean he cannot be upset about it, though.

But what bothers Tim the most is the easy, affectionate way in which Jason is interacting with Dickie and Jay. It is not the first time he sees Jason dealing with kids, of course, and he knows his brother has always treated children with warmth, attention, and humor – be it as Robin, Red Hood, or Jason Todd. No, that is not a surprise. Neither is the way the kids respond to him, gravitating towards his presence, as if sensing his readiness to protect them.

Nothing is a surprise anymore, really. Tim already got his surprise when his childhood hero made it clear that Tim is the one kid that cannot count on his affection and protection. And okay, he and Jason have made up, kind of, and he even accepted his brother's apology for beating him up and nearly killing him. Not that it was easy, but Tim wanted so badly to move past what had happened

that he made himself say it was fine. It does not mean he does not still have nightmares about the Tower, or never flinches when Jason – or, more accurately, Hood – moves too fast, or never has episodes of self-pity for wanting Jason to see him as family, someone to care for, and never getting that.

Like the episode he is having tonight, amplified by what is happening in front of him. Tim really wishes he could stop, could just snap out of it. At this point, it is not only his own night he is ruining. He can see Dickie start giving him strange looks and glancing between him and Jason; Jay notices, of course, because the kid is way too observant, and frowns slightly, glancing at his brother for clues. And even Jason himself cannot pretend nothing is wrong; as the night continues, Tim can hear his voice getting more strained. At least his eyes are not glowing yet.

"Hey, are you ok?" Jason asks when Tim misses his move, lost in thought.

Tim raises his head. Jason is putting on a good act, he thinks approvingly; Dickie and Jay definitely do not need a display of hostility. He glances at them – both boys are watching him with concern. He forces a smile.

"A headache," he lies. Might as well quit while he is ahead. Kind of. The last thing any of them needs is a quarrel, and Tim is sure things are going to become unpleasant if he stays, what with his own brewing emotions and Jason's displeasure. "Slept in a weird position last night. It went away after breakfast, but it's back now. You know what," he clambers to his feet, "I think I'll go take a painkiller and turn in. I don't think Bruce is going to need me in the Cave tonight, I almost finished all that stuff he wanted me to fix in the database, so I'll do the rest tomorrow."

Tim can tell Jason does not buy his excuse, but at least he does not argue.

"Ok," he says easily, though his eyes are serious, "get some rest. See you tomorrow."

Tim waves to Dickie and Jay, who wish him goodnight, and leaves the room, forcing himself to walk slowly.

In the safety of his room, Tim lets go. What is wrong with him, he wonders as tears start sliding down his cheeks. Why can he not get the same treatment from Jason - from any version of his family, really? He knows jealousy is not just petty but ugly, especially in this situation, but he simply cannot help himself. It just hurts, being the exception in every relationship and interaction, and sometimes it is too much.

Eventually, Tim pulls himself together and wipes his tears resolutely. He should not feel this way – and he definitely must not indulge himself. So he may be a failure as a human being, okay, but he is a good detective who can handle anything. And he is going to make sure everyone knows it.

Chapter 21

Chapter Notes

Let's take a break from that case. After all, it's not why we all gathered here, right?

"Don't you think that was weird, last night?"

"Hm?"

Dick turns his head from where he was absent-mindedly staring out of the window and finds Jay looking at him with a small frown, his book forgotten in his lap – an almost unheard of occurrence.

"Tim and… my double," Jay clarifies. He fidgets a bit with the pages of his book and bites his lip. "Did you see how tense he was? I know you did," he says pointedly when Dick still does not reply.

"I did," Dick admits reluctantly.

He has, in fact, been thinking about little else the entire morning. He even debated with himself about whether he should ask Tim what was wrong. On the one hand, the other boy's demeanor last evening was different enough to be a little alarming; on the other, it was not exactly Dick's business or place to ask.

Asking Tim if he was alright, though, without the specifics, was perfectly fine, he decided eventually. If Tim wanted to share, he would; if not, that was his right. But in the end, Dick did not get the chance to ask even that. Tim did not come to breakfast – or, rather, he did, but, according to Alfred, he was already finished and gone by the time Dick and Jay came downstairs. Apparently, he wanted to finish that database task from the day before and decided to give it an early start.

The whole thing was weird, Dick agrees. Tim had seemed fine when he came to dinner, but once Jason appeared, he became progressively withdrawn and silent, and by the time they all settled down to play, Tim's face was downright miserable even though he was clearly trying to hide it.

Dick is not sure why the whole thing bothers him so much; a headache is not that implausible an excuse, and it would explain Tim's subdued demeanor during the evening. But somehow, Dick is certain that, physically, Tim felt just fine, and his behavior had something to do with Jason's presence.

Really, a quarrel between siblings would not be cause for alarm, in itself; Dick understands perfectly well relationships have their ups and downs. But Dick is very good at reading people's body language – he had to be, to gauge Bruce's moods and reactions and adjust his own behavior accordingly. And Tim's body language last night did not say headache; it said wary, maybe even… scared.

Well, okay, maybe that was going too far; but at the very least Tim seemed anxious. It was the way he avoided looking at Jason directly, mostly just darting little looks as if to check his brother's mood. It was the way he chose the furthest spot from Jason he could while still remaining close enough to the board to play. And the way he preferred closed positions – not exactly curling away from Jason but definitely not feeling comfortable to take up space.

To tell the truth, on top of being concerned for Tim, Dick is actually slightly worried about what this might mean for himself and Jay. Jason acted warm and friendly towards them, and Dick can see Jay is absolutely taken with his alternate. Dick himself is maybe a little less so, but he can definitely see why Jay feels this way. Jason is loud and fun and attentive, and it is obvious that he cares. He is also big and bulky, but somehow, not scary. Dick does not do well with men that resemble Bruce in any way, but Jason does not make him wary. Dick simply does not get any threatening or gross vibes from him.

However, Tim's reaction suggests… if not abuse, then something violent anyway, and Jason must have done something to warrant that from the boy. And it is definitely him; Dick knows for sure that this behavior is not Tim's default. He has seen Tim interact with Bruce; and while Bruce still scares him so much that he finds it astonishing anyone could be comfortable around the man, Tim definitely seemed at ease. Dick does remember Tim saying he and Jason did not get along at first, but that they were fine now. If this is 'fine', though… Dick is not sure he wants to know what 'not fine' had looked like. He would like to know, though, how not to make things with Jason… not fine.

Dick says none of this aloud. But Jay is still waiting for his response, and Dick frantically tries to come up with an answer that will not worry his brother. He does not want Jay to feel wary of his alternate, at least until he finds out more.

Dick is saved from having to answer by the soft sound of knocking; a moment later, the door opens. Hidden behind the shelves, Dick and Jay do not have a clear view of the entrance, and the carpet muffles and disguises the footsteps, but they sound too heavy to be Tim's. A moment later, Dick's breath hitches, because their visitor clears his throat, which immediately gives away his identity.

"Boys? Are you in here?"

Jay climbs to his feet, and Dick hastens to do the same, his heart hammering. A glance at Jay tells him his brother is a lot less worried; in fact, he smiles shyly as Bruce appears from behind the bookshelf, carrying a thin bright green folder in one hand.

"Hello, Jay, Dickie," Bruce says gently, stopping far away enough that he is not looming over them. It does not make the slightest difference; Dick still stands frozen with anxiety, and he knows that it shows.

Bruce clears his throat again, awkwardly, and inclines his head towards the seating area.

"There is something I would like to talk to you about. Could we sit down?"

Jay moves readily forwards without even waiting for Bruce to step back; Dick notices the man's eyes widen a little and knows he is not the only one surprised by this show of trust. He, however, cannot bring himself to move until Bruce hastily takes a few steps back, fully clearing the way.

They settle down, Bruce in his usual armchair and the boys on the sofa.

"Thank you," Bruce says in a low voice. "I did not mean to interrupt, but there are a couple of rather important things I would prefer not to postpone anymore. I have already," he pauses to take a deep breath, "neglected them for too long."

That sounds ominous, Dick thinks nervously, fighting the urge to fidget. Bruce's next words, however, shock him so much he actually forgets about his anxiety for a moment.

"First, I apologize," Bruce says, and Dick's world tilts on its axis. The other Bruce never apologized to him – well, not in earnest. He did say the words once, in a sneering tone, when Dick, still too young and new to the Manor to follow the new rules to the letter, dared to leave the bed to clean up without permission. 'I apologize for not making myself clear enough,' was what Bruce actually said, 'but now that you have upset Daddy, let's try again and see if you can make it up to me'. The 'apology' session is one of Dick's worst memories that still haunts his dreams sometimes despite the years that have passed since then.

This Bruce, however, sounds utterly sincere. And, come to think about it... he already apologized to them back when he explained the rules, did he not?

It makes the new apology only marginally less shocking.

"I am very sorry for the manner in which I brought you here," Bruce continues. "I realize now I should have taken the time to talk to you properly and explain everything about this universe and my own intentions. I know that the uncertainty has caused you a lot of distress." Bruce pauses and takes a deep breath. "I am not… attempting to pretend it was not my fault, but I was too caught up in my mission and other matters to realize I never told you what I actually do or explained to you that you are both safe." Another pause. "I was completely honest with you when I said that I would not harm you in any way and that I only brought you here in order to protect you."

Getting what seems a genuine apology from the man astonishes Dick enough to forget his fear.

"But why?" He blurts out. Bruce looks startled by his question, as though he did not expect Dick to speak. That is fine; neither did Dick himself. At least the man is not angry. "Why did you need to protect us?" Dick demands. He feels his momentary courage begin to slip away, and he tries to hold on it; he needs to get this out. "You beat our Bruce, he was no longer a threat. So – so why?"

Bruce looks at him for a long moment, enough to make Dick feel the remains of the courage drain away. He swallows, wondering if talking was a mistake, but just when he is ready to apologize, Bruce answers.

"You were Robin, for a long time," he says gently. Dick stares; well, that is hardly news to him. But what could it possibly… "Your identity, as well as that of Batman, was not known to the public until I defeated him," Bruce explains in a measured tone. "But once the police apprehended him, and I made sure they would, I could not be certain they would not come after you as well. The Justice League, too, not to mention the relatives of your… of the victims." He pauses and glances at Jay before focusing on Dick again. "Leaving Jay there alone was not an option, so I brought you both here." He grimaces briefly. "It has been pointed out to me that I could have found a different way to make sure you were safe in your own world, but I felt I had to take care of it personally. I… I realize now I have not done a good job out of it."

Dick looks down at his hands, stricken, as Bruce falls silent. Bruce's careful and gentle tone does not suggest he is intentionally trying to hurt Dick or make him feel guilty. But there is nothing but guilt that Dick is feeling as he turns Bruce's explanation over in his head – both for being a murderer and for being the reason he and Jay had to leave their world. He swallows, wishing with all his might that he could turn back time and… well, do something. Refuse to help Batman, even it cost him his life, or try harder to reveal his identity to the police, or learn how to break passwords so that he could disable that program that he knew was preventing the Justice League from taking Batman out.

But wishing for such things is useless and childish. The only thing Dick can do is move forward, take care of Jay, and… maybe try to atone for his crimes in any way that he can.

"Dickie?" Jay's quivering voice brings him back to the present moment. Dick turns his head to look at his brother and stares at him dumbly.

"I'm sorry," he whispers, barely able to squeeze out the words.

"What? Why?" Jay demands, tears shining in his eyes. "It wasn't your fault!"

"Dick, I didn't say that to make you feel guilty," Bruce sounds worried and guilty himself, and Dick turns back to him, feeling numb. "I only meant to explain why I made that decision. Jay is absolutely right, none of it was your fault."

Dick's throat closes up, and he shakes his head, barely holding in tears. He is not five years old; he does not need everyone to lie to him and pretend like he had nothing to do with all those crimes – or his friends' deaths. Bruce made a mistake, he thinks, he should have left Dick to the police or the League or anyone else seeking justice. Jay is pressing into his side, grabbing his arm and hugging it, but Dick cannot do anything to react.

Bruce sighs.

"I am sorry for upsetting you. But this brings us to the other matter I wanted to discuss with you both. I understand you might not be ready yet, but it is very important that you think about this." Dick forces himself to blink back tears and focus on Bruce again. He can fall apart later; right now, he needs to pay attention to whatever the man wants. "I would like you to consider therapy," Bruce continues in a low voice.

If Dick was capable of forming any thought, he would have been amazed by the suggestion; that is the last thing he could have expected Bruce to say. But he has apparently reached his quota for surprise today, so he just stares at Bruce blankly. "What you both have experienced is terrible, to say the least, and this sort of… trauma does not go away on its own." Bruce sounds stilted but sincere. "You need to talk to someone about it, and although I am very happy that you have befriended my sons, I'm afraid that talking to them is not enough."

Dick glances at Jay. The kid is still clinging to him, and he looks confused. Dick supposes that the notion of therapy is not something Jay has come across before – or, if he has, he probably does not understand it very well. Dick, for his part, is not opposed to the idea; as a matter of fact, getting therapy is among the things he considered after running away, wanting to try anything and everything to move past the years of torture. But, on top of being underage and afraid that any therapist worth their salt would become too interested in his circumstances, he never figured out what he could say that would not give away his identity and get him caught. So Dick made do with self-help books and conversations with friends – which, he agrees with Bruce, could only help so much.

Turning back to Bruce, Dick clears his throat.

"It… yes, we would like that," he says. He figures it is fine if he speaks for both of them, for now; he can explain to Jay later. "Thank you," he adds. "It's just…" Dick trails off, hesitant to voice any objections.

"What is it?" Bruce asks, still in that gentle tone. Dick swallows before continuing; it is better if he finds out all the rules now.

"What should we tell them about us being here? I – I mean… we can't say we are from another universe, so – so what story should we tell?"

"You can, actually," Bruce replies easily. "I have specifically chosen therapists who work with the Justice League and other heroes, so there will be no need to pretend. You can be completely honest and open about anything you wish to discuss."

"Oh," is all Dick can think to say. On any other day, the idea that there are therapists who work with superheroes might have amazed him; today, he cannot muster up any feeling.

Bruce waits, but when neither of them says anything else, he looks down at the green folder and thumbs through it before stretching it towards them. Dick cannot bring himself to move, so Jay tentatively reaches out and takes it from Bruce.

"These are the profiles of the two therapists that I have chosen for you," Bruce explains as Jay opens the folder and puts it on his knee so that Dick can see the contents, too. "Have a look and see what you think. It is also fine if you choose different people – that is, if one of you likes one person and the other prefers the other option, that's how we'll do it. There is no rush. Just tell any of us when you are ready. Alright?"

Dick nods, staring down at the picture of a smiling woman.

"Alright," Bruce says on an exhale. He stands carefully. "In that case… I will see you later."

Jay murmurs something, but Dick can do nothing but nod again, still staring down. He does not look up as Bruce leaves the room. After a moment, Jay breaks the silence.

"Dickie?" He says in a small voice. "Dick?" Jay repeats when Dick does not react. Taking a deep breath, Dick makes himself turn to his brother.

"What's… what's therapy like?" Jay asks hesitantly.

Dick exhales, taking the folder from the kid and flipping through the pages.

"Nothing scary," he murmurs, setting the folder aside and putting an arm around Jay. "It's something to help."

"Penny for your thoughts?"

Dick starts, though out of surprise rather than fear. Still, Richard looks guilty as he drops to the ground next to Dick.

"Sorry," he says, "didn't mean to scare you."

"You didn't," Dick mutters, shaking his head. "I just didn't notice you. It's fine."

Richard hums, crossing his legs and looking at Dick carefully.

"You okay?" He asks with concern, inclining his head. "Where's Jay?"

"Tim offered to play Scrabble," Dick replies absent-mindedly, realizing he never asked Tim if he was okay, too caught up in his own emotions. "Jay is itching for a revenge – he lost every round the last time they played, so…"

Richard laughs.

"Yeah, Tim's unfairly good at that game," he says. "And you didn't want to play?"

Dick grimaces, looking down.

"Not really. Just… felt like getting some air."

"Did something upset you?" Richard asks gently, ducking his head to try and look Dick in the face. Dick shakes his head slowly.

"No… not really." But that is not exactly true. And Dick would really prefer not to whine, but talking to Richard feels so easy and comforting that, a moment later, he finds himself spilling everything that happened earlier in the library.

"And I just… I just wish Bruce never brought me here," he finishes miserably. "I don't deserve it, and I should be – I dunno, back in that world, in prison or – or… I don't know. And now he wants us to go to therapy, and I do want that, but… What does any of this matter? I'm a criminal, and I should be getting punished, not coddled and offered therapy sessions, and I… I just…"

Dick's voice trails away. Richard waits a moment to see if he is finished, and then reaches out to put a hand on Dick's shoulder, sighing.

"Ok, kiddo, there's – there's a lot to unpack here. First, you do deserve to be away from that place. You are a victim of a horrible crime, and… Look, I get that you're blaming yourself, I really do. You're a good person, Dickie, and it would be… well, frankly, it would be strange if you could just shrug it all off." Richard shakes him lightly, making Dick glance up into his kind, concerned face. "And second, getting help is not being coddled. This is what you need to have a healthy life, and… Right now, you might believe that you don't deserve that, but, kiddo… You won't make anyone happier or – or better, by being miserable. It won't change anything or help anyone. What matters is what you want to do from now on – and I have no doubt that it is not to hurt people. Am I wrong?"

Dick shakes his head, squeezing his eyes shut against the prickling tears.

"There you go, then," Richard says softly, and Dick breaks down completely, shuffling forward to bury his face in his alternate's shoulder as his tears begin to fall. Richard's arms encircle him, squeezing gently.

It takes a while for Dick to calm down, but eventually, his tears run out. Sniffling, he straightens, and Richard lets go of him.

"Feeling better, kiddo?"

Dick nods, wiping his tears, and it is not even a lie. Although his guilt and his worries have not magically disappeared, his chest does feel lighter. He gives Richard a watery smile.

"Good," his double says, returning the smile. "Then, how about we do something fun?"

"Like what?" Dick asks curiously, hoping that Richard is not about to suggest reading.

"Well, I can show you my gymnastics equipment, if you want," is what his alternate says instead, and Dick feels a rare rush of excitement. He has missed being able to train, and really, until today, he has not even felt up to it. Now, though, he would love some exercise. And if Richard has the proper equipment – which he must…

"There's a gym here?" He asks eagerly.

"Sure," Richard says easily, "down in the Cave. Shall we go?"

Dick's enthusiasm dies as quickly as it appeared, replaced by severe disappointment. Much as he would love to train, the last place he wants to go right now is the Cave. Frankly, he is not sure he would ever want to go there, but today, it is definitely out of the question, what with all the memories and the guilt torturing him.

Richard sees his reaction, of course.

"What is it?" He asks. "Is it the Cave?"

Dick nods, wincing and dropping his eyes.

"Shit, I didn't think," his double curses. "I'm sorry. I… Well, maybe another time."

Dick nods again, still disappointed, because he is so very tired of just sitting around or lying in bed and crying.

"Hey, it's ok," Richard reaches out to rub up and down his arm. "We can do something else. Have you seen the adventure park?"

"The what?" Dick looks up, intrigued. He definitely has not seen anything of the kind, and Tim has not said a word about it.

"Well," Richard laughs, "it's probably too modest for such a grand name, but it's still fun. It's over there, in the trees," he gestures vaguely toward his left. "Basically, it's a little obstacle course – not meant for real training, just for fun. You wanna see?"

This time, Dick does not hesitate to agree.

Dick does not realize how much he has missed real physical activity until he is lying sprawled out on the grass, an hour later, and feeling nothing but blissful calm. The obstacle course is, indeed, not that big, but after over two weeks of inactivity, it is more than enough to make Dick sweat. Sitting cross-legged next to him, Richard laughs, looking down at Dick's happy face.

"I take it that you enjoyed it," he says, eyes twinkling.

"Definitely beats reading," Dick replies, and Richard laughs again, throwing his head back.

"Can't agree more," he says, chuckling.

Dick sits up.

"Thank you," he says with feeling, and his double smiles gently.

"Anytime, kiddo." He hesitates, but then he continues in a more serious tone. "I know it's a lot in one day… And this is definitely something you can take your time to think about, so you don't have to answer right away, ok?" Dick nods, his happiness dimming somewhat. "Think about where

you want to live, ok?" Richard says, and Dick stares at him, astonished.

"What… what do you mean?" He asks uncertainly. "Where am I supposed to?.." Dick suddenly panics. "Wait, and – and what about Jay? I thought we were to stay here! What-"

"Woah, woah, kiddo, stop," Richard throws up a hand, looking slightly alarmed at Dick's reaction. "It's nothing like that, ok? You and Jay, you both get to choose, no-one is separating you or whatever. And I told you, you don't have to decide right now. You two discuss this, and then you can decide what's best. Ok?" Dick nods slowly, his heart still going fast. "What I mean is, Bruce didn't give you a choice when he brought you here, and what I – we – what we all want for you is to decide for yourselves where you want to live and with whom. 'Cause, kiddo, I have no doubt that Bruce scares you a lot, even if he'd never do anything to hurt you. So if you want to relocate anywhere else – absolutely anywhere – just say the word."

Dick takes a deep breath, making himself calm down. He is silent for a few moments, looking down at his hands.

"And if…" He swallows. "If I want to be away from here?"

"Done," Richard says immediately, and Dick looks up sharply, shaking his head.

"You can't promise that. He'll never let me go."

Richard sighs.

"Of course I can. And I'll make it happen, one way or another. Yeah, I'll talk to Bruce first, see if he agrees to help, but if that doesn't pan out," he shrugs, "well, then I'll just take you away from here myself."

Dick closes his eyes, shaking his head again.

"That will never work out. He'll find us, wherever we go. I can't just up and leave."

"You can, actually," Dick replies, and Dick opens his eyes and stares at him incredulously, surprised by how unconcerned Richard sounds. "In fact, that's exactly what I did back when I was a teenager and he was getting on my nerves with his control freak tendencies." He pauses and pulls a face. "Well, with the difference that I was a legal adult. But, Dickie, listen – you're still confusing him with that other bastard who tortured you for years. I get it, I promise, I know it's hard to just… separate them and believe it's all good now. But. Even if Bruce finds us… And, to be honest, I don't intend to hide, merely take you away and make him face the fact that it's done and final. So – even if he shows up, I promise it won't end in him dragging you, kicking and screaming, back here. If he sees how much he's really hurting you by keeping you here, he'll understand, I promise. He is a colossal idiot, but he means well."

Dick exhales, reeling from what Richard has just said. He is not sure he believes it all, but the heady feeling of opportunity is almost the same as what he felt when he escaped. If only it could be real this time…

"Is that what you want?" Richard prompts gently. "To get away?"

Dick is on the verge of saying yes, but something makes him hesitate. If Richard is telling the truth, then he can escape at any moment. And… if anyone asked him yesterday morning if he wanted to leave this place, he would have jumped at the chance. But now he finds himself intrigued – by Tim, and by Richard and Jason, and by all the work they appear to be doing. And – whether that work could be something he could use to soothe his guilty conscience.

"I'll think about it," he says quietly.

It is late, later than Dick has ever come into the kitchen. Alfred's meals have always been enough for him, but tonight, he still feels somewhat hungry even after the delicious dinner the butler served to him, Jay, Tim, and Richard. It is probably because of the obstacle course, he muses, and the exercise that he has not had in weeks.

Dick can still hear Bruce's voice in his head, telling him and Jay firmly that taking food does not count as stealing. But despite that, he still begins to tremble as he steps over the threshold and switches on the light. The kitchen comes into view, as cozy and welcoming as always, but superimposed over it is the image of a different room, sterile and empty. Dick feels his hands clench into fists.

He does not want much, an apple or some crackers will do; he is not starving, merely a little uncomfortable. The fruit bowl is sitting on the counter, as always, and Dick makes himself focus on the real image in front of him, not the kitchen from his memories. Swallowing, he takes a tiny step forward and almost sobs when he hears another imaginary voice, coldly demanding what he thinks he is doing and promising him mockingly to fill his belly if he is that hungry.

Dick shuts his eyes, battling against the rising tears. It is almost too much – but he refuses to remain prisoner to his memories. Inhaling raggedly, he makes himself open his eyes and starts inching forward. He keeps his eyes trained firmly on the red apple in the fruit bowl, allowing no other memories to derail him.

It takes a long time for him to reach the counter. If anyone was looking, Dick thinks, they would probably think he is crazy, shuffling like a zombie and staring at the apple, barely blinking. Thankfully, he is alone.

Finally, he is there. He stands for a long moment, just looking at the bright fruit. He is still not sure if he can do it even as he is reaching toward it. And then his fingers close around the apple.

And nothing happens. No cruel voices shattering the silence. No rough hands on his shoulders.

Dick stands for a moment, clutching the apple, and then lifts it out of the bowl in a quick, smooth movement and takes a big, messy bite. Feeling juice run down his chin, he laughs.

To anyone else, it would probably seem deranged.

To Dick, it feels like victory.

Chapter 22

Chapter Notes

Aaand we're back to the 'B-plot', as someone called in the comments (though we'll be back with Dickie in the next chapter). As usual, it's a dumb, careless mistake that brings everything crashing down.

Several days pass before Tim finally has a breakthrough in his quest to find out what everyone is hiding from him.

His first few attempts are completely useless – not that he expected it to be easy. After all, he is dealing with the Bats.

He does not try arguing with Bruce again; he has spent enough time around the man to know that badgering him will not do any good – in fact, it will simply make Bruce even less willing to discuss the matter. Not that there is any 'less willing' to get, this time. Talking to Dick and Alfred is out of the question, too. If the new case is indeed as bad as Bruce is making it out to be, neither of them will breathe a word of it to Tim.

That leaves Jason. He, too, is probably under orders not to tell Tim anything, but Tim is hoping that his predecessor's dislike of him might actually come in handy, for once. After all, what better way to get Tim into trouble than to enable him to snoop around on a forbidden case? And if it is really that dangerous, Jason might actually get the additional benefit of getting rid of his annoying replacement altogether. Not that Tim intends for things to go that far, of course; he is not suicidal.

But Jason proves to be a disappointment, too.

"Nice try, Replacement," he drawls when Tim casually asks him if he needs any help analyzing the data for the new case. Not that Tim knows what data that might be, but most if not all of their cases require at least some analysis, so it is a safe assumption that this one does, too – he is simply choosing something generic to pretend like he is fully informed. "I'm well aware you are not to be allowed on this case, and I have enough on my plate without Bruce chewing me out for going against his orders or whatever."

"But why?" Tim asks through gritted teeth. "What is it that I am too young to know? You are aware that I've investigated murders and human trafficking cases, right?"

"Yeah, well, this time, you get to not deal with all that ugly shit, isn't that great? Go hang out with the new kids, or take some pictures – in daytime – or, I dunno, get some sun. You are paler than Bruce. People are gonna start thinking we're a family of vampires."

Tim scowls, but Jason looks unmoved.

"Come on, Jason," Tim decides to try his one last argument; it is a dangerous one, and he was really hoping he would not have to use it, but… "You of all people should know that simply saying 'no' and forbidding someone to do something is a surefire way to get them to go ahead and do that forbidden thing. And it won't end well."

Jason stills, and Tim holds his breath. He is painfully aware of how vulnerable he is; he was no match for Jason even armed, and now he does not even have his staff - if he could even wield it properly with a broken arm. If Jason gets angry enough…

But, to Tim's surprise, Jason's eyes are not even glowing.

"You're right, Tim," he says in a low voice, and Tim stares; 'Tim', not even 'Replacement'. "It does not end well. And you have my example to show you that, maybe, sometimes it's better to listen to that 'no'. This is one of those times." Tim opens his mouth to argue, dismayed, but Jason cuts him off. "Can't you just… This is vile, ok, Tim? That thing we're investigating. Nothing interesting or – or, I dunno, educational about it. Why are you so hung up on it, anyway? Are you really that bored?"

Tim glares at him.

"I'm not bored. I just want to be part of it."

"Well, tough," Jason replies, rolling his eyes. "Don't be a brat. There's plenty you can help with. I know for a fact that Bruce has, like, half a dozen cases going on, so go and help with something less gory."

"So there's gore," Tim says, gleeful that he has made Jason let that slip. Jason glares. "Is it another string of murders?"

"I'm not telling you anything," his brother replies curtly. "Heard there's some database waiting for you? Well, don't leave it hanging." And with that, Jason turns on his heel and stalks out of the room.

"I've already finished!" Tim yells after him, but Jason does not even acknowledge him.

Disappointed, Tim kicks the carpet. He should have known Jason would be no help. He's probably ecstatic at the chance to show Bruce he is way better than his replacement, Tim thinks angrily. 'Vile', Jason said. Like the cases he has already investigated were not? And how dangerous can it be if he stays in the Cave – helping Alfred run back-end or actually analyzing data? Tim stares down at the carpet morosely. Honestly, at this point, he would prefer it if someone just had the guts to tell him outright that they simply do not want to work with him.

Tim's attempts to snoop around in the Cave are no more successful. All the relevant files – which it takes him several hours to find, Bruce is being that paranoid - are locked. Tim spends several days trying to break the passwords, but to no avail. Time to update his hacking skills, he thinks, irritated. He is well aware that Bruce's cybersecurity is way better than his school's, but he did not expect to fail so spectacularly.

Tim also tries to search for any physical evidence, but that is hindered by the fact that there is nearly always someone else in the Cave with him now – one of the other Bats or Alfred; with Oracle still gone, the butler spends more time downstairs than he probably ever has. Usually, there are a few hours between the end of patrol and morning when the Cave is empty, and a couple of times Tim sneaks down when he is sure he is going to be alone. But it is as if the others have set a watch, so Tim is never left alone in the Cave for more than a few minutes at a time.

By the end of the week, Tim is getting frustrated, but is far from ready to capitulate. Still, he grudgingly admits that the Bats' plan to keep him away from the case seems watertight.

But, in the end, it is their own silly mistake that gives them away.

Tim's sleep schedule has never been regular by any stretch of the imagination. Who cares about sleep, anyway, when there are crimes to be solved?

The point is, Tim is absolutely not a stranger to sleepless nights and going to bed at odd hours. But the past week has been kind of hard even for him, what with his attempts to figure out a time when the Cave is empty and balance his work with reading up on password hacking and poring over news. Surely there must be something there to tip him off if the case is that important? But it is hard to find the right information when he has absolutely no idea what he is looking for.

The result is that Tim's routine is completely wrecked. He takes naps during the day and works through the night, and he no longer has breakfast with Dickie and Jay, either finishing before them or coming in when they are already gone. And it is as he is coming downstairs for one of those very early breakfasts that he gets the clue he has so desperately hunted for.

"Reported another… Seems they're confident enough to… locally," that is Dick's barely audible voice, and Tim freezes a few paces away from the kitchen door, afraid even to blink. He is lucky as it is that nobody has heard him yet; in a family as trained and, well, paranoid as theirs, it is usually no use even trying to listen at doors. And it is strange that they are talking about a case upstairs; usually, Alfred does not allow any Bat business to be discussed above ground. Unless Alfred is not there…

"Fuckers," comes Jason's low hiss. "Obviously decided-" Jason's voice becomes too low for Tim to hear, and Tim almost cries in frustration, "-their costs. Shipping… and bribed them well enough to…"

Tim strains his ears, but his brothers' voices are no louder than whispers, now. If only he could catch just a few more words, he thinks in desperation. A couple of key words, and then he would have enough to comb through the news again. If he knows what to pay attention to, he has no doubt that he can figure out the rest soon enough.

The conversation in the kitchen suddenly continues at a regular volume, making Tim flinch, but it looks like he has not been discovered, yet.

"Where's Alfred, anyway? He wasn't in the Cave last night," Jason asks over the sound of cutlery being laid on the table.

"I got him to go to bed early and take today off," Dick replies, and Tim frowns worriedly; Alfred rarely does that, unless he is ill. "He needs to rest. He wasn't feeling all that well last night. All these late nights and taking care of all of us – I don't know how he is still standing, honestly. He said he'll be up a bit later and maybe go into town for the day."

"Good," Jason says approvingly, and Tim breathes a sigh of relief. "I tried to talk some sense into him, too, but he wouldn't listen."

"Well," Dick sighs, "maybe he felt more comfortable taking a breather now that we have this new evidence."

"Speaking of which," Jason's voice suddenly becomes worried, "what did you do with it?"

"Left it in the drawer," Dick replies, clearly talking with his mouth full. There is a clang, and Dick exclaims, "Ow! What was that for?"

"Are you dumb?" Jason hisses furiously, lowering his voice again. "The kid has been snooping around all week, I told you! And you just left evidence lying around?"

"I know he has," Dick sounds irritated. "But I'll bet he's already been through all those drawers, so he won't see the need to look again. And quit hissing at me. I was too exhausted last night to scan it into the computer and destroy the physical copies. B was out – he still is. And Alfred had gone to bed, so there was no-one to help. Quit worrying. Tim's not even up yet, I looked in on him on my way down, and he was sleeping like the dead. I'll take care of it after breakfast. I'm almost done, anyway."

Jason huffs.

"Well, if he gets his hands on it, just know that you're to blame. Just like you were to blame for him discovering our identities in the first place, show-off."

Tim does not listen to Dick's indignant reply as he backs away from the kitchen doorway as quietly as he possibly can. As soon as he is out of hearing range, he abandons all caution and starts to run. His heart is hammering in his chest, but he tries to keep his head level. He knows he has maybe minutes before Dick comes downstairs, so he probably will not be able to look through the evidence. His phone, he thinks, he is going to snap some pictures of the evidence and look at them later. He digs the device out of his pocket as he sprints down the stairs to the Cave as fast as he dares with a broken arm.

Finally, Tim arrives at the computer and starts digging frantically through the desk drawers. One… two… not here, either… there. An unfamiliar folder that was definitely not here before. Tim grabs it and throws it on the table, cursing his broken arm. He is significantly slowed down by only being able to hold one item at a time. Shaking from both the excitement and the fear of getting caught, Tim flips the folder open.

A piece of paper covered in Dick's handwriting lies on top. Tim has no time to read it, just grabs his phone and snaps a picture before moving on. Underneath it, a page torn carelessly from a newspaper – not from Gotham. Tim snaps pictures of both sides before tossing it aside. Below the newspaper page lies another handwritten note, and underneath that, he can see a small stack of images. He debates briefly whether he should just flip through those and come back to the note later – but this moment of hesitation costs him a couple of precious seconds. Just as he is ready to flip the note aside, he hears the door open upstairs and knows he has less than a minute to hide the folder - and himself.

Tim throws the papers back into the folder and flings it into the drawer, shutting it soundlessly. He can hear footsteps coming closer; darting away from the table, he rushes towards one of the side tunnels just as Dick arrives downstairs. Plastering himself against the stone wall so that he is hidden from view, Tim takes in a deep breath as quietly as he can; his heart is hammering so hard he is surprised Dick cannot hear it.

The rustle of papers tells Tim Dick has taken out the folder. Exhaling slowly, Tim carefully slides to the floor and settles down to wait.

Tim ends up sitting in the tunnel for almost an hour, not daring to move a muscle, while Dick takes care of the new evidence. His body is stiff and aching by the time his brother finally leaves; Tim thanks every deity he can think of that nobody else has come into the Cave during this time. Climbing clumsily to his feet, he staggers towards the staircase. Now all he has to do is not get caught on his way back.

He does not, although he narrowly misses Jason going down to the Cave. Tim can hear Jason's footsteps around the corner just as he is exiting the study and ducks into the sitting room across the hall. Once Jason is gone, Tim creeps out and dashes to the kitchen to grab some breakfast, hoping to find it empty so that he can start perusing the images.

But, to his dismay, Dickie and Jay are sitting at the table. He suspects he must seem really agitated, because they both give him startled looks.

"Hey, Tim! Are you ok?" Dickie asks with concern.

Tim wrestles himself under control. After all, what has he done today that he does not routinely do as Robin, he reasons? It only feels different because he was forbidden from doing it.

"I'm fine," he replies, trying to sound as normal as possible. He goes to fix himself a cup of coffee and pretends he does not see the other two exchange a worried look.

"Alfred's not in," Dickie says to his back. Tim hums; he already knows that.

"Jason made breakfast," Jay pipes up. "He left you a plate, too – it's over there, on the counter."

"Oh," Tim turns, surprised, and indeed, there it is. Well – that is unusually nice of Jason; and Tim really does love his cooking, so he picks the plate up eagerly, feeling his stomach cramp with hunger. "Thanks."

He sits down at the table, wondering which would be more rude – to eat at top speed and escape or take his plate with him and leave immediately. He decides to go for the former, but regrets it just a few minutes later, when Bruce stumbles into the kitchen, looking even less awake than usual at this hour. He smiles briefly at Dickie and Jay before turning to Tim.

"Oh, there you are, Tim," he says, and Tim stills, hoping that Bruce is not about to set him some urgent task that will prevent him from looking at the pictures. But apparently, his luck has run out for this morning, because Bruce does just that. "Can you come downstairs after breakfast, please? I'm having some trouble with that program you wrote last week, and I can't figure out what the issue is."

"Can't it wait?" Tim asks, dismayed. Bruce looks taken aback. And yes, Tim knows this is out of character for him; usually, he jumps at any chance to help. Besides, it looks like this is his own mistake – but he is so eager to peruse the stolen evidence he cannot even feel any shame at having made it.

"Well… no, I'm afraid not," Bruce replies carefully. "Is there something urgent you needed to do?"

Tim deflates, resigning himself to the fact that he will not be able to do what he is positively itching to do until much later.

"No," he says dully before shoveling the last bite of his breakfast into his mouth. Picking up his

plate and cutlery, he carries them to the sink, chewing as he goes. "I'm done," he announces, grabbing his coffee and marching past Bruce, who looks uncharacteristically uncertain at Tim's display.

Debugging the program ends up taking a few excruciating hours; for the life of him, Tim cannot see where he went wrong. When he eventually finds the one stupid typo that was making the entire thing crash, he is so exhausted he cannot even find the strength to curse himself. At least digging around in the code has taken his mind off the phone he can swear he can feel burning in his pocket. But when Dick arrives to drag him upstairs to lunch, Tim almost cries with frustration.

Even worse, Jason is in the kitchen, too – apparently, on cooking duty while Alfred is out. Dick and Jason keep up a steady conversation as they all eat – all except Bruce, that is, because, as far as Tim is aware, he has only joined them for a meal once since Dickie and Jay arrived. Tim contributes little, exhausted by debugging the program and his own impatience. He does not even notice as silence falls over the kitchen.

"Baby bird?" Tim raises his head to find everyone staring at him. "You ok?" Dick continues, frowning.

"I'm fine," Tim replies flatly. All he wants is for everyone to leave him alone. "Just a headache."

"You seem to be getting a lot of those lately," Jason notes carefully – and that is when Tim explodes.

"So?" He snaps, shoving his plate away. Across from him, Jay starts and stares, and Dickie narrows his eyes. Fleetingly, Tim feels guilty, but the emotion is quickly drowned out by his ever- growing frustration. He stands up. "I'm going upstairs. Thanks for the food."

"Is this about Bruce's program?" Dick asks with concern. "Look, forget it, it's fine – you did the bulk of the work, he can figure out the rest."

Tim flushes at the new mention of his mistake – in front of Jason, too. Not that he can hope to maintain the reputation of a capable, smart Robin worthy of his legacy; that ship has sailed. But Tim still resents giving Jason another opportunity to gloat.

"I fixed it," he bites out. "Look, I just wanna go and lie down. Can you… can everyone just… leave me alone for today? Ok? I didn't sleep well, and I'm really getting another headache, and – I just want some peace and quiet. That's all."

Nobody looks convinced, but neither do they try to stop Tim as he storms out of the kitchen.

Finally alone in his room, Tim locks the door; he does not want any more interruptions. Taking a deep breath, he walks slowly and deliberately across the room to settle at the desk, as if preparing himself for the task ahead. Despite his earlier impatience, now he feels a trickle of unease run down his spine as he pulls out his phone and lays it on the desk in front of him. And hesitates.

'Vile,' Jason said. 'You're too young to deal with some things,' Bruce said. Could they be right? Could it be that they are really just protecting him?

It is not improbable, Tim concedes. But he has helped bust weapons and human trafficking operations, he has raced through Gotham chased by thugs - multiple times, he has bled and broken bones… he has been beaten within an inch of his life by his own brother and childhood hero, back from the dead. What could this case possibly be about that could shock him, at this point?

And, Tim decides, reaching out to take his phone, nobody needs to know that he has this evidence.

He just wants to know what it is; he cannot stand feeling like his family is underestimating him.

Tim unlocks his phone and navigates to the images.

Chapter 23

Chapter Notes

And this is where the 'A-plot' and the 'B-plot' finally meet.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Everyone in the kitchen is silent for a few moments after Tim leaves. Then, Jason sighs, turning to Richard.

"Well, that went well. What's got the Replacement so worked up, anyway? Is it really some bug in some stupid program?"

"Stop calling him that, will you?" Richard replies with a touch of irritation. He purses his lips and shakes his head. "I'll talk to Tim later. Right now, I think it's best to let him cool down." Noticing Dick and Jay looking between him and Jason worriedly, he gives them a pained smile. "It's ok, kiddos. Tim's probably working himself too hard, wouldn't be the first time. I'll talk to him, and we'll figure it out. Go on, eat up," he nods at their plates.

Dick exchanges a glance with Jay. He can tell the kid is not buying the explanation any more than he does; but there is nothing they can say or do at the moment, so Dick inclines his head a little towards the table, and they turn back to their food.

They finish the meal in silence – not a tense one, exactly, but not comfortable, either.

The thing is, Dick would believe Richard's excuse for Tim, had it been an isolated occurrence. It is not outlandish; many people become bad-tempered when they get a headache or not enough sleep. Also, Dick already knows enough about Tim to believe the other boy could get prickly from wounded pride if he has made some mistake in the work he obviously cares so much about.

Only it is not – an isolated occurrence, that is. Dick has barely seen Tim since that board game night with Jason, a few days ago now. When Tim did appear, he seemed distracted and unhappy, and as the days went on, he looked increasingly haggard and pale.

Dick tried to not let himself get too worried – after all, Tim has said several times he is treated well. But the difference between Tim's behavior before and after Jason's arrival is too marked. Dick no longer sees the excited boy who gushed about his photography; instead, there is a miserable kid who avoids his older brother's eyes and pretends to have headaches to be left alone.

Try as he might, Dick cannot shake the feeling that something is very wrong. And in his experience, kids do not just start feeling miserable, unless… unless someone is making them so.

Dick is hoping to talk to Tim at dinner, a few hours later, but he is disappointed when the other boy simply does not show. Dick cannot say he is very surprised when he sees Jason is in the kitchen

again, sporting a cheerful apron – not one of Alfred's, as far as Dick can tell, because he has not seen it before – and checking something in the oven before turning it off. He glances up when Dick and Jay shuffle in.

"Hey, kids," he says brightly, smiling at them and waving them towards the table. "Hope you liked my cooking, 'cause, in Alfred's absence, I'm the chef. You're lucky I'm here, too, 'cause no-one in this place except for me and Alf is even allowed to touch the pots and pans."

"That's mean, Little Wing," comes Richard's voice, and a moment later, the man appears on the threshold. "I know Bruce can burn water, but I'm perfectly capable of preparing an edible meal, and so's Tim."

Jason straightens up and gives him a look of such contempt that Dick cannot help but feel amused, despite his worries. Next to him, Jay giggles.

"Edible. Yes," Jason takes the steaming hot food out of the oven and starts cutting it into servings. "Last time I checked, it was not a synonym for 'good', or 'healthy', or even 'enjoyable'. Your idea of a meal is a bowl of disgusting, sugar-laden cereal, and the kid's happy surviving off coffee alone," Jason scoffs, opening a cupboard to take out some plates. Setting them down, he throws his arms out dramatically. "Where's the appreciation for – for, I dunno, flavors, or combinations? I mean, you seriously can't tell me this turkey roll is not a masterpiece! Just smell all that basil!"

"Ok, ok, Little Wing, you win," Richard laughs, reaching out to ruffle Jason's hair, but his brother ducks out of the way, scowling. "Though, may I point out that your favorites are chili dogs and burgers?"

"Oh, shut up," Jason shoots back. "Make yourself useful, will you?" He puts a slice of the roll on a plate and hands it to Richard, who takes it and sets it in front of Jay before moving to get the glasses out. Dick still has not sat down, so he moves closer, intending to help, too. Jason smiles at him briefly, handing him another plate. Dick puts it in Richard's place; when he turns back, Jason hands him two more.

"Can you cover this one, kid? Dick will take it up to Tim later. He texted he doesn't want to come downstairs, but he still needs to eat."

Dick is not sure what makes him do this, but, in a split-second decision, he switches the two plates and sets the one intended for Tim on the table in front of his own spot, and goes to cover the other one. Distracted by fixing the last plate, Jason does not see this, and Dick breathes a sigh of relief. Not that he really thinks that Jason has done anything to Tim's portion, but he is feeling a little paranoid and decides to take every precaution until he finds out what – or who – is bothering Tim.

Jason and Richard continue bantering throughout dinner, and Dick is happy to see that Jay seems relaxed and amused, watching them. When they are all finished, Richard leans back in his seat and stretches, raising his arms above his head.

"That was delicious, Little Wing, thank you." He stands. "I think I'll go see if Timmy's hungry now."

"Can I do it?" Dick asks abruptly, surprising everyone, including himself.

"Well…" Richard hesitates, but Dick just looks at him steadily. "I guess so," Richard relents, sinking back onto his chair slowly. "Just, I was hoping to talk to him, but… I guess I'll just come up later."

Dick squeezes Jay's shoulder briefly and goes to put his plate in the sink and grab Tim's. Thankfully, he is feeling just fine, so he guesses that his paranoia was just that - paranoia.

He pretends like three pairs of eyes are not watching him quizzically as he puts Tim's plate on a tray along with a glass of water and cutlery and leaves the kitchen.

Climbing up the stairs, Dick wonders what to say to Tim. Before, he was ready to back off immediately if Tim did not want to share. But now he is a lot more worried, and he refuses to leave until he gets a satisfactory explanation about what is going on with the other boy. Dick is not letting another kid get hurt – or teenager, whatever, it does not matter. Not on his watch.

Taking a steadying breath, Dick stops in front of Tim's door and knocks. There is no response. Waiting a few moments, he knocks again; still nothing. Dick bites his lip.

Maybe he is just an idiot, he thinks with a rush of embarrassment; maybe Tim is really not feeling well and is simply asleep.

He decides to try one last time.

Still nothing.

Okay, Dick is definitely not going to force his way in; he will talk to Tim tomorrow, he decides. But as he is looking down at the tray of food, wondering if he should take it back to the kitchen or maybe leave it outside the door for Tim to find, he hears footsteps from inside the room.

"Tim?" He calls, leaning closer to the door. "It's Dick. I brought you some food. Can I talk to you for a minute?"

The footsteps move closer to the door and stop, but the door remains closed.

"I'm not hungry," Tim replies, and suddenly, Dick knows without a doubt that Tim is not okay. The boy's voice is muffled and dull; unless Tim has been hiding one hell of a migraine, Dick is not buying that a headache could be the reason for his state.

"Can you open the door, please?" There is a pause of the other side before Tim answers.

"Can it wait?" He asks, sounding like he is barely forcing the words out. Okay, there is no way Dick is leaving now.

"No," he insists. "Please, Tim, it won't take long."

There is another silence, and Dick wonders briefly if Tim is still there; but he must be, because Dick did not hear any more footsteps. After another moment, Dick feels a jolt of triumph as he hears Tim unlock the door. Then, the door cracks open a smidge, but, to his dismay, Dick can barely see Tim. The room is dark inside; the overhead light is not on, so it is only illuminated by what he guesses is a desk lamp. Tim himself is partially hidden by the door.

"Well," he says tensely, "what did you want?"

Dick is not a master of eloquent communication on a good day, so he decides to not even try to be subtle.

"What's wrong with you?" He asks directly. "It's not a headache, is it? So what's wrong?"

"Yes it is," Tim grinds out. "Can you just leave me alone, please? The painkiller's not really

working, and I just want to go to sleep."

Still holding on to that cover story. Dick sets his jaw.

"The whole week? You've been weird the entire time. Are you really telling me your head's been hurting for a week?"

"How do you know what's weird for me?" Tim sounds like he is barely containing his irritation. "You've known me for what, five seconds?"

Well – okay, maybe he is right, Dick thinks; but alarm bells are going off in his head, and he refuses to budge.

"Tim," he almost begs, "please tell me what's wrong. Maybe I can help you!"

A strange sound, something like a cross between a sob and a scoff, comes from behind the door. And Dick knows perfectly well that it is wrong, but he is too anxious to care; he moves forward, pushing the door wider – with his elbow, because he is still holding the stupid tray.

"The hell are you doing," Tim hisses, and Dick finds himself being pushed back into the hall; the movement jostles the tray in his hands, making the water slosh over the rim of the glass. "I didn't say you could come in!"

Dick tries to apologize, but before he can even get the words out, Tim grabs the door and slams it shut. A moment later, there is the sound of the turning lock.

Dick stands in the hall, trembling. If he still had any doubts, the flash of Tim's face as the boy swung the door closed fully dispersed them.

Because Dick is absolutely sure that Tim's face was blotchy and wet with tears.

Certain now that Tim's behavior is not due to any headache, Dick has no idea what to do. Clutching the tray, he makes himself breathe and tries to think everything through logically. Perhaps there is something else, something… relatively innocuous that has upset Tim. But what could that be?

Well – Dick does know Tim was not happy with being excluded from some case, but that can hardly account for such a violent reaction. Unless… Dick feels a chill run down his spine. Unless Tim did snoop around, as he intended, and got punished. Yes, he did say any possible punishment was unlikely to be harsh - but he might have been simply trying to stop Dick and Jay from worrying.

Well, now Dick is worrying plenty.

Turning, he walks slowly downstairs and back to the kitchen. Richard is the only one still in there, loading the dishwasher. He straightens up and turns as Dick comes in, frowning when he sees the untouched tray in Dick's hands.

"Tim not hungry?"

Dick wavers. He wants to tell his alternate the truth, he really does; Richard has been such a comforting presence for him that Dick is having a hard time seeing him as a threat to any of them. But until he has talked to Tim… until he has made Tim talk to him… he is not going to trust anyone.

"He didn't answer the door," he lies. "I knocked, but I think he's asleep."

Richard hums, taking the tray from him. "I see. Well, thanks, anyway. I won't bother him, then, but I'll see if he's online later and get him to eat if he is awake." He squints at Dick. "Are you ok? You seem kind of preoccupied."

Dick forces himself to smile. "Sure. A bit tired, too. I went out to that obstacle course you showed me and went a little overboard, I think. Uh, where's Jay?"

His alternate smiles and nods towards the exit, packing the leftovers to put them away in the fridge. "He and Jason went to play some games. I'm coming, too, for an hour or so. You wanna come?"

The truth is, Dick is absolutely not in the mood for games. But, once again suspicious of the Manor's inhabitants, he does not want to leave Jay alone with them for long. Forcing a smile on his face, he resigns himself to a not very pleasant evening.

Dick has no idea if his act fools Richard and Jason, but he knows for sure Jay can tell he is worried. Before they go to bed, Dick does his best to reassure the kid, feeding him the same excuse about the obstacle course, and then lies awake for a long time, thinking about the boy in the next room. No matter how much he thinks about the situation, though, he cannot come up with any new theories.

Eventually, Dick decides firmly to make Tim talk to him tomorrow, whatever it takes, and with that, he finally falls asleep.

Dick's brain wakes him early – way too early to go hammering on Tim's door, he thinks, not if he does not want to wake up the rest of the household… if any of them are actually sleeping in their beds, that is. A glance at the digital clock on the nightstand tells him it is only five a.m., but Dick feels wide awake. Unable to remain lying down, he slides carefully out of bed so as not to wake Jay and starts his morning stretches.

Halfway through the exercise, though, Dick pauses and turns to the door, listening intently. Someone is walking down the hall, and the steps are too light to be anyone but Tim's. Abandoning his routine, Dick rushes to the door and is just in time to see the other boy on the threshold of his own room, carrying a sandwich in his good hand and a bottle of water under his arm. Noticing Dick, Tim freezes.

"Tim?" Dick says, and Tim jerks his shoulders and makes a shushing sound, frowning. "Sorry," Dick winces, dropping his voice to a whisper. "Can I please talk to you?" He pleads.

"Ok then," Tim replies just as quietly, this time with barely any hesitation. "Come on," he motions towards his room with his head and slips inside. Closing the door to his and Jay's room as softly as he can, Dick hurries to follow him, shutting the second door, too. Turning, he sees that Tim has set the food down on his desk and is dragging the chair out so that he can sit facing Dick. Tim nods

towards the small sofa by the window, and Dick settles down on it, studying the other boy's face closely.

Tim does not look great. His eyes are red, and his face is very pale; he looks as if he has not slept at all. But at least he seems a lot less angry that he did the day before.

"So what was it that you wanted to talk about?" Tim asks, still quietly, but no longer whispering. His voice is hoarse.

"Who is hurting you?" Dick asks, not beating around the bush.

For a moment, Tim seems frozen. Then he blinks several times, looking almost comically confused. "What?" He breathes incredulously.

"Who's hurting you?" Dick repeats.

"Who's- What the hell do you mean?" Tim splutters. "Why would you think anyone's hurting me? I – we told you it's not like that here! I thought you believed us?"

Dick suppresses a sigh. He just wants to help, and he would really prefer it if Tim quit pretending and they could go straight to figuring out what to do.

"'Cause I have eyes," he replies curtly. "You've been withdrawn and miserable the entire week, and the bags under your eyes have bags. That's not normal. And please don't try to tell me I can't say this 'cause I've only known you for, like, a little over three weeks. You didn't behave like this when Jay and I first arrived."

Tim leans back in his chair, frowning. He does not look upset, though; rather, he looks like is trying to puzzle something out.

"Ok," Tim says eventually. "I'll admit, the past few days have not been normal. And, by the way, sorry about the way I snapped at you last night. I was… upset about something." He exhales. "But what I don't get is, why would you think someone's abusing me?"

"Because your behavior changed very abruptly," Dick tells him quietly. "When… when Jason returned and started spending more time here."

For a few moments, Tim does not react; the only sign that he has heard Dick is that his eyes are slowly widening. And then, against all Dick's expectations, Tim starts chuckling. His shoulders start jumping, and he raises his good hand to cover his mouth as he dissolves into laughter. Taken aback, Dick stares at him as Tim wrestles himself under control.

"I'm sorry," he says eventually, still chuckling. "I really shouldn't laugh, it's just… I just really didn't expect you to say something like this." He takes a deep breath and composes himself. "Ok, look, nothing like that's happening. It's simply that Jason's arrival coincided with me starting to… to try and figure out what they were all hiding from me. The case, remember?"

Dick blinks, bewildered. Nodding slowly, he tries to figure out how he could have misread the situation so completely. But, he thinks, he did not imagine Tim's reaction to his brother, so there must be something suspicious there… Before he can ask, though, Tim continues.

"I've been trying to snoop around this whole time. They're good, though, so it took me ages to find out anything…" He runs a hand down his face, sighing. "I haven't been sleeping well… or, you know… much – trying to look around in the Cave when no-one was there… So…"

Dick stares at the other boy, feeling his face growing hotter. He feels incredibly stupid. "God," he breathes, leaning forward and covering his face with both hands. "I thought… But wait, what… what happened yesterday, then?" He asks, straightening and looking at Tim again. "Did you get caught or something?"

The last vestiges of amusement leave Tim's face along with whatever color that has returned to it.

"No," he replies quietly. "No, the thing is… I didn't."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Dick asks, narrowing his eyes.

"It means that I figured it out," Tim says miserably. "I… stole some evidence, and… well, it was obviously not enough for me to find out everything, but it was enough to get the picture." He rubs his face again. "I don't exactly regret finding out, but…" He swallows. "I – I think I get why they wanted to keep me out. Jason said it's vile… the case… And he loves being dramatic, but he definitely wasn't exaggerating, this time."

"So… What was it?" Dick prompts carefully after a few moments' silence. Tim looks at him with a small frown.

"Maybe I shouldn't…" He trails off. "'Vile' is the right word for it, so maybe I shouldn't say."

"Not to show off or anything," Dick replies drily, "but pretty much my entire time with Bruce can be described precisely by that word, not to mention some of the things that I did. So I suspect that, whatever it is, it will hardly shock me." Tim looks unconvinced, so he adds, "Besides, I've spent several days worrying about you, and I'm not leaving without a proper explanation. I have to know that you're ok."

"I am," Tim says, but a small smile is tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Thanks, by the way. For caring." He sighs. "Ok – I'll tell you, but first you gotta tell me one thing… Why did you think Jason was doing anything to me?"

"Uh," Dick feels incredibly foolish again, but a question for a question is fair, he figures. Grimacing, he begins to explain. "You looked really uncomfortable that night we all played games together. You avoided looking him in the eye, and you seemed to keep away from him and just… miserable, generally. As you did pretty much every other time I saw you two together. I thought it had something to do with him. But I guess I was wrong, wasn't I?"

Dick is expecting another bout of laughter or some similar reaction from Tim, but, to his consternation, Tim just looks at him for a moment and then says, "You weren't." Seeing Dick's appalled expression, he gives a small, humorless laugh and continues. "I told you we didn't get along, at first. He, uh…" He breaks off, but then, he shakes his head. "I might as well tell you. He was Robin before me, and… let's just say, he was really unhappy that I replaced him."

"Replacement," Dick mutters, suddenly remembering Jason's odd nickname for Tim that he heard at lunch. Tim starts visibly.

"Yeah," he says in a low, hard voice. "That's the only thing he would call me for months. We're… better now. He apologized, I've accepted, so we're… we're good."

"Doesn't look that way," Dick notes quietly. Tim sighs again.

"He beat me up," he says, and Dick feels horror rise inside. Noticing his changed expression, Tim throws up a hand. "Look, it's… He was in a bad place. Both… figuratively and literally. Something terrible had happened to him, and – and that's the part I won't share with you, 'cause

that's his story to tell. But it… twisted him. There was – magic involved. You've seen his eyes, right? How they glow green when he's angry?" Dick nods slowly. "That's part of it. The magic, I mean. He was so very angry for a long time, and he couldn't – or… wouldn't – control it. The former, I guess. Anyway… He apologized, and I'm ok with him, mostly, but… Some reactions are hard to let go of. Or control."

That – Dick can definitely relate to that.

"It just sucks," Tim continues in a low, miserable voice, "knowing how much he actually cares about kids, and I… I had to be the exception. 'Cause of Robin. But…" His voice becomes stronger. "You don't need to worry. He won't hurt you or Jay. Or any other kid. I was… I was the exception."

He looks so miserable again that Dick decides to let it go, for now. Though the other subject is hardly going to cheer Tim up - but at least it is not personal.

"So…" He begins uncertainly, "what did you find out? About the case?"

Tim rubs his eyes and exhales before replying.

"Like I said, there wasn't much, but I pieced it together. It's… Kids. Little kids are getting kidnapped and trafficked. And then raped and killed, on camera. And then some sickos buy those videos."

It is probably not the reaction that Tim is expecting from him, but, true to his word, Dick does not feel shocked. He is alive, yes, and with no permanent injuries... but the rest that Tim is describing… Dick, too, has been raped, beaten, degraded… tortured. No, none of it shocks him.

Anger, though? That is a different story.

Dick feels a cold fury fill his chest, and when he speaks, he finds he can only do it in short, clipped sentences.

"How many?"

"Huh?" Tim is looking at him with a worried and puzzled expression.

"How many kids?"

"Oh – I'm… I'm not sure," Tim replies hesitantly. "I told you, I don't have all the details. I know there were at least four."

At least four children, murdered in the worst possible way, for some monsters' entertainment. Dick closes his eyes, taking in a careful breath.

"Are they succeeding?"

"Who?"

"Batman and… the others," Dick grinds out, opening his eyes. In his fury, he cannot remember the other names.

"Not entirely," Tim replies, looking dejected. "I know they had some breakthrough, like… yesterday… It's been weeks, though, and they've still got little. They're good, the traffickers. So-"

"What're you going to do about it?" Dick interrupts, not caring that it is rude, and not caring how

cold and hard he sounds.

For several seconds, Tim does not answer. Then-

"I know they want me to stay away," he replies quietly. "But I'm good at what I do. And I think they need me. So… I'm going to help. I guess the tricky part is gonna be helping them without letting them know."

Unlike Tim, Dick does not even need to think about it. Even if he was not feeling the rage coursing through his veins at the thought of all those murdered kids, it would still be a simple decision. Because here it is, his chance to atone for what he has done. At least… a little.

"I will help you."

Chapter End Notes

A huge thanks to everyone who's read this far. I value each and every one of your comments and kudos

Chapter 24

With Alfred back at the helm, Jason feels free to give his full attention to the case once again. And although he feels guilty admitting it even to himself, spending a day cooking, running some of Alfred's errands instead of the butler, and playing games with Dick and the kids was a much- needed break. And now, four hectic days and nearly sleepless nights later, he wishes he could take another, because running into dead ends is utterly demoralizing.

Not that Jason feels like he deserves one; despite all the efforts that the Bats have dedicated to the case, they have remarkably little to show for them. Too little – and Jason, having spent almost the entire time since joining the investigation in a haze of rage and horror, has been running himself into the ground trying to get to the bottom of it all.

In fact, he suspects that Dick set him up. Talking Alfred into taking a day off and then making puppy eyes at Jason and telling him that someone needed to look after the kids was the perfect way to trick Jason into taking a break as well. And although Jason resents being manipulated like that, at the same time, he is grudgingly grateful. In fact, he is thinking someone – he or Alfred – should do something similar for Dick. And… Bruce.

Because while none of this has made Jason forgive Bruce, exactly, he does have a clearer understanding of what has been going on since Bruce returned from his mission – and what he must have been going through. With so many things happening at once and such terrible pressure, it is hard to keep track of anything that is not absolutely urgent – and that is with the four of them on the case, instead of just Bruce out in the field and Alfred back in the Cave. Not to mention all the other stuff – that Bruce has mostly put on hold, yes, but not entirely. To think that Bruce has been trying to do it all alone…

Jason scowls briefly, descending the final few steps to the Cave. So like the old man to try and hoard all the responsibility…

The brief flash of irritation dies in the next moment, however, when Jason reminds himself that there was absolutely nobody Bruce could have asked for help, with both his older sons away and unreachable. Asking Tim was and is out of the question, of course. And while Jason does not fully agree with Bruce's strategy of 'tell him nothing and hope for the best', neither does he have the energy to argue with Tim and try to explain to the kid why he should stay away. Because Jason has absolutely no doubt that Tim will insist on helping at least in some capacity – and, knowing the little shit, will probably end up trying to help in the field despite being told 'no'. Probably best to keep him in the dark, after all, and hope it at least stunts his attempts to find out what the case is.

Only they do need help, even if Jason hates to admit it. He kind of prides himself on being able to solve problems on his own, in his own city - but what he would not give for Superman's x-ray vision to help them scour the city trying to find the kidnapped kids. Or for Diana's lasso; that really would have made all those useless interrogations simpler and saved him a lot of time and bullets. But none of the other League members are available, all busy with their own missions, so Jason's readiness to swallow his pride does not matter in the slightest.

And this is bad – because things have definitely become more intense. Not only is the traffickers' business booming, but they are now feeling so bold that they are snatching kids locally instead of bringing them in from other places. And that means two very disturbing things for the Bats.

One, that virtually their entire investigation of the port area was completely useless. The new scheme means that the traffickers have moved their operations elsewhere – and that is several

precious days, wasted. Dick did manage to find the warehouse where the first victims must have been kept after being brought to Gotham; but by then, the criminals had moved, very unhelpfully leaving nothing informative behind.

And two, that the traffickers – or their clients – have some very serious protection, because there is something very fishy about the way these bastards seem untouchable. The corruption has been obvious from the start, of course, but its scale must be… staggering, frankly, to stunt the Bats' efforts so much by covering the tracks so completely.

They are switching it up, too, which, Jason presumes, is to entertain their 'clients' – because, apparently, it can get boring just raping and killing kids. And so the new videos feature new 'toys' and weapons as well as torture protracted over several hours and then cut into a montage. The last video actually had not one but two kids at once, and the stuff they were made to do before…

Jason halts in front of the desk, fighting nausea as he remembers. He honestly does not think he has ever felt so sick in his entire life – and he has seen and done a lot worse than that duffel bag full of heads. And Jason rarely – if ever – regrets not being kind to himself, but he wishes fervently that he never watched that video. Even Bruce does not watch the new ones anymore, just runs some software to try and get at least some data on the clients. Obviously, any facial recognition is out of the question, since everyone in those videos wears not just masks but balaclavas; but Bruce is at least hoping to figure out the number of different clients by estimating their body parameters. But so far, all the Bats have been able to determine that the 'inner circle' – the monsters starring in those videos – is far wider than they initially thought. Which is as alarming as it is confusing – because is the entire city participating in this crime, or what?

So… yeah. Jason can see how Bruce could get distracted from the drama at home – even if none of it excused his dismal communication skills and nasty adoption habit. And having cooled down somewhat, Jason can also see that Bruce is not doing all that well – not that the realization is making it any easier to work with his adoptive father. Because the exhaustion and the stress are making Bruce even more closed-off and controlling than usual, and that just… sets Jason's teeth on edge, to put it mildly. And not just his, either, judging by the blazing row Dick had with Bruce a few days ago, when the old man was trying to hoard evidence in some misguided attempt to – Jason does not even know what. Protect their delicate sensibilities? As if they can afford to be in any way delicate, or not be aware of all their evidence, meager as it is…

And speaking of evidence…

Jason frowns as his eyes fall on a small piece of paper lying on the desk in front of the computer. Picking it up, he sees there are just a few words typed on it – which is a bit weird, because why would anyone print out something as tiny as this? The bottom is ripped off, as if it was some casual note, but again, weird – because any case notes in the field would probably have been handwritten, not neatly typed, so…

But before Jason can reach the end of that thought, his brain catches up with what is written on the paper. 'Countrywide', it reads, and, below that, 'possibly international clients'.

And these are simple words, and this could be about anything – but a lightbulb goes off in Jason's head. Of course – that is what they have created, a hub, and that is why the 'inner circle' no longer seems so narrow. That might actually explain a few things about who is covering it all up and how, too… Yes, this is definitely enough to make Jason look at the case in a new light – and, come to think about it, he might actually have a lead, that other bit of evidence he got the other night. But first…

Scowling, Jason turns the computer on and updates the case file. Obscure as the note may be to an

external observer, Jason really wishes that whoever dropped the note on the desk – Bruce or Dick – had updated the file, as they should have, instead of leaving the paper in the open for anyone to find. Is he supposed to be everyone's babysitter now, or what?

A few hours later, Jason heads up to the house to grab some lunch. Alfred is alone in the kitchen, mixing some ingredients, and looks up briefly when Jason comes in.

"Ah, Master Jason, would you like some lunch? Everyone else has already eaten, but I have kept a plate for you."

"Thanks, Alfie." Jason opens the fridge and scans the contents. "I'm not really that hungry, maybe I'll just have a sandwich or something…"

"How odd," Alfred comments in a casual tone, but Jason frowns, turning away from the fridge. "Master Jay said the exact same thing, although he has never said no to my food before. But then, neither has he ever come in alone."

"Wait, what?" Jason forgets about his lunch. "Don't they always come together, him and Dickie?" He drums his fingers on the fridge door. "Well – maybe Dickie wasn't hungry? Or busy with something? They seem a bit more relaxed these days, not always joined at the hip, so…"

"I would have thought so," Alfred replies, measuring what looks like flour, "but Masters Tim and Dickie came in together earlier. And I would say that Master Jay looked quite unhappy. In fact, now that I think about it, it is not the first time. He has seemed rather withdrawn recently."

Jason sighs. Another crisis. Why can things not just go smoothly for once, and…

He stops himself. He is being unfair; those two kids have been through hell, and expecting them to be fine just because they are in a safe place now is ridiculous. Not to mention that they should not even be in this place… Jason still cannot believe what Dick has told him about Dickie not wanting to leave. He makes a mental note to talk to Jay about this, too.

Well. Looks like he is going to have to talk to his alternate about more than just that.

Jason finds his little double on the lawn in front of the patio, flicking through a book and, just as Alfred said, looking unhappy. Heading towards him, Jason looks around to see if Dickie is near, too, but no, the kid is alone. And apparently so deep in thought that he does not hear Jason approach even despite Jason intentionally making as much noise as an elephant.

Stopping a few paces away so he does not loom over his alternate, Jason clears his throat, making Jay look up sharply in alarm.

"Hey," Jason greets him, raising both hands, "it's just me. How're you doing, mini-me? Why so

sad?"

"Hi," Jay replies, relaxing a little. He bites his lip, lowering his eyes. "No, I'm… I'm okay. Everything's fine."

Jason squints at him.

"Bullshit," he says lightly, with a hint of humor. "You do realize you're talking to, like, yourself, right? You can't fool me. Come on, what's up?"

Jay scowls a little, and Jason hides a smile at the kid's disgruntled expression.

"I'm fine," Jay mutters, eyes flicking up at Jason and then away again. "Just a bit… I dunno. Bored, I guess."

Jason hums, not buying it for a second.

"Mind if I keep you company, then?"

His alternate shrugs one shoulder. Jason takes this as invitation and plops down next to the kid.

"So how come you're bored?" He asks, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his raised knees. "Heard Alfred wanted to finally start you on some online learning stuff, has he done that yet? I know you can't get properly registered yet, 'cause you still don't have papers, but no reason why you shouldn't start catching up on your own for now."

Jason knows perfectly well how excited his double is for school – he was the same, after all - so he figures that, if anything could cheer the kid up, this would be it. To his growing consternation, though, Jay just gives another little shrug.

"He showed us yesterday," he says, almost disinterestedly, and alarm bells start ringing in Jason's head at his tone. "It was in the evening, though, so… I thought I'd start today."

"Ok," Jason says carefully when the kid adds nothing else. "So – have you?" A thought occurs to him. "You know it's just fine if you suck at first, right? And you probably don't even have a proper teacher yet, so whatever you manage to do is ok. Yeah? And I know we're all busy, but you're always welcome to ask for help. Whoever's free will be happy to explain stuff to you."

That does earn Jason a tiny smile, but it disappears almost immediately.

"Thanks," Jay mutters and then falls silent again.

"Kid," Jason leans over to gently bump his shoulder against his alternate's. "What's wrong? Hey, by the way, how did the therapy appointment go?"

"Fine, I guess," Jay mumbles, thumbing absently through his book. "The lady's nice. She said I can call her Emma. Don't see much point in it, though. She just asked some random stuff about me, like what I like to read… stuff like that."

"Hey, that's ok for now," Jason says reassuringly. "You've only had one session. She has to get to know you a little, first. She's going to help, ok?"

Another shrug. Now, seriously, what the hell is going on…

"So where's Dickie?" Jason asks after another awkward pause. Not that he is trying to keep tabs on the older kid, but he is not sure what to ask next. And besides, based on what Alfred said, the kids

might have had some sort of falling out – so it might have something to do with Jay's mood.

And he is right. This is the one question that gets a proper reaction out of Jay.

"Probably with Tim," the kid mutters through gritted teeth, and Jason starts at the irritation in his voice. And – is that jealousy?

"Why aren't you with them, then?" He asks curiously.

"Wasn't asked," Jay replies shortly, and Jason frowns. From what he has seen, the kids have mostly stuck together – and not just because they felt they had to but because they seemed to genuinely want to. Plus, they seem so protective of each other that he has a hard time believing one would ditch the other like this.

"Did you… fight, or something?"

Jay shakes his head jerkily. But then his face crumples.

"They just don't want to hang out with me anymore, that's all," he says, still obviously trying to sound unaffected and failing spectacularly. "Look, it's nothing. It's stupid." But Jason can see his double's eyes are getting wet.

"Hey, come on," he says reassuringly, "I'm sure it's not like that. Maybe Dickie's just tired of the library, you know? I mean, our Dick is, like, allergic to books. Or, well," he amends, "not allergic, but he's always too hyper to stay still and read. Tim is not a big fan, either, he says novels are boring, 'cause they're fiction and useless – which is such bullshit, if you think about it-"

"It is like that," Jay cuts him off, and Jason stops mid-sentence and stares at the kid who is quickly losing the fight to look indifferent. His lip is positively wobbling, and his voice is becoming unsteady. Now that he has started talking, though, the words are just tumbling out. "It's been several days. They never used to do this, never! Dick didn't even want to let me out of his sight, before! Even when I told him I was fine!" Jay swipes a hand under his nose. "And now he knows it's ok, I guess, so he doesn't feel like he has to keep me close all the time – and he's ditched me! It's just… unfair!"

Jason scoots closer as his double dissolves into angry tears and puts an arm around him.

"Jay, c'mon, don't cry," he says in a low voice, internally cursing Dickie and Tim. Seriously, would it kill them to play with the kid at least sometimes? Damn teenagers… And damn Grayson – can no version of him ever be a good brother to Jason?

Jason tamps down on the anger when he notices the world is starting to look a little bit too green. He takes a deep breath and shakes the kid gently.

"Jay," he starts again and stops, suddenly realizing he has no idea what to say. What he wants to say is, screw them – but Jay is hardly going to be happy with that advice, plus Jason really does not want to fan his double's resentment. He clears his throat and tries again. "Are you…" No, abort – he is not going to insult the kid by asking him if he is sure the others are leaving him out intentionally.

Distract him, then. Now, what would be a good distraction? Books are clearly not doing it, today, and neither is school… Oh, this is good. Useful, too, since neither of them has had a proper lunch.

Jason grins mischievously. This should be perfect. He nudges the kid with his shoulder again.

"D'you wanna go grab a chili dog?"

Bingo. As expected, this proves a very good distraction. Suddenly alert and eager, Jay looks like he has forgotten all about the older boys' behavior.

"Yes!" He exclaims, no longer crying – but then pauses, an uncertain expression appearing on his face. "But… Bruce said we're not to leave the grounds. Won't he…" Jay hesitates, biting his lip nervously. "Won't he be angry?"

"The way he's been acting, he won't even notice," Jason rolls his eyes, but stops when he sees Jay does not look reassured. He softens his tone. "I promise it's fine. Even if he's not happy, he'll be unhappy with me, not you." Jay opens his mouth, frowning, but Jason cuts him off, rolling his eyes again. "It'll be fine. You're not, like, getting me in trouble. Besides – there's no actual reason for you not to be allowed out, so, most likely, what he meant is, you're not to leave the grounds alone. And you're not alone, you're with me. So – let's go?"

Jason does not even pretend he does not feel a thrill of vindictive, childish triumph when his double's eyes light up.

Whatever they're up to, I bet we'll be having more fun.

Naturally, Jason cannot afford to spend too much time away from the case – but this is important, too, he tells himself.

And, as far as distractions go, the outing proves a great success – at least, in the beginning. Wandering around the small park and munching on his chili dog, the kid looks practically ecstatic. In fact, Jason himself is feeling a bit more emotional than he likes to admit, remembering himself at Jay's age – and remembering his mom. The woman he considers his real mom, anyway.

As they finish eating and turn around to walk slowly back to the car, though, Jay becomes thoughtful and quiet again.

"You ok?" Jason asks, glancing at him with a small frown.

"Yeah," the kid says on an exhale, "thanks. I mean… really, this was so great."

"No problem, kid," Jason smiles down at his double. "I enjoyed it, too. Sorry I'm not around more. There's… work to do."

"It's ok," Jay replies quietly. "Really, I get it."

"So why the long face again, then?" Jason teases gently. "Don't wanna go back?"

The kid gives a noncommittal shrug, making Jason frown again. "Hey – I… I'm serious, actually." He stops, turning to his alternate. "Do you not want to go back? I've been meaning to discuss this with you. D'you wanna leave the Manor?"

At this, Jay looks up with wide eyes.

"L-leave?.. But – but why? Where would I go?" To Jason's horror, his double's eyes suddenly fill

with tears again. "Do you want me to leave? Does Bruce?"

"What? No!" Jason protests, feeling wrong-footed. "No-one wants you to leave! I just thought – well, Bruce didn't ask for your opinion – anyone's, really, duh – about where you wanna live. So I just wanted to give you options! As to where – look, I dunno, I haven't really thought, but, "he thinks quickly, "you can always come and live with me… or Dick," he adds reluctantly. A look at Jay's face tells him that none of this is really helping. Wonderful. Now Jason is cursing himself – instead of cheering the kid up, he just managed to upset him even more.

"I don't want options!" Jay wails, causing a passing woman to turn around and give them a suspicious look. Jason smiles at her tightly, trying not to panic. "I just want- I just…" The rest of the sentence is so garbled it is impossible to understand.

"Jay – hey, hey, kid, it's ok," Jason says quickly, putting his arm around the crying boy and steering him towards a bench. Settling Jay down on it, Jason crouches in front of his double, trying to look him in the face. "Jay, look at me, please," he says as calmly and firmly as he can manage. The kid swipes a hand across his eyes and peers at him. "Nobody wants you to leave," Jason repeats with conviction. "I offered because I want you to be happy, and I'm worried that living in a copy of that house from hell with someone who looks exactly like the bastard who abused you so terribly is not a good idea. Ok?"

Jay looks at him with wide eyes that are at least no longer leaking tears.

"But… but why?" He asks desperately. "Why is it bad?"

"Just…" Jason shakes his head. "Because it all looks so similar. Don't you ever feel confused about where you are? Don't you… like, remember stuff when you walk around the house? Aren't you…" He pauses. "Aren't you scared of Bruce?"

Jay pauses.

"Sometimes," he admits, dropping his eyes. "Like when he moves too fast or when his voice gets growly, or, or… I don't like him too close," he mutters and then looks back up. "But he's nice to me! He talks to me, and he doesn't ever yell at me – and… I like reading with him, I like it when he tells me stuff… Like that time when he showed me that… space atlas. I like having…" Jay's voice trails off, and Jason swallows a lump in his throat. He knows exactly what his double wanted to say, and it all hits him way too hard – a jumble of memories, good and bad, all rolled together into a painful ball. Memories of tentative trust, of having someone who seemed to care, the warm feeling of having a family again – and then, the surety that it had all been… if not a lie then a dream, that nobody really cared or could care about him, because he just was not good enough, because…

And mixed in is the unbelievable but unmistakable feeling of jealousy – because Bruce is no longer his dad, no longer wants to be his dad, but instead has found a young and cute version of him that seems to like and want Bruce, too.

Jason stops himself, realizing he is breathing hard and about to start crying, too. He wrestles himself under control and takes a deep breath.

"Jay," he begins tentatively and stops. What can he say? What should he say? That Jay should not trust it? But that will just sound wrong. That Bruce will ditch him? Well, maybe he will, but, knowing the old man, he will probably do the opposite, sink his claws into Jay and try to rectify every mistake he has ever made with his other kids. Which, Jason thinks with a frown, is not very healthy for either party. But what part of their life is healthy, anyway, he wonders? Really, maybe

he should just shut up and let the therapist do her job. Maybe have a word with her about it. Then, at least, it will come from someone qualified. Okay, that… sounds like a plan. A better one, at least, than making the kid cry on a park bench because Jason is trying to uproot him, again.

"Let's go home," he says quietly, instead. The kid sniffles and nods.

In the end, Jason is not sure how much he has helped. But, in any case, the outing is only a stopgap solution. And he does feel a bit like a kindergarten nanny who is trying to get grumpy toddlers to play together, but he really thinks he should talk to the older boys about this. Or… Well, Jason does not want to talk to Dickie, because he can see the kid is still kind of wary of them all, so he might take any sort of admonishment as an order or whatever.

Which leaves Tim. Who should really know better, Jason thinks with a surge of irritation – with all of his abandonment issues, Tim really should have thought how terrible the kid would feel, being left out like this. So just before dinner, Jason knocks on Tim's door and, hearing a muffled 'come in', he steps inside, closing the door behind him.

Tim is putting something away in his desk drawer when Jason enters. Turning around and seeing his visitor, though, he stills, and Jason does not like how tense his face becomes. Almost alarmed, really. What he would not do…

No, stop, he tells himself firmly. His own regrets have to wait. He is here on a mission.

"Hey," he greets Tim, trying to sound casual, and sees the kid's face settle into a frown.

"Jason," Tim replies, "uh, hi. What – did you want something?"

Now it is Jason's turn to frown – because Tim definitely sounds nervous. Okay, maybe it is unusual that he has come to Tim's room, but really, does the kid think Jason is about to attack him again or something?

"I wanted to talk about Jay." Jason chooses to focus on the main thing; he seriously does not have the time – or the energy – to try and figure out what is going on in Tim's brain. At his words, Tim frowns again, though he actually relaxes a little. "He says you and Dickie have ditched him. That true?"

"Uh," Tim pauses and blinks rapidly. "No? I mean – we didn't intend to. He, uh, he just…" Tim breaks off and shrugs helplessly, and Jason is really losing his patience now.

"He what?" He asks, annoyed. "He's not fun enough? A little kid? Well, surprise, Replacement, kids don't like being left out. I thought you of all people would know that."

At this, Tim flinches, and Jason is suddenly struck by how pale and tired Tim is looking. "Hey, are you…" He squints at the kid, remembering Dick saying he was worried about Tim. "You ok?" Tim stares and then nods wordlessly. "I, uh," Jason rubs the back of his neck, "sorry, that kinda came out harsh. I just meant, you know…"

"I understand," Tim interrupts in an even and emotionless tone. "I'm sorry. We really didn't mean to hurt him. Just got carried away with something, and Jay is usually more interested in books than

what we're doing, so we didn't think." He takes a breath. "We'll all play a game tonight or watch a movie or something. That ok?"

"Uh… sure," Jason replies, still frowning at Tim. "Thanks. Look, you sure you're ok? Are you not sleeping again?"

"I'm fine," Tim replies in the same weird tone. "Just a bad dream last night." He shifts awkwardly, and Jason flushes, suddenly realizing who must have starred in that dream.

"Right," he mutters, dropping his eyes. Well – he cannot do much here, anyway, so he nods to Tim again and turns to leave, making a mental note to tell Dick to finally make some time to talk to the kid.

True to his word, at the end of dinner, Tim asks if Jay and Dickie want to watch a movie. To his surprise, Dickie frowns, but Tim gives him a look, and, after a moment, he nods and agrees. Jason watches this silent communication with interest.

"You wanna come, too, Jason?" Tim invites him, trying to sound nonchalant.

"What are you gonna watch?" Jason asks, purely out of idle curiosity, because of course he cannot spare any more time today.

Tim shrugs.

"Maybe Star Wars, I dunno."

Jason snorts.

"Come on, Replacement, you gotta branch out a little-"

"Don't call him that!"

Jason is so startled he does not even realize whose voice it is, at first – not that there are many people at the table. But hearing Dickie speak with such anger and so firmly is just too surprising, and, for a moment, Jason stares at him wordlessly.

"Dick, stop!"

Jason turns his head to look at Tim, who looks flustered and even a little scared, eyes flitting between Dickie and Jason. And… hold on… did Tim tell him?.. Jason flushes in anger at the realization and sees Tim tense up even further, probably at the sight of Jason's glowing eyes.

But, Jason thinks, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath, it is Tim's right to decide whom he tells. Jason did almost kill him. It is just – why did he do it? Did he feel the need to warn Dickie about Jason? Is he really still that afraid?

The thought turns Jason's stomach and he finds that he simply cannot deal with this right now. Opening his eyes and stumbling to his feet, he smothers the remains of his anger and turns to Tim. Tim – who looks ready to have to defend himself; opposite him, Dickie is staring up at Jason with grim determination.

Jason cannot bring himself to check his alternate's expression.

"I'm sorry," he makes himself say, looking straight at Tim and trying to sound sincere instead of mechanical. "I wasn't trying to upset you, Tim. I'll try to remember not to call you that again."

There – he got the words out. After a beat, Tim nods, and, unable to stand this a moment longer, Jason turns to flee.

He carefully does not think about how dazed and disbelieving Tim looked at his apology.

Chapter 25

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

The moment Jason is gone, Tim whirls around to face Dickie, his cheeks burning with embarrassment and annoyance.

"Why the hell did you do that?"

Dickie glares in response, not looking the least bit contrite.

"Do what? Stand up for you? Make him apologize?"

"I don't need you to stand up for me!" Tim retorts angrily, squeezing his eyes shut to force back the tears of frustration and rubbing a hand down his face. Just when things were… maybe… getting… kind of… okay with Jason, Dickie just had to go and disturb the peace. Not that being called 'Replacement' has suddenly become pleasant, or anything, but Tim would really prefer to save the need for confrontation for something more serious than this. Like another murder attempt, perhaps. "It's just a dumb nickname, he wasn't gonna do anything!"

"No, he's already done enough," Dickie grinds out, eyes flashing, and although part of Tim is honestly grateful to Dickie for being in his corner, mostly, he is pissed off. He is just about to open his mouth to tell Dickie that the other boy has no idea what he is talking about – because, seriously, Tim has not told him even half of the story, and Dickie still decided to butt in – when he is interrupted by Jay's quivering voice and freezes.

"What are you two talking about?"

Horror spreads through Tim as he drops his hand and turns to Jay, who looks one second away from crying, eyes wide and lips trembling. Only now does Tim realize that he and Dickie completely forgot about the kid in the heat of their argument – the kid who had already been upset by their behavior and must have had a really bad day so far. A frantic glance at Dickie tells him that the other boy has realized the exact same thing at the exact same moment – and knows no better than Tim what to say and how to deal with this situation.

"Jay…"

"Why did you say that?" Jay demands, turning on Dickie. "What did you mean?"

Dickie has gone from angry to floundering in just a couple of seconds, but, as the silence stretches, Tim can see him pull himself together, face darkening; and suddenly, Tim realizes that he simply cannot let Dickie do this, tell Jay the truth and ruin everything for the kid who is only just beginning to feel a little safer and happier. Yes, Tim himself might still be wary of Jason, but he has absolutely no doubt that his brother is no threat to the new kids. And Tim is also perfectly aware of the fact that Jay has come to practically adore his alternate in the short time they have known each other, so telling the kid anything that might make him see Jason as a threat is both unwarranted and cruel.

"It was nothing, Jay," Tim says firmly, cutting Dickie off just as he is opening his mouth. Dickie turns back to him, looking livid, but Tim keeps his gaze trained firmly on the younger boy. "It was a stupid argument we had the other day, while you were in the library. I went outside with Dickie – you know, to that obstacle course? I can't train properly right now, with, you know," Tim gestures

to his cast, "so I just wanted to watch – but then Jason decided to come along, too. And I kept teasing him, 'cause he wasn't as agile as Dickie… obviously, 'cause he's so bulky… Anyway, he kinda got mad at me, and Dickie didn't like it, so we all got into a bit of an argument… But everything's fine now, I promise."

Jay looks far from convinced, and Tim cannot blame him – the lie sounds terribly flimsy. But, right now, it is all Tim can come up with on the spot, tired and stressed as he is. Next to Jay, Dickie looks far from happy, but thankfully, is keeping his mouth shut. And when Jay turns to him for confirmation, he just purses his lips and shrugs one shoulder, as though grudgingly confirming Tim's story.

Jay looks between them with narrowed eyes, and Tim tries to seem as serene as possible and project an air of confidence.

"Ok," Jay says eventually, sounding a little calmer, though he still looks upset. "But what about the… what did he call you?" He turns to Dickie again. "Why did you tell him not to call Tim that?"

"Because Tim doesn't like being called that," Dickie replies tensely and quietly, obviously unwilling to lie and settling for some version of the truth.

"Dickie's right," Tim jumps in, "I don't. And Jason knows that, but he's still pissed off about my teasing, so he did it just to annoy me. Everything's fine," and he flashes a smile at Jay, hoping it does not resemble a grimace.

Jay shakes his head slowly.

"You're keeping something from me," he accuses, and his voice trembles again. "Why? You think I can't see something's wrong? You think I'm just a dumb kid, don't you?" He sniffles angrily. "You won't even talk to me anymore!"

"What?" Dickie exclaims, leaning down towards Jay and putting an arm around him. The kid looks torn between wanting to shrug it off and lean into his brother. "Jay, of course we don't think that! And why would you say that?"

"I know why," Tim cuts in. Dickie frowns at him, uncomprehending, because Tim has not told him about Jason's accusation. But Tim does not want to explain right now and draw attention to the fact that he and Dickie needed to be told to pay attention to Jay; maybe it is cowardly, but Tim is too ashamed for his own behavior to admit the truth. "Jay, look, I'm sorry. How about we go and watch that movie now? Ok?"

But Jay jerks his head, shrugging to dislodge Dickie's arm. His brother stares, bewildered, before turning to Tim with a raised eyebrow and a worried expression. Tim purses his lips and wonders how to save the situation. Dick would know what to say, he thinks with dismay. But Tim is still only learning to be a younger brother and has absolutely no experience of being an older one. Well - no time like the present to learn, he decides, taking a deep breath.

"Jay," he begins again, attempting to copy Dick's soothing tone, "really, we're very sorry. Come on," he cajoles, "you know Dickie would never think you're dumb or boring – and neither do I! We're the dumb ones – seriously. I'm so sorry we've been neglecting you. I promise we didn't mean to hurt you. We just got caught up in some stuff, but I promise, we won't do that again."

Dickie makes a small sound, comprehension dawning on his face and quickly being replaced with shame. He turns to Jay fully and draws him into a proper hug. "Oh shit, Jay," he mutters into Jay's hair, "I'm so sorry, Tim's right, we honestly didn't mean it like that."

Jay struggles for a second before slumping and throwing his own arms around Dickie's neck, hiding his face in his brother's shoulder. Tim looks at them, at once glad that Jay seems to be responding to their apologies, still ashamed for their negligence, and… if he is being honest, more than a little envious of the hug. With his family history, Tim is not used to much physical contact - so at first, he tended to feel awkward at Dick's displays of affection, not knowing whether to hug back and holding himself stiff as a board. By now, however, he has come to crave his brother's hugs. But with Dick's mission and now, the case, Tim has not been getting his usual dose of physical affection. Clenching his teeth, Tim reminds himself that these feelings are absolutely useless right now.

After a few moments, Dickie and Jay break apart.

"So," Jay sniffles, "what was it you were doing?"

A tense pause follows, during which Tim and Dickie exchange panicked looks; Jay glances between them and begins to scowl. Tim is just wondering what lie to come up with that would sound both believable and boring enough for Jay not to ask too many questions, when-

"Tim has found out about the case," Dickie says quietly, and Tim straightens with a jolt, wide- eyed. But he figures it is his turn to go along with the explanation, deferring to Dickie's judgment when it comes to Jay, and keeps silent.

"The… case?" Jay repeats, his eyes just as wide, and his voice way too loud because of his excitement. Dickie and Tim both hiss at him, and Jay lowers his voice, ducking his head. "Sorry! The case, the one that they were hiding from you?"

"Yes," Tim mutters, casting around nervous glances.

"So what was it?" Jay asks eagerly, and Tim bites his lip, not knowing what to tell the kid. Again, Dickie takes the lead.

"A very bad human trafficking case, Jay," he answers very quietly. "There's a lot of violence involved, so the others don't want Tim to help. But he thinks they really need it, and I want to help, too. That's why we've been busy. I'm sorry we made you think it was somehow your fault."

"Tell me, then," Jay leans in to get closer to them both. "I want to help, too!"

"No, Jay," Dickie replies firmly. "Out of the question. The entire thing is seriously horrible. You don't need to see this. You really don't want to know."

"Yes, I do!" Jay hisses furiously. "This is unfair! You don't get to decide what I do or know! You don't get to control me!"

Dickie shakes his head, looking upset and barely able to keep his voice low.

"I'm not trying to control you! I – I care about you! I don't want to upset you, and this stuff is bad enough to upset anyone. Please, Jay," he pleads, "please, trust me. Ok?"

And, to Tim's awe, Dickie's words seem to be working much better than everyone's attempts to dissuade Tim from snooping. The kid nods reluctantly, falling back against the back of his chair.

"Fine," he mutters. Dickie looks immensely relieved.

"So… Movie?"

But apparently, Dickie's words are not effective enough to ensure Jay's good mood on top of his acquiescence. The kid shakes his head and stands up, pushing his chair back forcefully.

"I don't want your stupid movie," he mutters sullenly, heading towards the door. "I'm going to the library."

"Seriously, did you have to?" Tim mutters irritably as Jay's footsteps die away. "Now Jay is upset, and Jason is pissed off, and all of it because of you – because of a stupid nickname. We could have avoided this whole scene if we'd just gone to see the movie straight away. Why did you have to butt in?"

Dickie's upset look morphs back into righteous anger.

"So you're just content to leave things as they are? And – why won't you ask someone for help? Since you're so adamant that everyone else treats you so well?"

"Help?" Tim splutters, completely bewildered. "What help? And who should I ask?"

"Well… I don't know," Dickie flounders for a moment. "Richard?"

"Rich- oh, you mean Dick. Wait, so why should I ask him for help?"

Dickie throws out his hands.

"Have you seen yourself? You're tense and nervous, and when Jason stood up just now, you looked like you were expecting him to beat you! And, frankly, based on what you've told me and what I've seen, so was I! You-"

"I told you," Tim interrupts, annoyed. "He isn't doing anything to me. There's nothing to help with. Yeah, we had our… differences, but it's over now. It's been months, and I know he-" Tim bites back the word 'hates', "doesn't like me, but he hasn't done anything… since." And it is true; Jason has not so much as threatened him since returning to the family, although he apparently could not keep himself from making sarcastic remarks about his 'replacement' every now and then. Though when Tim once made the mistake of mentioning it to Dick, his older brother frowned like he was confused and insisted that Jason complimenting Tim's skill with the bo staff was genuine and not at all sarcastic. Like Jason had not broken his staff like a toy and beaten Tim into the ground just a few short months before. But then, Tim knows Dick is biased when it comes to Jason.

"Look, Dick," Tim continues when Dickie does not respond, "I know you're worried, and I'm… I'm honestly grateful you're looking out for me. But, please…" Tim stops and sighs. "Nothing bad is happening, and I don't want to rock the boat. I wish… well. It doesn't matter. He did it, he apologized, I forgave him. We moved on. That's all."

There is a tense pause.

"Tim," Dickie begins uncertainly, "why are you so intent on protecting him?"

Tim starts.

"What do you mean?"

Dickie exhales and slumps. When he answers, his voice is low and cajoling. "Just – you know perfectly well what he did to you is not ok. Right? Just… imagine someone did it to your best friend. You wouldn't be saying it's over and no longer matters if it was anyone else, would you?"

And… if he is being completely honest, Tim cannot disagree. Not when their encounter ended with several broken bones and a slit throat for Tim. For a moment, he imagines someone else in his own place, and his heart clenches in compassion. But he blinks, and the image disappears along with the feeling. It did not happen to someone else. It happened to Tim - and Tim is always the exception.

Dickie apparently takes Tim's silence as encouragement.

"You keep coming up with excuses for him. And he-"

"They're not excuses!" Tim explodes without listening further. Dickie shakes his head in frustration, but Tim cuts him off before he can continue.

"No, really, look," Tim huffs. "He – he was my childhood hero. Ok? This is why I'm…" He stops just shy of walking into a trap. "I'm not making excuses, but just – I know he's good! Really. The thing is, I'm just… the exception. It's me, ok? For everyone else, he… I've watched him for years, I've followed him and Batman for years. And I've seen him help so many people! He was even nice to me when I first met him," Tim swallows painfully at the memory of a laughing Robin helping him down from where he got stuck on a fire escape. "It's… afterwards… that everything changed."

There is another long silence.

"You know," Dick starts in a low, hollow voice, looking down at the table. "Batman was nice to me, too, at first."

Tim stares.

"He helped me track down my parents' murderer," Dick continues, raising his eyes to Tim's, "and I trusted him. But then, once he got me… once I agreed to live with him…" Dick breaks off and shakes his head, shuddering. "Wasn't even a day before he raped me for the first time, and it was-"

"He – what?" Tim breathes, horrified, and Dickie stops, frowning at him in confusion. "He… I thought he just beat you!" Tim stops, flushing when he realizes what he just said. "I mean… Not… not 'just', but – he raped you?"

"Well – yes," Dickie says slowly, looking even more confused, and Tim cannot help the wounded noise that escapes him. "You… didn't know?"

Feeling sick, Tim shakes his head. Across the table, Dickie keeps frowning at him, actually looking concerned now – and is it not horrible, Tim thinks, that he is concerned for Tim when he is the one that… that…

"No," Tim whispers, "I - I didn't know. I…" He swallows. "Bruce didn't tell me. I guess… Maybe he was protecting your privacy – or… or maybe he was trying to protect me… again." Dickie nods slowly but says nothing else. "So…" Tim tries to speak louder, but his voice is so hoarse from stress it is almost gone. Still, he presses on, suddenly desperate to know everything. "So – all these years?.."

Dickie's look is almost pitying as he nods again, and Tim hates it – hates all of it, and even himself

– both for asking and for looking so upset, apparently, that Dickie feels the need to pity him.

Revolted, Tim squeezes his eyes shut.

"Jay… too?"

Hearing Dickie's quiet 'yes', he has to fight with all he has to keep his dinner down. And sure, Tim has already seen a lot of horrible stuff, and he is actually trying to investigate a child trafficking case right now, but… Somehow, this is even worse. Maybe because this is personal, he thinks distantly. He knows these kids, these victims – and he cannot help but feel… related to them. Not to mention that the one who did this to them is… Tim squeezes his eyes even tighter… not Bruce, he tells himself firmly, not his adoptive father. But the other Bruce does not feel like a complete stranger, either.

Tim is still battling his rising dinner when Dickie clears his throat awkwardly, and Tim forces himself to open his eyes and look at the other boy, feeling that he ows it to Dickie to pull himself together.

"I didn't… Sorry, I wasn't trying to upset you," Dickie says stiffly, fidgeting with a napkin, and Tim huffs, bemused and slightly horrified that Dickie is apologizing to him. But before he can say anything, Dickie continues. "Look, my… my point is… At first, I kept hoping none of it was true – I know it sounds crazy, but I was a kid, I was alone, my parents had just died, and… I was terrified, I only wanted two things – to find their killer and not to be in juvie anymore, so… I thought, he helped me, he can't be a bad guy… I…"

Dickie breaks off and gives a small, bitter laugh. "Looking back, I tried to jump through some impressive mental hoops to rationalize it, to convince myself he was good or – or that he had a reason… And even when none of that worked, I thought – he helped me. When nobody else would! So… so maybe it was my payment?.." Dickie laughs again, raising his hands to cover his face before dropping them and leaning towards Tim. "Only none of it was true, Tim. He was a monster, and I realized it very soon. After that, he had to use threats and violence to keep me quiet. Point is… no matter how much you try to explain these things away, it's… it's just wrong. He did it once, he might do it again. And not just to you."

Tim feels his heart break at Dickie's revelations, but he refuses to budge.

"Dickie, it's not like that, I promise," he says quietly. "I am so, so sorry you had to go through all that… you and Jay… but that's not – that's not the dynamic between Jason and me."

"Oh, really-" Dickie scowls, but Tim cuts him off, raising a hand.

"No, listen – honestly, it's not like that. Yes, I know perfectly well what he did was wrong. I'm not trying to – to… rationalize it or anything, except in the sense that… I kind of get what he was feeling, back then. And now – he is not pretending or anything, he just… tolerates me." Tim ignores the twinge in his chest. "He's learned to deal with himself, and – and as for him being a threat to anyone else… Look, I've seen him deal with so many kids I'm completely certain he is safe for… well, you and Jay."

"Probably not me," Dickie says wryly, "not after today."

Tim scoffs.

"Don't be an idiot. I wouldn't be saying this if I wasn't sure. Look, he was mad at me because I replaced him – that's all. He got that wrong, but I kinda get it. And you have nothing to do with

any of it. He's not out of control or anything."

Dickie shakes his head in frustration.

"What does that even mean? How could you replace him? And why? Did it happen when he ran away?"

Tim starts.

"Who told you about that?"

"You did," Dickie replies, narrowing his eyes, and, with a jolt, Tim recalls their first conversation. Well, at least he did not give away anything incriminating.

"Oh, right. Well – kinda," he hedges, still refusing to tell Dickie about Jason's traumatic story. "He was… away for a long time. Not his fault. But he went through some horrific stuff there. And we… well, Bruce and Dick… they didn't know. And all that stuff with Bruce getting custody of me happened during that time, so… When Jason returned and found out about me, he was – really angry. He felt like I'd taken his place as both Robin and Bruce's son, and he just… flipped out. And, as I told you, there was magic involved. It made it nearly impossible for him to control all that anger."

Dickie sighs in defeat.

"Didn't give him the right to behave as he did," he says quietly.

"No," Tim agrees just as quietly, "but it happened. And I just want to move on. I'm ready to."

At least, that is what Tim told Jason when Jason apologized. But as he says the words now… despite his firm tone that even seems to be fooling Dickie, Tim realizes that it is actually a lie. He is nowhere near being ready to move on. The pain is still as acute as it was all those months ago as he lay broken and afraid he might never fully recover, either – or both – physically or mentally. Except... he already got an apology from Jason. So what more can he expect?

Nothing, he tells himself. Just suck it up and move on. Be an adult about it - just like his parents always taught him. No need to nurse his wounds like a beaten dog. Pathetic.

"Right," Dickie exhales, reaching for Jay's plate and piling it on top of his own. "Since we're not watching that movie, we might as well go back upstairs and work. What do you think?"

Tim nods, squashing the last remnants of self-pity, and stands.

Chapter End Notes

Next up: Tim and Dickie decide to do some recon in the field - and get caught. But it's not as bad as you think... yet.

Chapter 26

"This is useless," Tim growls, tossing aside the piece of paper on which he has been sketching a diagram in an attempt to list and connect everything they know – which, admittedly, is very little. He leans back in his chair irritably and stares up at the ceiling in clear frustration.

"I'm afraid you're right," Dick agrees, picking up the paper and sighing as he skims through it.

The truth is, they have not had much progress since Tim stole the evidence in the Cave several days ago – hardly surprising, given that Bruce and then Richard and Jason have apparently been working around the clock for so long with so little success. But this does not make the situation any less frustrating.

The most limiting factor, of course, has been their lack of sources. Neither of them has dared to venture into the city to investigate on the spot – not that they have any leads to follow – and Tim has not been able to steal any more evidence. Trawling through the news has been only marginally more fruitful now that they know what to look for. All they managed to find out is that at least some of the kids must have been brought to Gotham from other places; and even this is only an inference, because, naturally, all that those articles reported was the kids' mysterious disappearances.

The only truly valuable – and also mysterious and disturbing – piece of information is a very short video published on YouTube that Tim found a couple of days ago. Dick has not seen it, but Tim has tried to share every tiny detail with him in an attempt to glean as much information from it as possible.

From what Tim said, the video was clearly shot on a mobile phone; just a couple of minutes long, shaky and dark, it was a disjointed account of someone's attempt at an investigation. The voice in the background was young and male – and also high and breathless with terror. The author of the video never showed his face; all the footage was of him walking briskly through Gotham's dark streets – but obviously heading somewhere specific and not just wandering around the city.

The young man in the video – most likely, a teenager, Tim said – talked about how he came to the city to find his little sister, who had been kidnapped by a gang in a neighboring town and, as far as he could tell, brought to Gotham. Somehow, he had managed to find out where she was being kept and, believing he had enough information to call the police, he went to tell them all he knew. But the cop he talked to excused herself to make a phone call and, creeping towards the door, he overheard her relating his story to someone – someone very clearly linked to the traffickers.

The young man managed to escape; but the encounter made it obvious he could not count on anyone's help. And so, alone and friendless in a strange city, he decided to try and rescue his sister on his own… except that he clearly was not counting on being successful. The video was his last- ditch attempt to alert the world to his endeavor. It ended with a shot of the building where he believed his sister was being held… and his plea to whomever saw the video to come and help him or at least the other victims – which showed that he knew there was more to the crime than just his sister's kidnapping.

In fact, he knew a lot; he did not explain how, but he had managed to find out what his sister had been kidnapped for, and he even mentioned that some foreign businessmen were going to be among the 'clients'. And this bit about the international 'clients' is the only thing that Tim was able to share with Bruce and his brothers – the Bats, as he calls them.

Dick knows Tim is still furious with himself for not acting fast enough. Too busy with some urgent task from Bruce, Tim failed to quickly come up with a way to anonymously share the video with the others. And when, just a few hours later, he brought Dick to his room to show him the video, practically vibrating with excitement, he found that it had been deleted, along with the entire channel.

It took Dick ages to calm Tim down, because the other boy kept cursing himself – very colorfully - for not downloading the video immediately. Such a rookie mistake, Tim raged, and now such invaluable evidence existed only in his memory. Also, there was absolutely no way to contact the author… or the person who uploaded the video – because Dick suspects, much as it pains him, that things did not end well for the young man, so he must have sent the video to someone with the request to upload it. What happened to him then is not something Dick is willing to think about.

Glancing over, Dick sees that the corners of Tim's mouth are turning down. He frowns, suspecting that Tim is beating himself up again. And Dick can sympathize, of course; but, unfortunately, this is neither useful nor good for Tim. What is done is done.

"I need to go," Tim announces abruptly, and Dick starts out of his reverie. He frowns.

"What do you mean?" He asks, tilting his head. "Go… where?"

"Out. To the city," Tim speaks in clipped sentences, and his tone is harder and colder than Dick has ever heard it. At first, that is all Dick can focus on, but, a moment later, his brain catches up with what Tim is saying.

"What?" He breathes incredulously. "Go out? Your arm's broken!"

"Well, thanks," Tim's tone is unpleasantly sarcastic, "I wasn't aware." He gets up, plucks the paper from Dick's grasp and begins to awkwardly shred it. "It doesn't prevent me from being able to walk and think, though."

"How about fight?" Dick challenges. He stands up, too, crossing his arms on his chest.

"I'm not going to fight," Tim replies tersely, dropping the tiny pieces of the diagram into a wastepaper basket. "But our only viable lead is that damn video, and I am the only one who has seen it. I am the only one who can recognize that place. I need to go and find it."

"Find it?" Dick stares at Tim incredulously, wondering if Tim has gone mad from the stress and the lack of sleep. "You're seriously going to – what? Trawl the entire city, street by street, until you find the one you only saw in a dark and shaky video? You can't do that!"

"Well, what choice do I have?" Tim retorts angrily, gesturing jerkily with his good arm. "Besides, I don't need to trawl the entire city." He frowns thoughtfully, turning towards the window. "I think I recognized a building at the beginning of the video… It's actually… not even a bad part of town. Looked like that pink building not far from the new theatre."

Dick bites his lip. The thing is, Tim has a point; he is the only one who has even the smallest chance of recognizing the location. And if he actually has an idea of where it might be…

Dick takes a deep breath, holds it for a few seconds, and then releases it.

"When do we go?"

Tim turns around sharply.

"We?"

Dick rolls his eyes.

"Well, you don't think I'm letting you go alone, do you?"

Tim opens his mouth to argue, but, at Dick's pointedly raised eyebrow, he closes it, and a small, relieved smile appears on his face.

"No time like the present."

The present proves to be a not very convenient time, however. But Tim refuses to wait.

The thing is, neither of them have any gear, and although Tim insists he just wants to look around, Dick is nervous going out with no weapon of any kind.

"I know," Tim mutters, rubbing his chin absently. "I don't like it, either. But what's worse," he continues, sighing, "is that my comm's down in the Cave, too."

Dick frowns.

"Your comm? Why do we need that? Who are you going to talk to?"

"Not talk, dummy," Tim huffs a laugh. "Listen. I don't wanna get caught, and although I know roughly where everyone – Bruce, Dick, and Jason, I mean – should be patrolling tonight, they might have changed their routine because of this case. A comm would mean we would be able to listen in on their conversations and avoid them if they get too close."

A trickle of fear runs down Dick's spine. Despite all of Tim's and Richard's reassurances, the thought of being caught by Batman is only marginally less frightening to him than being caught by the traffickers. It is true that Bruce has only been kind and gentle to him and Jay – aside from that one angry outburst in the sitting room, which was not even directed at them. But it is also true that Dick has not been breaking any rules. Now… now he is about to – because Bruce has expressly forbidden them from leaving the grounds. And to do it alone and at night…

Dick does his best to hide his shudder from Tim.

"Could you… could you maybe go and get it?" He suggests, biting his lip.

Tim sighs, shaking his head.

"Too risky. Alfred's running back end tonight, and, believe it or not, he is the hardest one to fool or distract. And I can't just waltz in and grab my gear – he'll know I'm up to something. Besides, he has a strict 'No Bat Business Above Ground' rule."

A tense silence follows, during which they both try to think of some solution. Eventually, Tim shakes his head in defeat.

"Ok. Let's just go. Let's hope they stick to the usual patrol route. After all, I followed them for years and never got caught, and I didn't even have a comm back then. You wanna change?"

Dick glances down at his dark blue jeans and black T-shirt and shakes his head slowly.

"I'm ok." Then a thought crosses his mind that makes him freeze. "Hold on – what are we going to tell Jay?"

Tim frowns, looking up from where he is tidying up his desk.

"Jay?"

"We'll be gone for a long time," Dick explains. "He'll be worried when he comes to our room and I'm not there."

Tim shakes his head impatiently, crossing to his dresser.

"We can't tell him," he says decisively, pulling out two identical black hoodies, tossing one to Dick and pulling the other on. "He'll either prevent us from going or insist on coming with us. We can't afford either scenario."

Dick stares down at the hoodie, worrying his lip between his teeth.

"What about a note?"

Tim jerks his head no again.

"Too risky. What if someone else comes in and finds it? Just leave it, Dick. We'll explain tomorrow."

And without waiting for an answer, Tim starts walking briskly towards the door. Gritting his teeth and holding back some sharp remarks about Tim's obstinacy and impatience, Dick moves to follow.

Dick would be lying if he said that the escape itself did not scare him shitless, because this – and the return – is the time they are the most likely to be caught. His heart is beating in his throat, and his hands are uncomfortably clammy. But Tim seems completely unconcerned as he creeps through the halls, out of a window at the back of the house and down some trellis with practiced ease, not even his broken arm hindering him much. With a quick glance around, he starts towards the trees, moving fast and very quietly.

After a few minutes of picking their way through the trees by the light of the flashlight on Tim's phone, they arrive at the fence. Dick stares at it with apprehension, remembering the monster of a fence back in his home world and wondering how Tim is intending to climb this one, which looks much simpler but is surely protected with some tech. To his surprise, however, Tim just marches over, leading Dick to a tree that looks so convenient for fence hopping it is as if it was designed for the job.

"Ok," Tim says quietly. "You're gonna have to help me a bit. This is very easy to climb, and that big branch over there extends a little above the fence, see? The trick is to slide along it and get to the point where you can jump down without touching the fence, 'cause there's a sensor." Dick nods nervously. "It won't shock you or anything," Tim continues, "but it will alert everyone to the

fact that someone's here."

"And going over it won't?" Dick asks suspiciously, because he doubts that this is how these things work. Tim shrugs.

"There's some sort of glitch with this sensor. Maybe it's the tree, I don't know. I found it by accident when I first moved here, and I've never had any trouble. Maybe it's wrong – not to alert Bruce to such a security breach, I mean. But it's useful, so…"

Dick exhales shakily.

"Ok," he says, steeling himself. "And the other side? Is it just a drop to the…" He frowns. "What's on the other side, anyway?"

"Just some more trees," Tim answers. "No-one will catch us there. It's my house."

"What?" Dick stares, his fear momentarily forgotten.

"We used to be the Waynes' neighbors, my parents and I," Tim replies impatiently. "I'll tell you later, ok? Let's go. There's another tree on that side, not as tall, but it's good enough to break the fall. Now help me up, please."

It takes a while. It is dark and this is Dick's first time climbing this tree; he also needs to help Tim, who is surprisingly agile and deft despite his injury but still requires some assistance on his way up. Dick is nervous the entire time, especially as they get to the top where they need to be extra careful not to trip the sensor. But eventually, to his endless relief, they make it to the other side, and Tim starts walking briskly again, no longer trying to be stealthy.

Soon, the trees end, and a huge house comes into view. Dick looks at it with interest, though he cannot see much in the dark. But Tim leads them away from it and towards the drive leading to the main gates. There, he unlocks a small door next to the gates, and they slip out. And, just like that, they are free.

Tim grins as Dick looks up and down the road in mild amazement.

"See?" He says. "Easy. Now we just need a car to get us to the city. There's actually a bus, too, and sometimes I take it, but tonight, let's just call a cab. We'd need to change buses to get to that place I'm thinking of, plus, it's just slower."

The cab driver seems far from happy that his passengers are two black-clad teenagers, and he keeps shooting them suspicious glances as they sit quietly in the backseat. But, thankfully, the trip goes without any issues, and, less than an hour later, they are in Gotham.

"Right," Tim mutters as their taxi rolls away. They are across the street from the pink building, and Tim is turning in every direction, looking unsure as he tries to figure out how to proceed. Frustrated at not being able to help, Dick bites his lip and looks around, too. The street is a busy one even at this late hour, though there are very few pedestrians, just cars. In fact, it is two streets merging into one, and the pink building sits right at the junction. But this does not look like a place where victims of human trafficking are brought to be kept in dismal conditions; rather, it looks like

a place where tourists come to relieve their wallets.

Tim curses under his breath, and Dick turns away from the lit up window of a closed porcelain shop selling all kinds of fancy sets and frowns at the other boy.

"What is it?" He asks worriedly. "Is this the wrong place?"

Tim shakes his head, biting his lip. His eyes roam the street.

"No, I… I'm positive I saw this building in the video, right at the start," he replies slowly, and Dick believes him. The pink building is really very distinctive, eye-catching in both color and shape. It does not exist in Dick's world, as far as he is aware, but he doubts this Gotham has multiple tasteless buildings that look like decorated cakes. "The thing is," Tim continues, "I'm not sure where he went from here. The video was sort of blurry sometimes, and the guy didn't always remember to keep the camera upright." He turns a little so that the building is to his left. "I think this is how it looked…"

"What was the street like?" Dick asks, wanting to help. "The next one, where he went?"

"Sort of… narrow and dark," Tim answers uncertainly, and Dick starts diligently scanning the street for any alleyways that might fit that description – but nothing does. There are simply no alleyways located the way they need; in fact, there is only one that they can see, and it is fairly wide and well-lit.

But then Dick sees it – a small dark archway sandwiched between two buildings – two shops, as far as Dick can tell. Squinting, he can see a gate, but the two halves are not perfectly aligned, and a sliver of dimly lit pavement is visible beyond them.

"There," Dick breathes, grabbing Tim's arm with a surge of excitement. Tim spins around eagerly and follows Dick's outstretched arm with his eyes. His eyes light up, and he gasps.

"That's gotta be it," he exclaims, and Dick nods. His excitement is already fading, replaced by concentration and anxiety.

They cross the street and walk up to the gate, and then, glancing at each other, they slip into the archway. Tim quickly snaps a picture and then presses close to the gate, checking the alleyway on the other side. Dick turns to face the street, flicking his gaze left and right to see if anyone is paying attention to them. Nobody is; in fact, there are no pedestrians in sight, and no cars sit idling anywhere close.

"All clear," Dick says quietly.

"Same," comes Tim's near-whisper, and they both slip inside.

The narrow alleyway – only wide enough for one car – is a sharp contrast to the brightly lit, busy, fashionable street behind them. The only light comes from a street lamp hanging from the side of one building. But despite the darkness, Dick feels twitchy and nervous; the empty alleyway gives no opportunity to escape or hide is they are discovered.

Tim obviously recognizes the place from the video, because he is moving much more confidently now, leading them deeper into the alleyway; a couple of times, Dick sees him nod to himself. He also takes a few more pictures of their surroundings. After a couple of minutes, they come to a T- junction, and Tim looks both ways before jerking his head to the right.

But almost immediately, their hopes of finding out anything useful are dashed, because they find

themselves facing another gate – this one closed and solid and with no visible lock. It sits flush against the sides of the buildings bracketing it, and there is barbed wire along the top.

"Shit," Tim hisses almost inaudibly. Dick leans in closer. "He went in there, but this gate was open."

They both turn to scan the alleyway, but Dick's heart sinks when he realizes there is no way over the gate. There are no other ways in, either – no open service doors, no visible vents or windows, no ladders or pipes they could use to climb up.

"Tim," he mutters, "we should go and come back with some gear. We can't scale it like this."

Tim's face looks mulish in the dim light, and Dick exhales in frustration. He is getting ready to drag Tim away by force, if necessary – but then freezes as he hears voices coming from behind them, apparently, from around the corner. At least two people are walking towards them along the main alleyway. Tim freezes, too, and they exchange panicked looks, glancing around again only to confirm that they are caged in, with nowhere to hide. A thought crosses Dick's mind that they might find some suitable nook on the other side of the main alleyway – but that would mean crossing it, which would defeat the purpose of finding a hiding place.

In any case, they are out of time. The sound of footsteps is getting closer, and Dick knows they have only moments before they are discovered. If they had any weapons or gear, he might risk a fight – or at least if Tim had two working arms. But, as it is, Dick is really keen to a avoid a violent confrontation.

Making a split second decision, he rips his hood off his head and reaches over to do the same to Tim.

"Play along," he hisses, leaning close for a second, and then straightens and tries to school his features into a bored expression.

"Fuck, man," he drawls loudly, making sure his accent is that of a rich kid from Bristol. "You sure Jess said this club is supposed to be here?"

Dick sees Tim's eyes widen, dim light reflected in them. He jerks his head and widens his own eyes, mouthing 'come on'. Tim jerks and nods frantically.

Around the corner, the steps have stopped.

"Uh, well, I thought so," Tim replies, clearly doing his best to keep the panic out of his voice. "A side street near that pink cake of a building, she said. See, here's the text!"

Dick gives a loud derisive laugh, simultaneously giving Tim a discreet thumbs-up.

"Looks like she's just messing with you, man. Told you there are no clubs around here! What do you even see in her, anyway?"

"Shut up," Tim growls, trying to sound both angry and embarrassed. "Let's just get out of here. Brad and Dina are waiting for us."

Tim jerks his head towards the main alleyway, and they start moving. Worried about being jumped when they round the corner, Dick raises his hands to the level of his jaw in case he needs them, pretending to be fiddling with his hood. His heart is beating fast from adrenaline.

But that is not all, he realizes just before the strangers come into view. His heart is beating fast

from both anxiety… and excitement.

Dick knows perfectly well this is no time for introspection, but he is so stunned by the realization his breath hitches. Perhaps it is just the pleasant anticipation of a physical activity, he thinks – in case there is a fight. But he has stood like this, anticipating a fight, many, so many times before – and never has he felt like this. Perhaps what is different is the-

Dick stops himself. This has to be pondered later. Right now, he cannot afford to lose concentration.

"Oh - fuck!" Tim exclaims theatrically from next to him as they reach the lip of the main alleyway and finally see who has entered it. He makes a show of pressing his good hand to his chest, stumbling back a step, and gives a loud laugh. "Sorry, guys – didn't hear you there!"

Two men, both broad and clad in black, are blocking the alleyway. One keeps staring at them, eerily still, while the other keeps glancing at his accomplice, as if waiting for directions.

Tim steps on Dick's foot discreetly, and Dick jumps.

"Uh – you guys don't know if there's a nightclub around here, do you?" He asks, trying to sound like a dumb rich kid who has no idea what danger is.

"There's no nightclub here," says the guy who was staring at them. His voice is low and cold. "What are you doing here?"

"Uh, just told you, man," Dick replies, feigning confusion. "Looking for a nightclub. See, his crush-" he jerks a thumb at Tim, "she told him to meet her there. And he's been pining for her for a year, the loser," he gives another loud, obnoxious laugh, while Tim splutters indignantly. "Told you she's just laughing at you, man," Dick finishes, addressing Tim.

"And I told you to shut up," Tim growls, elbowing him. "Hey, can you move a bit?" He turns to the two men, taking a step forward. They do not budge. Dick's heart rate picks up even more.

"Uh – guys?" Dick says again, shifting as if uncomfortable but actually sinking into a more stable stance. There is a tense moment when he thinks, this is it, they are going to have to fight – and why did he and Tim not discuss this eventuality and come up with any sort of plan?

But then the staring guy moves aside, and the other man follows his lead.

"Thanks!" Dick chirps cheerfully before exhaling carefully and grabbing Tim by the elbow. They move quickly past the men, being careful not to turn their backs on them until they are a few paces away.

As they near the gate, Dick casts a look over his shoulder. He cannot see much in the darkness, but he just knows that both men are still staring after them. A chill runs down his spine.

"So what now?" Dick asks in a low voice as they sit in a corner booth of a 24-hour diner a few blocks away, having both agreed they need some milkshakes to relax before heading home. Tim exhales in a rush, slumping in his seat.

"Well, tonight – nothing. Thanks for thinking so quickly," he says earnestly, "I'm not that great at improv, I usually need a script or a plan or something to lie convincingly. Had you not been there, I might've just tried to run or fight them or something."

"With no weapons and a broken arm," Dick says drily. Tim rolls his eyes.

"We had the element of surprise on our side," he replies defensively. Dick gives him an unimpressed look, and he deflates.

"Ok, ok, you're right," he shakes his head. "I'm glad you came with me. You seriously saved us both."

"It's nothing," Dick mutters, his face heating up. Tim grins, but then his expression becomes grim again.

"I'm sorry we learned so little," he mutters.

"Not so little," Dick counters. "Given those guys' reaction, I'm pretty sure we found the right place, even if we couldn't get to the building itself. So I'd say we learned a lot – we found the place where the victims are kept. At least some of them."

Tim shakes his head slowly.

"I doubt it," he says. "This is too strange a place to keep trafficked kids. But there's… something, definitely. Might be the place where they bring the kids to… you know."

"Whatever," Dick shrugs. "Either way, this place is important." He pauses. "So – how are you going to tell the others about it?" Tim is silent, and Dick raises an eyebrow, inclining his head. "Tim? You are going to tell them, right?"

"Well…" Tim looks indecisive, and Dick stares at him, astonished. "I mean… I will, but – maybe I should try coming here again. You know, to get to that building? Then – then I'd have something concrete."

Anger surges through Dick.

"Tim – are you out of your fucking mind?" He hisses. Tim flinches at his tone, but Dick does not care. "Is this some sort of game to you? What are you trying to – are you trying to prove you're, like, better? That they shouldn't've left you out?" Tim frowns, opening his mouth, but Dick is not done. "Maybe so, but what do you think will go differently next time? At least the – the others have the resources to break into that place! And while you're nursing your ego, those kids are being tortured and murdered! Have you thought of that?"

Jaw clenched and chest heaving, Dick stares at Tim. For his part, Tim looks thoroughly chastised and drops his eyes, biting his lip. A tense silence follows Dick's tirade.

"I'm sorry," Tim mutters eventually. "You're absolutely right, and I'm an idiot." He toys with his straw for a moment and then sighs. "I'll… I'll find a way to tell them."

"Tim," Dick begins carefully, "do you think it's maybe time to tell them… you know… that you know?"

Tim looks up sharply.

"What? No way! They won't let me touch the case with a barging pole after this!"

"Why?" Dick asks reasonably. "You have a much better argument now. You haven't fallen apart after finding out about the case. And you've managed to uncover some very important evidence – arguably, the most valuable piece of information so far."

Tim shakes his head.

"I don't know. Maybe. Maybe you're right. I'll…" He leans back, sighing. "I'll think about it. For now… let's just get home. I'll try to think of what to tell them on the way back."

Draining the last of his milkshake, Dick nods and moves to stand up.

"Oh, shit," Tim mutters, and Dick pauses, frowning. Looking over, he sees that Tim is still seated, looking irritably at his phone.

"What is it?" He asks, sitting back down.

"No cabs," Tim mutters. "What the hell?" He taps on the screen a few times. "I mean… I know there was this huge show earlier tonight, that's always a magnet for the drivers, but – it should be over? Should've been over ages ago. Weird…"

"Nothing at all?" Dick asks in dismay. "How is it even possible? This is Gotham, not a village in the middle of nowhere."

"Exactly," Tim exhales tiredly, "this is Gotham, where anything shitty is possible."

He stands up, motioning for Dick to do the same.

"The bus runs 24 hours a day, so we'll take that. But we have to walk a bit, so let's go."

According to Tim, they do not have to walk too far – but it is during this walk that everything goes to hell, after all. Looking back, Dick has no idea how he let Tim talk him into believing everything would end just fine. The odds were just way too low.

A huge shadow lands in front of them just as they are turning into a narrow dark alley that, if Tim is to be believed, will bring them right across the street from their bus stop.

"Tim," Batman growls, and this time, there is no excitement fueling Dick's adrenaline, only pure fear. His breath catches in his throat.

Distantly, he hears Tim curse under his breath. For now, though, Batman is not even looking at Dick, focusing completely on Tim and radiating fury, and Dick is torn between wanting to run away and wanting to protect Tim so that he is not left alone with the monster.

"What are you doing here?" Batman's every word could have been a separate sentence, and there is barely any inflection to his tone. Dick wants to redirect his attention, come up with another act or ruse, but he can only stand, frozen.

"Uh – taking pictures? For – uh – old times' sake?" Tim's hesitant but flippant tone sounds so inadequate that Dick actually squeezes his eyes, unable to take it anymore.

"Why did you leave the Manor?" This time, Batman's question is almost a snarl.

"Since when am not allowed to? What am I, a prisoner?" Tim's angry voice shocks Dick enough that he opens his eyes – just in time to see Batman stalk closer. Dick's brain whites out, and, with a whimper, he stumbles back on shaking legs.

Batman stops… a good thing.

Those horrible white lenses of his cowl are trained on Dick now… a terrible thing.

"Dick?" The voice is much quieter and no longer a growl; Dick can actually hear Bruce's normal voice now. It does not make the slightest difference, however – he is simply past reacting.

And then, someone else is pushing between him and the horror in front of him – Tim. He blocks Dick's view with his own body, and Dick unfreezes enough only to squeeze his eyes shut again.

"Damn it, B – you're scaring him! Get back!" Tim yells, and, a moment later, Dick feels his one- armed hug. Dick's arms rise to clutch at Tim, seemingly of their own accord. Distantly, he hears Batman murmur something, probably into his comm, but Dick is too far gone to understand the words.

He is not sure how long he stands there, hiding behind Tim like a little kid. But gradually, as nothing happens, as Batman says nothing else, Dick's heart rate goes down, and the buzzing in his ears diminishes. He forces himself to release Tim, having to lift each finger individually before leaning away.

Just then, there is another heavy thump, this time behind them. Dick whirls around, adrenaline spiking again.

"It's ok, it's ok, it's just me," a black-and-blue clad vigilante holds up his hands without rising from his crouch, and Dick breathes a sigh of relief, recognizing Richard's voice. Tim slips his good arm around him, and Dick leans into him, nodding.

Richard stands up carefully, lowering his hands.

"There you are, baby bird," he addresses Tim, clearly unhappy with him, though Richard's tone is a lot calmer than Batman's. "We've been looking for you all over. How could you?"

"How did you find us? Why were you even looking?" Tim's voice is quiet and full of both shame and apprehension.

"I went up to talk to you," Richard – Nightwing? – replies, and Dick feels Tim jolt. "And you weren't there. Nobody saw you, Dickie was missing, too… Long story short, I asked Alfred to check the security footage, and he saw you sneaking out. And then he just tracked your phone. So here we are."

"Let's continue this conversation at home," Batman's voice, calmer and more careful than before, comes from behind Tim and Dick, and now it is Dick who jolts. Somehow, Tim's comforting embrace and Nightwing's presence have almost made him forget about the Bat.

"Good idea," Nightwing replies. "Come on, kiddos, the car is just around the corner." And, stretching an arm, he beckons to them.

Swallowing, Dick makes himself move forward and hopes the ride 'home' never ends, because he does not want to know what will happen when it does.

Chapter 27

Chapter Notes

Yeah, so, it seems the Bats are so bad at communication they don't even believe in phone calls. Umm… oops?

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Bruce does not put the Batmobile on autopilot as the car races through the dark streets. It is not warranted in the sense that his attention is not needed elsewhere; nobody is hurt, and they are not having any kind of difficult conversation. In fact, they are not having any conversation at all; the car is completely silent, each of its passengers preoccupied with his own thoughts. No, the reason Bruce is driving himself is that he needs something to ground and occupy him, because he is almost positive that he will start yelling otherwise. And Bruce yelling would be just about the least helpful thing he can think of right now.

When Dick's voice, tense with worry, announced in his comm that Tim and Dickie had sneaked out, Bruce, primed with his thoughts about the case, could only think one thing. 'Please, not them, too'. It took conscious effort to draw himself back from the brink of panic; shaking himself, Bruce told himself firmly there was no reason to suspect anything like that. The boys simply did not fit the victim profile, since the traffickers went for much younger kids. That, however, did not mean they were safe, Gotham being a dangerous place even by day.

Which begged the question why on earth they decided to sneak out. Not that it was out of character for Tim. But usually, he had at least some kind of reason; before he joined the Bats, it was photography, and these days, it tended to be linked to his detective work somehow. In fact, were it not for Tim's broken arm, Bruce would have thought the boy was simply fed up with being benched and decided to go out despite Bruce's orders. But, for one thing, Tim's arm was broken, so he had to realize any Robin business was out of the question. And for another, none of the cases Tim was currently helping out with required such dramatic escapes. Not to mention the company of a traumatized teenager, who was completely unfamiliar with the Bats' work.

So what had possessed them to do this?..

At least they were easy to find. Tim was obviously counting on nobody noticing they were gone, because he had taken his phone with him, which it only took Alfred minutes to track. The location, however, made no sense – as far as Bruce was aware, there was nothing of interest there except for some diner. Did the boys really just decide staying in was too boring?..

If so, Bruce is going to throttle them.

Okay, not literally.

But he will definitely need to review his approach to discipline, because if he has to deal with teenage antics such as this on top of being Batman and their tumultuous family relationships, he is going to become a regular buyer of black hair dye.

The profound relief he felt after finding Tim and Dickie gave way to equally strong fury at the boys for having worried him so much – well, mostly Tim, because Bruce would bet serious money

on the whole thing being his idea. He really doubts Dickie would risk disobeying him and drawing his anger. Not when just the sight of him in his suit was enough to nearly send the boy into a panic attack.

Bruce's grip on the wheel tightens as he remembers Dickie stumbling back and clinging to Tim, and the desire to yell at the boys morphs into a desire to yell at himself. He knows that his sons are all better at dealing with victims than he is, always have been. But he would like to think he is not hopeless at it, either – though he supposes it is more his reputation than his manner that allows the victims he rescues to feel at least somewhat safe with him. Still, missing Dickie's initial reaction and only noticing his terror when he started backing away could only be forgivable for an inexperienced newbie… who also happens to be clueless about people's emotions. Which Dick keeps telling him he is.

Wonderful.

The truth is, Bruce is immensely happy Dick was with him, even if his eldest son is not in the car with them right now but following on his bike instead. His presence, a hug, and a few murmured phrases managed to calm Dickie down in no time. Of course, Tim would have helped to do it anyway, but Bruce sees how much Dickie likes his alternate, how he gravitates towards him. Just like Jay gravitates towards Jason, he gathers; the same interdimensional magic that makes the fight with his own double haunt him seems to be a source of comfort for both boys.

Well. More accurately, he supposes, he was with Dick, and not the other way around. Apparently, Dick was going to have some kind of talk with Tim tonight – at Jason's insistence, no less – but could not find Tim anywhere in his usual spots. That in itself was not cause enough for panic, given the Manor's size. The next obvious step would have been to simply call Tim, but, before Dick could do that, he ran into a near-hysterical Jay, who could not find Dickie, either. Sensing trouble, Dick skipped calling and just asked Alfred to check Tim's location – which happened to be in Gotham. So Dick headed straight to the city while Alfred was narrowing it down. Bruce was simply the first to arrive there, since he was already near the center. Bruce prefers not to think about how many speed limits Dick must have broken on his way there, but, in all, the 'rescue operation' only took maybe thirty minutes.

Bruce slows down as they finally arrive at the Cave. Before he can even unbuckle his seat belt, Dick is already parked next to the car and pulling open the door to help Dickie out, asking if he is alright and slinging an arm across the teenager's shoulders.

Bruce gets out, too, and hears Tim do the same.

They all make their way towards the computer, where Alfred stands up to meet them. Jason is already there, too, still dressed in his armor and scowling. Bruce tugs off his cowl and unclips his cape, dropping both on the computer chair for now. Turning around, he surveys Tim and Dickie, the latter still wrapped in Dick's side hug.

Tim looks nervous, fidgeting with a fraying edge of the bandage around his cast and biting his lip. Dickie, however, looks straight up terrified again. And this time, not just of Bruce; his eyes are flitting around the Cave, just small glances he darts in various directions, and he is visibly trembling. He looks like a prisoner before his execution. Or torture.

Predictable, Bruce thinks. The Cave can hardly be expected to hold good memories for the boy.

Dick clearly notices it, too.

"Um," he begins uncertainly, "maybe – maybe we should let Dickie go upstairs? I could, uh, I

could talk to him later, I'm sure he-"

"No!" Dickie exclaims, cutting him off and twisting out of his hold, stumbling closer to Tim. Dick turns to him, startled, holding up placating hands at his desperate tone.

"Dickie, it's ok," he comforts, "Tim's not in trouble-"

Bruce raises an eyebrow at him, and Alfred clears his throat pointedly. Dick winces and switches direction as Tim flushes and looks down.

"Ok, he is in trouble – but I promise, all we're going to do is talk. Nothing will happen to him."

None of that reassures Dickie.

"No!" He jerks his head violently. Next to him, Tim abandons his fidgeting and lifts a hand to put it on Dickie's arm. The boy turns to him, and Tim mutters something, too low for anyone else to hear. Dickie leans closer to him, thankfully looking at least a little less agitated.

"Master Bruce," Alfred's quiet voice makes Bruce tear his eyes away from the pair of troublemakers. The butler continues even more quietly, inclining his head towards the boys, "Perhaps a reassurance from you might be more effective."

Bruce blinks, momentarily taken aback. After his initial outburst, he has been careful to keep his movements slow and predictable and his voice level and mild, and he has not said another word of chastisement. He honestly thought all this should be enough to reassure Dickie that a harsh punishment is out of the question. But, he thinks now, Alfred is probably right; after all, he is the one in charge of both boys, not Dick, so his is the final word. Bruce clears his throat, making Dickie turn to him sharply.

"Tim," he begins, and Tim flinches, turning wide eyes to him, too. "I am disappointed by your behavior tonight." He is interrupted by Dick hissing his name reproachfully, while Jason rolls his eyes. He ignores them both. "We are going to have a very serious conversation about it, because I never would have thought you would do anything like this, putting in danger both yourself and someone else."

Tim's eyebrows draw together, and he looks so unhappy Bruce feels a pang of pain and guilt at causing him distress; but he needs to be strict now, assert his authority – not for the sake of his own ego but for Tim's safety's sake. It is true, of course, that they have been neglecting the boy – and so, hardly surprising that he has reverted to his old habits. But to drag someone else in danger? Definitely a step too far.

That said, Dickie needs to be handled a lot more carefully. Bruce has no doubt even the most gentle admonishment from him will be taken as a threat – and yet, he does need to correct the boy's behavior somehow, since he did, after all, choose to sneak out with Tim. But how exactly to do it is a difficult question; in fact, Bruce thinks, he should probably discuss the issue of discipline with Dickie's therapist. In any case, that is not something he is going to decide on the spot, so right now, Alfred is right – he just needs to reassure the boy he is not going to hurt either him or Tim.

"Dickie," Bruce says, gentling his tone – but the boy shivers anyway. Bruce presses on. "I promise a conversation is all that is going to happen." Dickie still looks tense, and Bruce decides to be as explicit as possible. After all, that was his mistake last time. "I am not going to punish either of you. You can go upstairs now – we can talk later, when you are rested. I would like to say a few words to Tim, though, so he is going to stay. But I…" He steels himself before continuing and tries to pronounce the next words without imagining or feeling anything. Given his new nightmares, it

is hard. "I'm not going to beat him, I'm not going to lock him up or deny him food. He's absolutely safe. We just need to talk."

Dickie takes a deep breath and balls his hands into fists. But his expression still does not change. Bruce is about to start over, when the boy opens his mouth.

"That's not it." Dickie's voice is quiet and shaking, but determined.

Bruce sees his eldest son frown.

"Then what-" Dick starts to ask, but, to Bruce's surprise, Dickie talks over him – turning to Tim and addressing him in an urgent tone.

"Tim – you need to tell them."

At this, everyone else turns to Tim, too. Tim looks like a deer in the headlights and shoots Dickie a betrayed look.

"Come on," Dickie insists, louder.

Tim turns his head away, but Dickie keeps looking at him steadily. After a long, tense pause, Tim takes a deep breath and then releases it slowly before glancing back at Dickie. The other boy nods at him encouragingly, and finally, Tim reluctantly turns to the others. His face is still upset, but now also both scared and determined at once.

"I know about the case."

A ringing silence follows. Even though this should be impossible, even though Tim should have absolutely no idea about any of this, Bruce knows without a shadow of a doubt which case he is talking about.

The others' reactions make it obvious they have no doubts, either. Dick rears back, wide-eyed; Jason, on the other hand, squints suspiciously, shaking his head. Bruce cannot see Alfred's face, since the butler is standing a little behind him, but Bruce can feel him radiate shock. He is not sure what he is feeling himself – probably nothing; the worry after tonight's events seems to have exhausted his capacity for emotions.

Dick is the first to recover.

"Uh – which… what case would that be, baby bird?" He asks, clearly hoping that Tim is bluffing.

Tim scowls at his brother.

"You know what case," he snaps. "The child trafficking case you've been investigating. The one you wouldn't let me help with."

Bruce still feels no emotions at Tim's revelation, but he can feel a strange buzzing in his ears. This should not be possible, he thinks distantly. Not after them being so careful and doing all they can to protect Tim from the nightmare that is this case.

Well, some part of Bruce that is still capable of wry humor notes, at least he did not sneak out just for fun. In fact, that part almost feels ashamed he ever thought that Tim would risk someone's safety for fun.

"Just out of curiosity," Jason says in a faux-casual tone, "how did you find out?"

Tim flushes bright red.

"I heard you two talking in the kitchen," he mutters with a guilty glance at Dick. Dick jolts and straightens, shooting Jason an almost scared look, and Jason exhales in a rush, raising his eyes to the dark ceiling. Tim glances between them. "I… I heard you mention some evidence that Dick left in the Cave, and…"

Jason lowers his head to look back at Tim. His eyes are glowing bright green.

"For fuck's sake, Re- Tim, didn't we agree that shit like that ends badly?" He snarls, and Tim shrinks back. Dickie shoots Jason a surprisingly heated look, even forgetting to look scared for a moment.

"Jay," Dick says quietly, but Jason ignores him. He is practically vibrating from fury.

"I told you it was vile," he grinds out. "Why the fuck did you think it was a good idea to snoop? When everybody told you-"

Jason's anger seems to be affecting Tim more than anything else so far. His face still has not lost its determined expression, but he seems on the verge of crying, looking completely wretched.

"Jason, that's enough," Bruce steps forward, cutting Jason off. Jason hisses like a snake at being interrupted, but does not otherwise object. This time, Bruce ignores the way Dickie tenses at his approach, for once more concerned about his youngest son. He stops a few paces away from the two boys, and Tim tilts his head back to look Bruce in the eye, blinking back tears.

"Tim," Bruce says carefully. "Why did you do this? Why did you not listen to us?"

Tim purses his lips. It takes a moment before he can speak – but when he does, his determined and firm tone is at odds with his miserable expression.

"Let's leave my motives aside for the moment," he replies; it is clear that talking in a mostly even voice is requiring considerable effort from him.

"Leave your motives aside?" Jason explodes again from behind Bruce before Tim can get any further. "So you just want us to ignore the fact that you lied and snooped and-"

"Master Jason," this time it is Alfred, his tone level but sharp, that stops Jason. "I agree with you that Master Tim's motives are important, but, right now, I suggest we hear him out fully until we ask further questions."

Tim shoots him a grateful look before focusing on Bruce again. He takes a deep breath and continues.

"I – I'm sorry for snooping," he says shakily before his voice gets stronger again. "I'm not trying to avoid responsibility, but – but the important thing right now is that we have new evidence. We… Dickie and I have found the place where at least one of the victims was kept. That's – that's where we went tonight," he finishes, glancing around at the others.

Bruce suddenly feels a lot more alert. He does not doubt Tim's words for a second; nor is there any shame at being outdone by a teenager despite weeks of efforts. And it is not that the news pushes the current situation from Bruce's mind completely, but – he agrees. Tim's revelation is the most important thing right now. Both boys are safe and sound, so conversations about discipline can wait.

He also cannot help but feel proud of Tim, even if he is still far from happy the boy has managed to thwart the entire family's efforts to keep him away from the case. Bruce never really doubted Tim's skills would be an asset – he only ever wanted to protect the boy. And, thinking back to how disappointed Tim was when nobody mentioned his success with the gambling case, he thinks he might have an idea about why Tim did this.

Not to mention his other sons' reactions when he tried to keep important things from them.

Which makes the mess Bruce's fault – again. 'When will you start learning from your mistakes,' Dick's voice echoes in his ears. The answer seems to be 'never', Bruce thinks ruefully and has to fight the desire to go and bang his head on the Cave wall. Glancing at the tense teenager next to Tim, however, he knows he has to keep any signs of frustration out of his body language. He can fall apart later.

If he can find the time.

"Tim, that's amazing!" Dick exclaims, while Bruce is still busy beating himself up. Tim turns to him with obvious relief. Jason drifts closer and stops by his older brother. "Now, don't think you're off the hook," Dick continues, wagging his finger, "'cause you were not supposed to snoop around, but – that's really awesome news. But how?"

"There – there was a video," Tim explains, more steadily now that he can focus on the facts. "On YouTube. I found it a couple of days ago…" Tim proceeds to tell them about the video, and even as Bruce asks him question after question to make sure he gets the full picture, he cannot help but feel foolish. The truth is, they have relied heavily on gathering data out in the field, mostly ignoring other sources of information – for the most part, because there is not enough time for everything, and interrogations and investigations on the scene seemed more important and informative.

Now, however, Bruce realizes how much of an asset Tim's research skills could have been – and he could not have joined them in the field anyway, thus being safe from the most dangerous work. Of course, that still would have required telling Tim about the case… but Bruce can see that, not for the first time, he has been underestimating his youngest son.

Jason's voice brings him back to the present.

"Ok, so I get it, it kinda makes sense you'd need to go since no-one else saw this video – but well why the hell did you decide to go alone?"

Tim scoffs.

"How could I tell if you were keeping stuff from me? You – you would've told me to forget it!"

"Now you're being unreasonable, baby bird," Dick interjects. "Of course we wouldn't've done that. I mean, sure, we wouldn't've been happy you snooped around, but that's done now. And since you are the only one who has seen the video, there would've been no question whether to take you along. But you wouldn't have been alone. I just – you're incredibly lucky no-one saw you there! It's very probable – most likely even – that the author of that video got caught, and… Given what we know about these bastards, frankly, I'll be surprised if he's still alive. What if you got caught? They could've killed you, too!"

Tim bites his lip with a guilty expression and shoots a glance at Dickie, who winces in response. Something about the silent exchange makes Bruce suspicious.

"Tim?"

Tim makes a face.

"They did see us." A chorus of dismayed and bewildered 'whats' follows, and Tim shakes his head. "They – it's fine, Dickie took care of it."

To say that Bruce is amazed is to say nothing. Not that he ever thought that Dickie was weak; anyone who could endure the other Batman's torture for years and still retain their sanity had to be a very strong person. And in addition to that resilience, Bruce has seen how fiercely protective the boy is of his brother, how willing to do anything it takes to keep him safe. But, that said, from what he has seen, Dickie's actions have mostly been driven by desperation, not assertiveness. In all, he simply does not strike Bruce as someone who can 'take care' of traffickers.

Then again… the boy has been Robin for several years.

It is entirely possible that Bruce has been underestimating him, too.

"And when you say 'took care'?.." Jason prompts, squinting.

"I mean he improvised on the spot and made them believe we were just some dumb rich kids looking for a nightclub," Tim clarifies. "He totally sold it. It was awesome. We didn't even have to fight."

"Huh," Jason says, sounding impressed. "That's pretty cool."

"Well done, kiddo!" Dick chimes in, and Dickie blushes, finding himself the center of attention, but thankfully, looking a little less frightened now.

"Well done," Bruce dares to echo, and Dickie darts a small glance at him, nodding jerkily before ducking his head.

"I still don't get it," Jason grumbles. "Why didn't you ask for backup? I mean, ok, last time you went out – no-one was available. But now?"

Tim hangs his head.

"I… I just wanted to prove you could trust me, that I was good enough and I could handle it," he confesses to his shoes, and Bruce feels his heart sink at the realization that his hunch about Tim's motives was more or less on point. "Since you were so intent on keeping me out."

"What?" Dick exclaims, sounding shocked, and the boy glances up at him, still looking miserable. "No-one ever doubted that, Tim! You know that's not why we did it!"

"I told you it wasn't like that," Jason mutters into space, looking like he is not expecting any answer. So did I, Bruce thinks – but it is clear that Tim did not believe any of them. It is obvious that a conversation with Tim is a must, after all – just not the kind Bruce was expecting to have only half an hour ago.

Once again, Dick seems to be thinking along the same lines.

"Ok, kids," he says softly, "I think it's time for bed. We'll talk more tomorrow, but now, we are all exhausted. Dickie – you really should go and talk to Jay. I doubt he's asleep - he was frantic when I ran into him, looking for you." The boy nods, a guilty look crossing his face – and, surprisingly, Tim looks even guiltier. There is a story there, Bruce is sure of it, but he decides not to ask. The boys can figure it out on their own.

"Come, boys," Alfred says, finally moving forward, too, and beckoning to Tim and Dickie, "I will take you upstairs and make you all some hot tea, if you like, and perhaps some light supper, too. Although," he adds wryly, "it should probably count as early breakfast."

"I'll come, too," Dick says. "You go on upstairs, I'll change out of the suit and follow you. I wouldn't mind a bite after all of this, too – and I'd like to have just a few words with you before you go to bed, Timmy." Stepping close to the two boys, he gives them both a brief hug before nudging them towards Alfred and the stairs.

Dick disappears to change, and as Alfred shepherds Tim and Dickie upstairs, Jason exhales and turns to Bruce.

"Ok, what the hell was that?"

Raising an eyebrow, Bruce looks at his second son.

"What was what, exactly?"

"You. With the kids," Jason says in a clipped tone – but he is very much mistaken if he thinks that response clears anything up. Bruce is just about to tell him just that, but Jason obviously senses his confusion and throws out his hands. "I've heard the new kid was scared shitless of you, but I thought, hey, he's traumatized! Even if you were making every effort to put him at ease, he's bound to be jumpy! But now, seeing you with him – fuck, no wonder he's quaking in his boots every time he sees you!"

Apparently, Jason thinks he is providing a clear and detailed explanation – but for the life of him, Bruce cannot see what he has done wrong this time. He stayed far away, kept the questions to the minimum, told Dickie he would not hurt him or Tim, even praised the boy for improvising on the spot. What more could he have done?

"I'm not sure what you mean, Jay," he tells Jason carefully, afraid that any response aside from an enthusiastic apology is going to lead to an explosion. If only he knew what he is supposed to be apologizing for.

Thankfully, Jason reins in his temper, this time.

"I mean you could have expressed some emotions, old man," he scowls. "You know? Some teeny, tiny sign that you are a live person and not a robot?"

"I did," Bruce replies, taken aback.

"No, you just stood there like a creep," Jason shoots back. "Alfred had to kick you to make you reassure the kids – don't think I didn't notice that. And then you only opened your mouth when you started interrogating Tim. And yes," he snaps, seeing Bruce open his mouth to protest the term, "that was an interrogation. But at least Tim's used to you. The new kid isn't! Seriously, don't you realize how freaky it is when someone's staring at you wordlessly like a reptile?"

Thinking back, Bruce supposes he can kind of see what Jason means. He did try to move and speak as little as possible – but he actually thought this was better, given Dickie's fear of him. Staying

mostly still seemed like a good way to allow the boy to relax and not have to monitor his movements so much, and he has seen the way Dickie shivers at his voice, so he let his sons dominate the conversation for the most part, speaking up only when he felt it was absolutely necessary.

"Yeah, just like that," Jason scowls again, and Bruce realizes he has been staring at his son for several seconds without speaking, thinking it all over.

"I'm sorry, Jay," he says, frowning a little, "I felt it was better. You have seen him flinch when I move or talk – I simply wanted to put him at ease as much as possible."

"Yeah, well," Jason crosses his arms, rolling his eyes, "I suspect you achieved the opposite. I know you're capable of acting different! I mean, seriously, B, haven't you ever been on the receiving end of this stuff? Like – like… hey!" Jason's face becomes more animated, and he gestures expressively, uncrossing his arms. "You can't tell me you never sucked at any subject at school!"

He pauses expectantly, and, after a moment, Bruce realizes it is meant to be a question.

"I did," he admits with a ghost of a wry smile.

"Yes!" Jason punches the air with childish glee, and Bruce cannot help but feel both amused and painfully nostalgic. For a moment, Jason seems so much like his brash and energetic fifteen-year- old self that it hurts. "So," Jason continues, a little more subdued, "haven't you ever had the teacher grade your paper in front of you? And you just stood there and kept getting more and more anxious because you couldn't tell what they were thinking, but you suspected it was bad? And you kept wishing they would just say anything – just to kill the uncertainty?"

"Well," Bruce starts and then frowns. The answer is, in fact, 'no'; perhaps this is not something to be proud of, but he never cared that much about his academic achievements. The only other person who would care was Alfred – and while the butler did do his best to educate and teach Bruce proper manners, he rarely made a big fuss about actual grades. Not that bad ones were a cause for celebration in their household, of course, but Bruce never felt any kind of extreme pressure over these things.

"Oh my God," Jason huffs, crossing his arms again. "I hate you, B."

Bruce feels another pang even despite knowing this is supposed to be a joke.

Dick's soft laugh interrupts their conversation, and they both turn to watch him approach, now dressed in sweatpants and a T-shirt.

"Don't be so hard on B, Jay, he tries," Dick says, throwing an arm around Jason, who shrugs it off with a scowl. Dick gives him a theatrical mournful look before sighing and turning to Bruce. His face grows serious. "He's kind of right, though, B. I heard most of your conversation. It's just… I don't buy you don't get this. I know you know that image matters, 'cause you're great at managing the way you're perceived as Batman. And Brucie. Point is, this is about how you come across, not how you are."

"And I can tell you from personal experience," Jason interjects, "that when you act all quiet and raptor-like, you come across as if you're cooking up the worst possible punishment."

Bruce blinks, taken aback and more than a little upset that he ever made Jason feel this way.

"You never told me any of that," he says quietly, looking intently at his second son. It is not news to him, or course, that it took Jason a long time to trust him, and he remembers with perfect clarity

how the twelve-year-old he took in walked on eggshells, shied away from physical contact and cringed at sudden movements. But they rarely talked about those times, and Jason never indicated Bruce should have been doing things differently. Looking back, Bruce never saw the need to castigate himself – most of those habits just gradually went away, so he assumed he must have been doing things right.

"Yeah, well," Jason shrugs, pretending to look unconcerned and failing, "working with you as Robin, I just got exposed to a lot of your behaviors and got to see you in a lot of very different situations. Most of them seriously shitty. And I learned to extrapolate if I didn't get you when you went all quiet and weird. And even then…" He trails off, grimacing. "Even then, there were times when I couldn't tell what you were thinking, and it was…"

Jason stops again, looking away from them both, and Bruce swallows painfully, knowing well to what his son is alluding. But he cannot bear to unearth those things right now.

"Did you ever feel like that?" He asks Dick quietly instead.

Dick is looking at the side of his brother's face sadly and raises his eyes to Bruce's, hearing the question directed at him.

"Maybe, in part," he shrugs, voice quiet and subdued. "I mean, you were hard to read at first, but I was not…" He glances back at Jason and clearly decides to reword whatever he wanted to say. "My experience before you was different," he says diplomatically. "So yeah, I was not a fan of your concrete wall act, but I rarely read it as ominous."

That tracks, Bruce thinks absently, looking between his sons. Dick is right; before becoming Bruce's ward, he had only known a loving family and had no particular reason to fear his new guardian, except that he was a new and unknown factor in his life. As a result, he never seemed afraid of exploring his new world, and, after the initial trauma had healed somewhat, threw himself into it with characteristic enthusiasm – and that included his attempts to draw Bruce out and teach him to become more open. To an extent, he succeeded.

To an extent.

Bruce looks back at his second son.

"Do you still feel that way, Jay?" Jason seems to curl into himself, slightly, but, surprisingly, does not display any hostility at the question, and Bruce, suddenly seized by a desperate urge to understand, to make it right, presses on. "Like you don't know what I'm thinking? How I'll react?"

"Yeah," Jason mutters reluctantly after a long, tense pause, still looking away.

Bruce blames it on the events of the evening; he cannot help himself. He lunges forward and wraps Jason in a tight hug, fully expecting to be shoved away with a snarl.

Instead, Jason just stands rigid in his embrace.

"I love you, Jay," Bruce mutters into his son's hair. "I'm sorry if I'm bad at showing it, but I promise that I'm never… cooking anything up. I – I'm sorry."

Jason sags, not returning the hug but not squirming to free himself, either. At last until Dick, Bruce's octopus of a son, decides to join them and throws his arms around both their necks. This, Jason only endures for a few moments before breaking away.

"Saps," he mutters, shaking off their arms and taking a step back, but he does not even sound

irritated. In fact, a tiny, reluctant smile that he seems desperate to hide is playing on his face.

And for the first time in a long, long while, Bruce begins to hope that maybe, things are going to be alright.

Chapter End Notes

I kinda felt like some fluff. What counts as fluff for me, that is.

Chapter 28

Chapter Notes

Uh, so… to anyone who thought things would only be looking up from now on: no, folks, not really. Not until after the climax of the story – and that, depending on how willfully this thing behaves, is not going to happen for a couple of chapters yet. If you're still reading, brace yourselves. I promise I'm planning some nice fluff for everyone at the end, but we have to earn it first. With extreme angst – because how else? And… this is probably the darkest chapter I've written (so far).

TW: sexual assault of a minor. It's not too graphic, but it's not just a reference, either. If you want to skip entirely, it's most of the second segment of the chapter (you can start reading again when you see someone calling Jay's name). Detailed warning in the end notes.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

The dark sky outside is beginning to lighten, but Jason still sits on his and Dick's bed, wide awake and curled into himself, anxious and miserable. Wrung out from nerves and exhaustion, he has wrapped himself in a blanket – the same one Dick covered him with that night when he scared Jason so badly – but he is still shivering. Again, like that night, Jason is so tired he wants to curl up somewhere warm and safe and just sleep. But his anxiety will not let him, and the combination is making him shake so much his teeth are chattering – because Jason will not feel warm and safe until he knows everyone else is alright.

To be precise, until he knows his brother is alright.

Usually, they keep the bedroom door closed, both of them reveling in the fact that they are allowed to have their space where nobody comes in without their permission. But tonight, the door is open, and Jason is straining his ears for any sign of life in the empty, silent house. The wait reminds him all too well of the many times he used to sit in his room in the other world – with the difference that, back there, he dreaded the sound of footsteps, while here, he is desperate to hear it.

But there have been no sounds at all since Richard told Jason to wait and rushed away to look for Tim and Dick. That was not too long ago; to Jason, it feels like ages, but the clock on the nightstand stubbornly insists that not even two hours have passed.

But that is bad enough, Jason thinks, fighting the urge to cry – because surely that is enough time for Richard to find the two teenagers if everything went well? Where can they be, anyway? Even if they left the grounds…

Which must mean that things did not go well, and – and what if Richard never found them at all? Or what if he did find them, but they are hurt, or – or…

No, Jason recoils from the thought.

But wait – what if Richard did find them and told Bruce, and now Bruce is mad at them, mad at Dick, and – and he has not let Dick come back, or… Jason shudders. What if he is punishing Dick right now?

Another shudder rips through Jason, this one so violent he throws his arms around his raised legs to steady himself and curls up tightly, hiding his face and squeezing his eyes shut. It does not really help; Jason still feels hot tears escape between his eyelashes. Up until now, he has managed to hold on to some self-control and not allowed himself to be consumed by scary thoughts. He is not that bad at it, really; over the past year, he has learned to compartmentalize emotions and chase the worst thoughts from his mind. Otherwise, he probably would have gone crazy from constant dread, he thinks.

But at this moment, his skills fail him, and terror rises and swallows him whole. Jason begins to sob, all rational thoughts forgotten, fully convinced that somewhere below, Bruce is beating his brother black and blue to show him his place – or, or maybe even… doing something worse.

His own sobs are so loud in his ears that he does not even register someone calling his name in an increasingly frantic voice. It is only when hands land on his shoulders that he jerks his head up with a gasp, eyes wide and face wet. Still gripped by his fears, at first, Jason just stares at his brother's worried face, unable to process that Dick is indeed right there in front of him, safe and sound – and without a single bruise, from what Jason can see.

"Jay? Jay!" Dick shakes him by the shoulders carefully, attempting to draw him out, but the image in front of him just does not compute. Dick's grip tightens when Jason does not respond, and his expression becomes almost desperate. "Jay, please, say something! Please!"

"No bruises," Jason mutters almost inaudibly, eyes roaming over his brother, "no bruises…"

Apparently, when Dick was asking him to say 'anything', he meant anything but that, because at this, his expression turns concerned, almost scared, and the grip on Jason's shoulders becomes painful.

"Bruises? What bruises?" Dick demands frantically, searching Jason's face. "Jay, what are you talking about? Did someone hurt you?"

The feeling of fingers digging painfully into Jason's shoulders even through the blanket finally clear his mind somewhat. Shaking his head, he frowns, for the first time truly registering the fact that Dick is sitting on the bed in front of him. Jason uncurls a little.

"Dickie?" He says uncertainly.

"Right here, Jay," Dick says, sounding a touch less frantic but still worried. "Are you ok?"

"Dick!" Jason lets go of his legs and throws himself at Dick, wrapping his arms around his brother as tightly as he can and squeezing his eyes shut. "Dick, you're here! You're ok!"

He feels Dick's arms come up to return his hug and finally feels warm. Relaxing his grip a little and tucking his face into Dick's shoulder, Jason sighs contentedly and lets himself drift. For the moment, the feeling of safety chases all thoughts from his mind, even his questions about where Dick has been and what has happened to him. All that matters is that he is back and apparently unharmed.

Dick, however, is tense; for a while, he hugs Jason, but eventually, he gently nudges Jason away and holds him at arm's length, looking at him intently. Jason sniffles and gives him a wan smile, and Dick's face relaxes a little.

"You're here," Jason repeats, as if stuck. At this, Dick's expression turns guilty, and he exhales slowly, lowering his arms.

"I'm so sorry, Jay," he says, "I'm so sorry I was away for so long."

A moment ago, Jason would not have thought this possible, but now, he feels anger surge through him.

"You – what?" He exclaims, rearing back. "You're sorry 'cause you were away? How about – you – you didn't even tell me you were going anywhere!" Dick winces, lowering his head a little, but Jason is on a roll. "Richard told me you were gone! I was running around the entire fucking house, looking for you! I even checked your dumb obstacle course! And you just – you-"

Jason breaks off, tears prickling his eyes again – this time, angry ones.

"Jay, I'm so very sorry," Dick repeats pleadingly. "I should've-"

"It was my fault," another voice interrupts suddenly, and Jason starts, turning towards the door. Completely focused on his brother, he did not even notice Tim standing there. The teenager shifts awkwardly, and Jason feels a sudden flash of resentment towards him. Everything was fine between him and Dick until Tim butted in; but ever since Dick found out that Tim is not a psychopath, he has been talking about him and spending more and more time with him – and less with Jason. And tonight, the two simply disappeared, ditching Jason without a word of warning and letting him stew in his terrible thoughts for hours.

"Dick wanted to tell you," Tim continues, oblivious to Jason's seething. "But I was so worried we'd get caught if we didn't move quickly that I didn't let him." He winces. "And that didn't even work. I'm sorry, Jay, I really am."

"What?" Jason latches on to the second half of Tim's explanation. "What didn't work? Did you…" He looks at Dick, alarmed. "You got caught?"

"Of course we did, Jay," Dick replies drily, shooting a mildly irritated look in Tim's direction. "Richard basically organized a search party."

Horrified, Jason looks from Dick to Tim and then back, suddenly realizing how dumb he has been. He did not even think what would happen when he told Richard that Dick was missing. Or, rather, of course he realized Richard would go looking for Dick, but somehow, Jason did not connect it with the fact that he would get Dick in trouble. And – a search party. That means that it was not just Richard that found them, but Bruce, too?..

"I'm sorry!" He exclaims. "Oh God, Dickie, I'm sorry!" He is gripped anew by his fears. And sure, Dick looks unharmed – but Jason has no doubt Bruce knows how to hit without leaving marks. "Did – did they punish you?"

Dick's hands land on his shoulders again.

"Breathe, Jay," he instructs firmly. "No. No, we're fine." Dick pauses and lets out a long breath. "They just talked to us," he says, quieter, "I promise. No-one even yelled."

Jason inhales shakily, coming down from his panic. For a few moments, everyone is quiet.

"So," Jason begins eventually, "where did you go? And why the rush?"

"To Gotham. We wanted to check out a location that might be relevant to the case," Dick explains, and Jason feels a surge of irritation. That case, again!

Jason knows it is childish, but he cannot help but resent the case – he should be calling it The Case

at this point, he thinks, scowling – along with Tim. Maybe… no, scratch that. He would definitely feel differently if he were only allowed to help. Or at least not kept in the dark like this – like he is a little kid. Sure, he is the youngest here, he acknowledges grudgingly, but… A human trafficking case, Dick said at dinner. Jason feels that, as a victim of… okay, maybe a kidnapping, not trafficking, but who cares, it was horrible enough – he is entitled to a little more trust and information.

He resolves to grill Dick about it again – when Tim leaves.

"Ok," he says for now, aiming for sounding neutral. "So… did you find it?"

"Sort of," Dick answers. "We didn't see everything, but yeah, we found the right place."

Jason nods, wondering if he should ask another question now or wait; the decision is made for him, though, when there is a strange muffled knock on the door frame.

"Hey," Richard says, poking his head in and drawing everyone's attention. "Alfred made some tea and sandwiches, if you want. Shall I leave them for you?"

"Uh – thanks, yeah," Dick stammers before getting up and heading towards the door. Richard steps into the room, and Jason sees that he is somehow managing to balance two trays, one on each upturned palm. The strange muffled sound must have been him knocking with his foot. Dick relieves him of one tray, and Richard smiles at him and then looks over at Jason.

"Hey, Jay," he greets, still smiling. "You ok, kiddo?"

Jason nods numbly; now that he knows Dick is safe, the adrenaline is no longer keeping him alert. His body is growing heavier, and he decides that the rest of his questions are definitely going to wait for tomorrow. Right now, he cannot even muster the strength to answer Richard with words.

"Ok," mercifully, Richard does not seem at all offended. Nodding to Jason and then Dick, he turns to Tim. "A few words, baby bird? It's too late – or too early, I guess – for a proper conversation now, but I can't go to bed without talking to you for a bit. Shall we?"

"Ok," Tim mutters, looking slightly anxious, and, bidding Dick and Jason good night, they both leave the room, shutting the door.

Dick comes closer, putting the tray down on the night stand on Jason's side of the bed.

"D'you want anything?" He asks tiredly, and Jason shakes his head. "Well, still – I think some tea will do you good, Jay," Dick insists softly. "Just a few sips?"

"Fine," Jason mutters, too exhausted to argue, and takes the cup Dick is offering him. The warm tea – chamomile, he identifies – does feel good against his throat, raw and tense from sobbing, and Jason sighs, relaxing even more. He does not even realize he is falling asleep until his head begins to droop – as does the cup in his grasp. He jerks back awake, alarmed when he feels his fingers slipping – but suddenly, Dick is there, catching the almost empty cup with a soft laugh.

"Bedtime," he says firmly, but Jason can feel the smile in his voice. "Come on, Jay, you need to change."

Grumbling, Jason keeps his eyes open – or semi-open, at least – long enough to dig his pajamas from under his pillow and change into them, with Dick's help, because fastening all those stupid buttons on his shirt seems like way too much work right now. Why did he not choose a T-shirt? Oh, right, because this striped set Alfred got him looked so fancy and unusual he just had to try it

on…

Jason falls into bed, letting his brother fuss over him, covering him with a blanket and tucking him in.

"Just one more thing," Jason hears, already half-asleep. He hears water run in the bathroom, and then Dick's footsteps. A wet but warm cloth is rubbed over his face, soothing the itching from his tears, and then his face is patted dry.

With another contented sigh, Jason succumbs to sleep.

"Jason, get up," a deep voice he knows all too well demands, and it is almost reflex to obey, even barely awake.

Heart beating wildly, Jason scrambles out of bed, wide-eyed, and stands ramrod straight before Bruce as the man surveys him in the semi-darkness of the early morning. Bruce has his back to the window, and Jason cannot make out his face; it makes Jason's anxiety ratchet up even more. He does not dare to look back and see if Dick is awake.

"Come," Bruce says impassively after a few seconds, and then Jason feels Bruce's huge hand engulf his shoulder and turn him towards the door before moving to his back and nudging insistently. Almost stumbling, Jason hurries to keep up, not even wondering why they are rushing and where, because his brain is still not fully awake. He just moves.

Bruce leads him through the halls quickly, still keeping a hand on him, and it seems like they arrive at the library between one blink and the next. There, Bruce releases Jason, trailing a lingering hand down his back. Something about the movement feels both weird and familiar, and a sense of dread begins to rise, blocking all Jason's thoughts. His breaths come quicker, and he wants to stumble back, put more distance between himself and Bruce, but his legs do not seem to work. Neither does his voice – though it was never much use against Bruce, anyway.

"About those books, Jay," Bruce says in an offhand tone, gesturing towards the table, where the atlas of the Solar System is still lying, and Jason hates, he hates the familiar way Bruce's eyes roam his body, "you know they aren't cheap, right? Neither is that nice lady who comes to chat with you…"

Jason must be scared enough to check out for a few moments, because the next thing he knows, he is lying on his back on the carpet, that soft, warm carpet covering the library floor, and Bruce is straddling him, one hand fisting in Jason's pajama shirt and the other planted on the floor by Jason's head.

"Never should've allowed so much clothes," Bruce mutters disgustedly, and raises himself up to grab the beautiful striped top with both hands and rip it, buttons flying everywhere. Jason dares to close his eyes, unable to take it and just hoping the audacity will not earn him a beating. What is going to happen is bad enough. "Better," he hears from above, and then, he is roughly flipped over.

His body is heavy, way too heavy, and he does not even attempt to fight as Bruce's hands tug the remains of his shirt off and then move lower. He just lies there, Dickie's harsh words echoing in his ears, 'One moment he'll be showing you pictures, and the next you'll be lying on that carpet

face down and paying the price.'

Well, now he is – and it is even happening exactly the way Dick predicted, right down to the location and his position. He really is just a dumb kid, Jason thinks numbly, as his tears begin to fall. His shoulders begin to jump, and he tries to stop, to control himself, but he just cannot. Not after that long reprieve, not after believing he was safe, not knowing that, in just a few seconds, he is going to be engulfed in pain, not-

"Jay!" He hears, and it is not Bruce's voice.

"Jay!" The voice calls again, frantic, and he realizes that the shaking is, in fact, coming not from his sobbing but from someone holding his shoulders and obviously attempting to gain his attention. Eyes still shut, he hears a sob and a wheezing breath… okay, so maybe it is the result of both. The hands leave Jason's shoulders, and he hears a click and then sees warm light from behind his eyelids. Jason carefully cracks his eyes open.

He would have collapsed from relief at seeing Dick's face, except he is already lying down – still in their bed, in their room, safe and sound.

"Dick!" He sobs, levering himself up and throwing himself at his brother, who is sitting by him on the side of the bed.

Dick shushes him gently, hugging tightly and rocking him a little as Jason cries on his shoulder.

"It's ok, Jay, it's ok… You're safe, it was only a dream," he murmurs into Jason's hair. "I'm here, and you're safe…"

It takes a glass of water, a lot more hugging, and Dick's mom's lullaby to calm Jason down enough to try and sleep again. Dick offers to listen if Jason wants to talk about his nightmare, but that is just about the last thing Jason would like.

Curling up on his side, he squeezes his eyes shut and takes in a shuddering breath as Dick turns off the lamp and moves back to lie on the other side of the bed. It is not the first time since being rescued that Jason has a nightmare, and of course, his time with the other Bruce features in most of them, one way or another. But somehow, usually, his dreams are not as graphic. In fact, more often than not, the man himself does not even appear in them. And they definitely hardly ever wake Jason up like this – he will just get up in the morning, feeling down, and remember snippets of unpleasant emotions. And a nightmare about Bruce – this new, different Bruce – that is definitely a first… and should probably not be that surprising, given how vividly Jason imagined him punishing Dick.

Jason presses his face into the pillow, strangling another sob. He does not want to have nightmares about Bruce, he wants to feel safe, why did it have to happen…

He does fall asleep after a while, but is soon roused by another nightmare – this time, of Dick and Tim laughing at him and calling him names, while Jason just stands there like a fool, hugging his ratty fox to his chest. The dream takes place outside, and as the two teenagers grow tired of jeering and eventually disappear behind the trees where the obstacle course lies, Jason begins to run after them. But they leave without a backward glance even as he is shouting, pleading for Dick to come back, and crying.

Dick holds him again, stroking his hair and murmuring reassurances.

Jason does not fully fall asleep again after that. Instead, he lies pressed to Dick, eyes closed, and

listens to Dick read Exit Strategy aloud to him, until the sun rises fully. Dick is not as good as Jason's alternate, but his steady voice is proof that he is still there, still with Jason and not going anywhere.

At least, for now.

There is nobody in the kitchen when Jason and Dick come downstairs, and, judging by the stack of clean plates on the counter, sitting next to a covered plate of pancakes and small dishes with toppings, they are the first ones to get up.

"Sit down, Jay," Dick instructs gently after they have served themselves. "I'll get us some juice."

Ordinarily, Jason would have argued he is not a baby, but today, he is so wrung out and miserable that he moves to the table without a peep of protest. A few moments later, Dick settles down next to him, setting two glasses of orange juice in front of them.

"Thanks," Jason mutters, making no move to start eating.

"Jay?" Dick's hesitant voice makes him blink and realize he has been staring down at his plate motionlessly for several seconds. Slowly, he turns his head to look at his brother.

Dick looks heartbroken.

"Jay, I'm so, so sorry," he says, reaching out and pulling Jason into another hug. The position is awkward, given that the chairs have armrests, so Jason does not hug back, just sags against Dick and sighs, hiding his face. He feels more than hears Dick sigh, too, turning his head so that his cheek is resting on top of Jason's head. "I should've insisted we take a moment to tell you where we're going and why. I'm sorry. I'll never do it again."

The indirect mention of Tim fractures the tentative feeling of contentment into which Jason has sunk in Dick's embrace. Tensing, he pulls away, and Dick lets him sit up; out of the corner of his eye, Jason can see his brother looking at him worriedly.

"Jay?"

Jason feels the words stuck in his throat like a physical object. And there is a lot he wants to say, to spit out, about how Dick has been ignoring him now that he has Tim, not just last night but these past few days. But he is just too tired to even start.

"Whatever," he mutters, picking up his fork.

"Jay, please," Dick repeats quietly, and Jason feels a flash of anger, because where was Dick when he wanted him? And now, when Jason does not want to talk, Dick will not leave him alone…

"I said whatever," he almost shouts, stabbing the pancake viciously with his fork instead of cutting it carefully.

"Ok," Dick says, raising a hand and ducking his head in surrender, "ok." He leans away slightly, as if to give Jason space, and Jason is both grateful and resentful, not knowing whether he really

wants to be left alone or for Dick to continue pushing. At least pushing means he cares, right?

Hating himself for being unable to make up his mind, Jason pushes the food around on his plate morosely. But the silence is not improving his mood at all.

"Jay," Dick tries again, seeing this. His voice is firmer, this time. "Please, don't be like this. Let's spend the day together, ok? We'll do what you like. Go to the library and – I can read to you again, if you want? Or we can watch a movie, or… I don't know – maybe you want to play a game? Tim can show us some videogames, if you like…"

The prospect of spending time with Dick has cheered Jason up somewhat, and he is just feeling his spirits lift a little bit – but at the mention of Tim, everything comes crashing down again.

"I don't want Tim's stupid videogames," he mutters through gritted teeth, still looking down at his plate.

"Ok, ok," Dick backtracks quickly. "No videogames." Jason scowls, because Dick is obviously missing the point. Videogames actually sound great; very much so, in fact, because Jason has never played before – where would he get the opportunity? It is Tim's company and his stuff that does not. Then again, of course, none of the stuff around here belongs to them – but this is different somehow.

"A movie," Jason decides, too tired to even think about following game rules or lines of text.

"Ok," Dick says, sounding relieved. "Then, how about you finish your breakfast and we go watch something?"

True to his word, Dick spends the next few hours with Jason, watching movies and playing Scrabble. If he is bored, he does not show it. Alfred comes in to check on them a couple of times, bringing snacks with him, but otherwise, they are left to their own devices. The only downside is that Jason cannot fully enjoy it, exhausted as he is. He actually falls asleep during the second movie and startles awake to see the end credits rolling. Panicking, he turns to check if Dick is still there and sees him slumped over the arm of the sofa, fast asleep, too. Relaxing, Jason sinks back against the cushions.

Only Richard comes in to have dinner with them, for which Jason is immensely grateful. They talk about light-hearted things – the movies Jason and Dick saw earlier today, the weather, Jason's attempts at the homeschooling stuff. Richard promises he is going to check on the lawyers' progress with the papers so that they both can finally get enrolled properly.

A couple of times, when there is a lull in the conversation, Jason sees Dick open his mouth uncertainly, dart a look in his direction, and close it. Both times, Jason tenses up, thinking, this is it, Dick is going to ask about Tim or The Case, and everything will get derailed. And Jason is still resolved to make Dick tell him what he and Tim have been doing, he knows that it is selfish to shy away from these things… but tonight, he just wants to hold on to the illusion that everything is alright and they have no other concerns but to get better.

They go for a walk around the pond after dinner. Richard comes with them and entertains them with stories from his own childhood and adolescence at the Manor, and the fresh air and the laughter make Jason so relaxed that he is once again sleepy by the time they head back to the house. A couple of times, he even stumbles, and Dick has to catch him before he falls. The second time it happens, Richard laughs, but not in a mean way, and offers to give him a piggyback ride, but Jason is too shy to take him up on the offer and, blushing, resolves to be more alert.

He is asleep the moment his head hits the pillow, although it is still early. He only wakes once during the night – just for a moment and not fully. Something pings at the back of his mind, some vague thought that something is not right, that the bed is too spacious and cold… but Jason is back asleep again before he can figure it out.

Halfway through the next day, Jason can see Dick is starting to get restless. He is still spending time with Jason, but he seems less enthusiastic about it.

Jason attempts to get his brother to tell him about his and Tim's work, but Dick does not share anything beyond a basic account of their trip to the city. He claims he does not know much else, but Jason does not believe him for a second. Jason's offer to help is rebuffed, too; Dick is nice about it, but firm.

"Jay," he says in a placating tone, "don't take this the wrong way, but there is nothing you can do, honestly. We're not going out again, and, even if we were, I'd never let you risk yourself like that. Nobody would. Even we were lucky we got away like we did."

"But what about-" Jason begins, frustrated, but Dick interrupts him.

"And as for research, Tim and I have it covered. There isn't much useful in the press… actually, there isn't much useful online, either, Tim just got really lucky that time. No, please," Dick says with a note of irritation. Jason shrinks back a little at his tone, and Dick softens. "Please, leave it. You have enough to do, don't you? If you want to help with the… investigations, I'm sure you can ask… later. When you've-"

"If you say, 'grown up', I'll punch you," Jason mutters angrily, and Dick laughs softly, reaching out to ruffle his hair.

"Ok, so I won't," he says. "But, in any case… for now – just leave it."

Frustrated but unable to come up with any other arguments, Jason has to let the issue go. But as the day wears on, he can see that Dick is becoming frustrated and feels progressively guilty for keeping him tied to himself. In the afternoon, when Tim looks in on them in the library, he cannot take any longer.

"Just go," he snaps, interrupting Dick's awkward explanation about how he cannot come with Tim. Startled, both teenagers turn to him. Still sitting on the floor while they both stand above him – Dick having stood up when Tim came in – Jason feels like a useless baby.

A liability.

Is that how everybody else sees him, he wonders? Dick, for making him fuss over Jason? Tim, for being a whiny kid who is keeping his new buddy away from him? Bruce and the rest, for having to walk on eggshells around him? Is that why the other Jason suggested he should move somewhere else?..

"It's not for long, Jay," Tim tries to reassure him, but Jason just scowls. "It won't be like last time."

"I don't care," Jason lies, raising his book again to hide his face.

"I'll be back soon, and we can all play a game together or something, ok?" Dick tries to bargain, but Jason refuses to listen. Slamming the book shut, he shoves to his feet and strides to the door. After all, Alfred gave him permission to take the books anywhere, right? Ignoring Tim and Dick calling his name, he wrenches the door open and then lets it slam behind his back.

The walk to the other wing is familiar now, even though he was a mess the last time he made it, and the sight of his old room feels perversely satisfying.

Crossing to the window, Jason stares at the driveway and the main gate, remembering his old dreams of escaping. The last time he saw this view, those dreams seemed far away and unnecessary.

Now… he is not so sure.

Chapter End Notes

TW: Jason has a nightmare about being sexually assaulted by good!Bruce, triggered by imagining Bruce punish Dickie for sneaking out.

Chapter 29

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

Dick stands, lost, staring at the closed library door. All thoughts of work have fled, and all he is capable of thinking about is whether he should rush after Jay and how he can make this right. Next to him, Tim shifts awkwardly and clears his throat.

"Dick?"

Dick would feel angry, because at least some of Jay's frustration is the result of Tim's actions – but the other boy's voice sounds so timid and guilty Dick cannot find it in himself to blame him. Dick exhales in a rush and rubs his face with both hands.

"Sorry, Tim, I…" He trails off, not knowing how to finish. The desire to run after Jay is battling with Dick's determination to help with the case, and he is stuck in place.

"Oh, don't apologize, please," Tim hastens to respond, "I, I totally get it, and…" He bites his lip. "Look, maybe you should go after Jay. He's way too upset, and I can deal with the research on my own."

The offer is very, very tempting, but Dick steels himself, shaking his head slowly.

"No," he says, "no. I want to work, and Jay needs to cool down a bit. He won't listen to me while he's like this." That, Dick already knows for sure. He moves to put his book back on the shelf and turns back to Tim. "But I'll need to take a break in a couple of hours and spend some time with him."

"Of course," Tim agrees quickly. "Do you…" He hesitates. "Do you maybe get the feeling he doesn't like me?"

Dick stares at Tim, astonished. "What? Why would you say that?"

Tim hesitates again, but then shakes his head. "Just a feeling. Never mind. Let's go?"

But when Dick searches all the usual places where he expects Jay to be, two hours of fruitless research later, all of them are empty. Mildly concerned, Dick wonders if he should continue searching, but eventually he decides to give the kid some space. Perhaps some peace and quiet will help Jay calm down. Sighing, Dick goes back to Tim's room – where they work because Dick refuses to set foot in the Cave. It does limit them somewhat, since the Cave has better equipment, including access to various systems, but the thought of going downstairs makes Dick so anxious he doubts he would be much use there, anyway.

But when Jay does not come to dinner, Dick feels his anxiety ratchet up. He simply cannot sit and gorge himself on Alfred's delicious food knowing that Jay is hiding, still upset and hurt – and not even knowing where his brother is hiding.

"You go on," he tells Tim, who is hovering next to him just inside the kitchen. "Eat. I need to find Jay, I just can't be calm enough to eat until I've made sure he's ok."

Tim frowns.

"Well, then, neither can I. Even if he's just, like, sulking, we should find him and at least get him to eat, too. Shit, I-" Paling, he stops and darts a glance at Alfred, who is still stirring something at the stove, but the butler does not seem to have heard him. Tim frowns briefly, but then his face smooths into relief. "I mean, shoot, I can't believe Bruce hasn't got you phones, yet. We could've just called him."

Dick shrugs. He does not see any particular need for gadgets, seeing as he has nobody to call and never leaves the estate. Neither is he particularly missing playing games. And for anything else, he can borrow the laptop in the library.

"He probably wouldn't pick up, anyway," he points out. "Not if he doesn't want to talk to us."

"Well, true," Tim mutters, pursing his lips.

They turn back to the door when Alfred's voice stops them.

"Are you not hungry, young masters?"

Dick pauses, frowning, and Tim darts a surprised glance at him before turning back to Alfred.

"We're going to go look for Jay, Alfred. We were just saying. Didn't you hear us?"

Alfred looks startled for a moment and then gives a soft laugh.

"Forgive an old man, Master Tim, my thoughts must have been elsewhere. Go on, then, and come back all together."

"Are you alright, Alfred?" Tim asks, cocking his head and sounding concerned.

"Quite, thank you, Master Tim," the butler replies, but his tone is clipped. Dick and Tim exchange another glance, but as Alfred turns firmly back to the stove, they shrug at each other and move to leave.

Once again, however, their search for Jay is fruitless, and this time, Dick begins to get seriously worried. But just then, Tim snaps his fingers.

"There's one more place we haven't checked yet," he says energetically. "Come on."

"Where are we going?" Dick asks curiously as they cross the hall – and falters when Tim heads towards the stairs leading to the West wing. "Tim?"

Already on the second step, Tim pauses and turns back to look at him, raising his eyebrows.

"Where are we going?" Dick repeats apprehensively.

"Uh," Tim frowns, "the West wing. What's wrong?"

"I can see it's the West wing," Dick replies tensely. "But what's in there? Why would we be looking there?"

"Well, that's where I found him last time," Tim explains, still frowning. "Remember? When you guys had a row and I was looking for him?" Dick nods slowly, his apprehension still growing. "Well, there are more bedrooms in this wing, and he was hiding in one of those. Dick, are you ok?"

Dick makes himself breathe normally.

"Fine," he mutters. Why would Jay be in this wing, he wonders? Why would he ever want to set foot there? Dick definitely does not. Being at the Manor is bad enough, but at least he is using none of rooms he used to live in in his home universe. Not on a daily basis, anyway. This way, it is easier to push away the horrible memories and remind himself that this is a different world.

Still… Tim has no reason to lie, and if he says Jay might be here, then Dick has to go. Taking a deep breath, he steps forward, moving right past Tim, because he cannot afford to stop even for a moment; if he does, he might lose his nerve. Dick hears Tim's footsteps behind him, and soon, the other boy catches up with him.

"This way," Tim says at the top of the stairs, nodding to the left, and Dick's sense of dread swells, because it is the hallway. Dick's feet feel leaden, and every step takes effort, but he ignores the worried glances Tim is darting his way.

"Dick, what's wrong?" Tim asks anyway, reaching out to put a hand on his arm, and Dick stops, exhaling. He does not want to talk about it, but there is no actual reason to hide any of this, and Tim can already tell he is upset.

"It's the… it's where we used to live, in the… back there," he replies in a low, tense voice, and Tim stills. "Our rooms are here. That one, right there," he lifts a hand to point to the far end of the hallway, next to the master bedroom, "that one was mine."

"Shit," Tim mutters, glancing around the hall and looking unsettled. "I didn't even think… I just thought Jay ran here 'cause it's out of the way, and…" He sighs. "I guess the one next to it was Jay's, 'cause that's where I found him last time. Let's see if he's there now and then get the hell out of here."

Dick nods gratefully.

Even though he does not know for sure if Jay is inside, Dick still pauses and knocks before opening the door. Relief crashes over him when his eyes land immediately on the small form huddled in the armchair in the corner. Jay is staring at him with wide eyes.

"Jay!" Dick cries, striding forward, and the kid uncurls just as Dick falls to one knee in front of the armchair and stretches forward to hug his brother. Hesitantly, Jay hugs back.

"Oh God, Jay," Dick mutters, squeezing tightly, "I was worried when I couldn't find you anywhere." He lets go and holds the kid at arm's length. "You didn't come to dinner. Why are you here?"

Jay shrugs minutely.

"Just felt like getting away," he mutters, dropping his eyes, but does not elaborate. Dick sighs.

"How about some food, huh?" He asks gently.

Jay shrugs again, and Dick's heart sinks as he realizes that his brother's mood has barely improved despite all the hours that have passed. The fact that the kid looks less angry is hardly cause for happiness, because the anger seems to have been replaced by misery. Dick shifts back and gets up, and Jay follows suit. Slinging an arm across the boy's shoulders, Dick begins to steer him towards the door.

"How did you find me?" Jay asks quietly.

"Tim thought you might be here," Dick replies and feels his brother tense up at the mention of Tim

– and then the kid stops altogether, because they reach the door and see the teenager in question standing in the hall just outside the threshold. Dick wonders briefly why he did not come in, but his thoughts are interrupted before he can ask.

"Why are you here?" Jay snaps, to Dick's surprise and dismay. Looking down at his brother, Dick sees Jay is downright glaring at Tim. For his part, Tim does not even look startled – just apprehensive.

"Just wanted to give you guys a moment," he says evenly. "Shall we go?"

Scowling, Jay wrenches away from Dick's grasp and marches down the hall without waiting for them. As they all make their way back downstairs, Dick's thoughts turn to Tim asking him whether he thinks Jay does not like him and he has to admit that Tim seems to be right. Surely it cannot be any lingering distrust, Dick muses. Jay seemed just fine with Tim… until the two of them got engrossed in the case. But, Dick thinks, frowning, he has made time specifically for Jay since then, and he and Tim have both apologized numerous times. What else can he do?

At dinner, Dick tries to draw Jay into a conversation in an attempt to rectify the situation, and Tim joins in his efforts. But all their attempts to entertain the kid with some stories or ask what he has been reading are unsuccessful. Jay's responses are mostly either monosyllabic or just grunts, and Dick feels his own frustration growing, because it seems like he is talking to a wall.

At night, things seem almost fine. In his sleep, Jason rolls trustingly towards Dick, and Dick slips his arms around his brother, holding him as tightly as he dares while taking care not to wake him. Dick himself lies awake for a long time; eventually, he does sleep, but just a couple of hours later, he is roused by Jason's whimpers. Just like last night, he holds the kid and sings to him, stroking Jay's hair, and soon, the boy's tears dry, and, reassured, he curls up next to Dick.

Dick falls back on the pillow, exhausted. His own nightmares are still plaguing him as well, although they have abated somewhat ever since he found out the truth about their situation. In any case, they have become less intense, for which is he immensely grateful. The universe, however, seems to be seeking some perverted balance, and now that his own dreams have become easier, the nightmares have sunk their claws into Jay.

At least the kid can draw comfort from him. Shifting a bit to get more comfortable with Jay lying on his arm, Dick sighs and prays that the kid at least sees how much he cares. That when morning comes, he will go back to seeing Dick as a brother he can trust.

In the morning, though, Jay is back to acting cold and distant, and Dick's hope that everything might be back to normal withers and dies.

In the kitchen, Dick and Jay are greeted with an unusual sight. Richard is standing at the counter, rummaging through a large paper bag; his face is tense, and he is moving quickly, taking out and sorting the containers.

"Hey, kids," he greets, noticing Dick and Jay, but his usual smile is nowhere to be found. "Alfred's sick. I ordered us some stuff, 'cause no-one has time to cook today. Sorry about that…" He peers at a container before setting it aside and grabbing the next one. "But this stuff is ok – we order

from this place whenever Alfred's away or on leave or – or sick."

"How is he?" Dick asks worriedly.

Richard sighs.

"Not great. High fever, though, thankfully, he's lucid. He's been working too hard, pushing himself… we all have, but, well… He must've exhausted himself, so his body couldn't cope with some bug, I guess. B… I mean, Bruce is with him now."

"Doesn't he need a doctor?" Jay pipes up, and Dick glances down at him. The kid's eyes are wide and worried.

"Sure, kiddo," Richard dredges up a wan smile. "Our doctor's coming later today. We've already called her, and we know what to do, anyway. But of course it's better if she comes and has a look at him in person."

Just then, Richard's phone chimes, screen lighting up, and he cranes his neck to read the notification. His brow creases, and he glances back at the food with dismay.

"We'll do it," Dick volunteers. Richard looks up, frowning slightly. "The food," Dick clarifies. "Just take what you need, we'll put the rest away."

"Thanks," Richard says gratefully. He pushes several containers towards them and moves to pour hot water from the kettle into a teapot sitting on a tray next to it. "Actually, these are for you, and if you can put the rest in the fridge, that'd be great. I'll just bring Alfred some tea, he can't handle any food right now." He picks up the tray and pauses, chewing his lip. "Things'll probably be a bit hectic today…" He pulls a face. "Even more than usual. But someone will be home in any case, so if you need anything…" Richard's phone chimes again, and he curses under his breath. "Right, kids, sorry, I gotta rush…" And, picking up the tray, he hurries out of the kitchen without a backward glance.

After breakfast, Jay disappears again, to Dick's disappointment. Nothing that he offers – books, a walk, games – seems to entice the kid, so he goes for a jog in an attempt to clear his head and settle his anxiety before joining Tim in their work. At least Jay does not make Dick hunt him down today and shows up for a late lunch on his own – but once his plate is cleared, he slips out once more with the excuse that he wants to study, and no, he does not want Dick's company, because he needs to concentrate. Tim is down in the Cave, checking something they have discovered earlier on the big computer there, so Dick is left to his own devices. He makes himself a mug of tea; just as he settles down with it, he hears Richard's voice in the entrance hall, saying goodbye to the doctor, and then the sound of the front door closing. He sits, staring out of the window, for a long time, sipping his tea until it gets too cold to be pleasant, and then sighs before getting up and pouring the rest in the sink. Finally, he loads the dishwasher with his and Jay's plates and cutlery.

With nothing to do, at least until Tim comes back upstairs, Dick decides to go back outside. But first, he needs to change his T-shirt, having dripped sauce on the one he is wearing. Opening the door to his and Jay's room, Dick is unsurprised to see it empty, but something pings at the back of his mind. Unable to shake the feeling that something is wrong, he spins around slowly, trying to figure it out. At first, he does not see anything out of the ordinary; he is almost ready to write his fears off as paranoia, when it hits him, and his breath catches. Jay's fox, the ratty old toy that the kid brought from their universe and that usually sits on his nightstand, is gone. And… so is the picture of Jay's mom.

Dick's worry bypasses alarm and turns straight into panic. He may not have known Jay all that

long, but one thing he knows for sure, and it is that the fox and the picture are the kid's most prized possessions. And if they are gone, it means…

Dick whirls to the door, breathing heavily, all thoughts of changing his clothes forgotten. He needs to find Jay, he needs to… to…

First of all, he needs to calm down, he tells himself firmly. Panicking never helps anything. Maybe Jay is still mad at him, so much so that he has decided – for some reason Dick simply cannot fathom, but still – to relocate to that room in the West wing.

Dick all but runs to the door, still trying to talk himself into believing everything will be alright. Halfway down the hall, he gives up and starts running in earnest, cursing every inch of space separating him from the West wing. This time, he does not have the time to feel any dread, just flies up the stairs and hurtles down the hall. Not bothering to knock, he pushes the door open with a mixture of desperate hope and fear – and the hope tips right into horror when Dick sees immediately that the room is empty.

"No," he mutters through numb lips, looking around wildly. "No, no… Jay!" Dick raises his voice to call, but the sound is hoarse and muted. "Jay!" Dick darts around the room like a madman, still grasping at the hope that Jay is going to step out of the bathroom or – or… roll out from under the bed, or…

The room remains empty and silent, and Dick whirls around, almost stumbling, and rushes out into the hall. Downstairs, Dick pauses, breathing raggedly and wondering wildly where to run next. And… he has no idea.

Dick needs help. But he is alone – for once, even Tim is unavailable.

Or, rather…

Not unavailable. Just down in the Cave, where Dick has refused to set foot after he and Tim got caught. Like the West wing, the Cave just holds too many bad memories. It is true that, like the rest of the house, the Cave here gives off a very different vibe. Dick can hardly call it warm or welcoming – it is, after all, a cave – but nothing about the setup inside is ominous or intentionally frightening. No torture implements, no row of dried heads. Just utilitarian stuff, like training equipment, weapons, uniforms, medical supplies… Some things actually look fun in a weird way, like that dinosaur. But it is still the Batcave.

Only Jay is missing, and Dick needs help. So he simply has no choice.

The combined weight of Dick's worry for Jay and his anxiety about going to the Cave is enough to make him want to just huddle down on the floor right where he is standing and break down. So, to avoid that, Dick makes himself think of nothing as he makes his way to Bruce's study. The sight of the grandfather clock penetrates the haze for a moment when Dick realizes nobody told him how to open this one; it does not hurt to try, though, so Dick steps forward and tries the same time that opened the clock in the other universe. To his astonishment, it works, and, for a moment, Dick stands, frozen – from both surprise and anxiety. Then, shaking himself, he takes a deep breath and climbs through the doorway.

Tim is clicking away at something on the computer when Dick reaches the bottom of the stairs and does not see him, obviously engrossed in whatever he is doing. Looking beyond him, Dick sees Jason, dressed in body armour, bent over a table, some tools lying next to him. Richard and Bruce are nowhere to be seen.

Jason is the first to notice Dick. He raises his head, and his eyes go wide with surprise. He makes as if to stand, but then clearly thinks better of it and remains seated.

"Dickie?" He says, bewildered, and Tim turns around quickly and pushes away from the computer.

"Dick? What's wrong?" Unlike Jason, Tim does not hesitate to come closer, and the look on Dick's face is obviously anxious enough to be alarming. "Dick?"

"Jay," Dick forces out, rooted to the spot and unable to take another step deeper into the Cave. "It's Jay, he… he's missing."

"What?" This time, Jason does get up – in fact, he jumps to his feet and all but flies across the space to stand in front of Dick and Tim. His hands are flexing at his sides, and his eyes are glowing faintly. "What the fuck do you mean, missing? Where did – how – did you look for him?"

Dick stares at Jason in disbelief.

"Of course I looked for him!" He snaps, the irritation momentarily jolting him out of his state. "I've been everywhere! He's gone!"

"Ok, ok," Tim cuts in in a conciliatory tone. "The other wing, have you been there?"

"Yes!" Dick closes his eyes in frustration. Do they really think he would have come here without exhausting all the possibilities first? Opening his eyes, he swallows and looks between them. "It's worse," he continues, "he's taken his things – his toy and the picture of his mom, and I-"

"Fuck," Jason cuts him off, and the expression on his face shifts to fear for a split second before turning to anger again; his eyes flash green. Dick would have found this alarming, were he not so worried about his brother; but his own safety takes a back seat at the moment. "How the fuck did you let this happen? Did you two ditch him again? Did you upset him?"

"No!" Dick all but shouts. "I spent time with him, I – I comforted him, I…" He shakes his head desperately. "But – but he was still upset, and I just couldn't get through to him! But I didn't think he'd run away!"

"Didn't think! Didn't think?" Jason snarls, and Dick inhales shakily. "Sounds about right! You two never do!"

"Jason," Tim says in a trembling voice, clearly even more affected by Jason's anger than Dick. But when Jason turns those horrifying glowing eyes on him, Tim shrinks away, shaking his head. "We really didn't-"

"Think! Yeah, I got that part!"

"What's going on here?"

The three of them turn around to see Richard striding towards them, hair still dripping from the shower and a towel slung across his shoulders. He was clearly in a hurry, because he is only wearing a pair of sweatpants, and his feet are shoved into a pair of sneakers with the backs folded down.

"Why are you shouting, Jason?"

"Jay is missing," Jason snarls as Richard draws level with them. Dick hears Richard take in a sharp breath.

"Are you certain?" Unlike Jason, Richard wastes no time on emotions; his face immediately turns serious and his tone businesslike. "When did you see him last?"

"Not too long ago, in the afternoon," Dick replies tensely. "He said he was going to study in the library – that homeschool thing… And he was still unhappy with me, so I decided to give him some space…"

Jason practically growls at this, but Richard throws up a hand without even looking at his brother.

"Have you looked for him?"

"Yes!" Dick exclaims, frustrated. Do they all think he is a moron, or something? "His stuff is gone! His mom's photo and the fox!"

"Todd," Jason mutters, and everyone glances at him. "The fox," he explains through gritted teeth. "I had that toy, too. Still do. If he's taken that stuff, he's definitely gone."

Dick is suddenly tired of this useless conversation.

"I want to check the security footage!" He demands, desperate to get them moving; panic is making him skip pleasantries. "Please," he tacks on, because of course he cannot do it himself.

Tim visibly starts and then nods, already moving away.

"Shit, of course, I'll – I'll do it right now."

They all trail after Tim to the computer, where the boy has already sat down and is clicking through some folders. Richard drifts closer to Dick and puts an arm around him.

"Calm down, kiddo," he mutters. "Of course we're all worried, but I don't believe Jay could've left the grounds. You two didn't tell him how to sneak out, did you?"

Dick jerks his head no, gaze fixed on the computer screen.

"Well, then, he can't be far," Richard tells him gently. "We'll go out and find him in no time, ok?"

"There!" Tim exclaims, and Dick's heart jumps. He leans in closer.

"Look," Tim mutters, pointing. On the screen, Dick can see the entrance hall; a moment later, Jay comes into view, dressed in jeans and a jacket and carrying a bulging canvas bag Dick has never seen before on one shoulder. Glancing around, the kid opens the door and slips out. "And then…" Tim clicks the mouse, and the view changes. Now the screen shows the space outside the front door, and they all watch with bated breath as Jay steals away along the wall of the house – but then he disappears from view, hidden behind the car parked in front of the Manor. The angle is awkward, wrong somehow, and the car is parked in such a way that it is blocking part of the view, so once Jay disappears behind it, they cannot see him again.

"Damn it, Leslie," Jason mutters, and Richard exhales loudly, leaning away from the screen. "And what the fuck is up with that camera, why is the view like this?"

"It got hit during that storm a couple of months ago," Richard says distractedly, still watching the video that is playing on a loop, "right before we went away, remember? I guess no-one had the time to have it fixed."

"And now it's biting us in the ass," Jason grinds his teeth.

"Well, we wouldn't've seen much more even if it was angled properly," Tim points out. "At least we know in which direction he went. And the time."

"It wasn't too long ago," Richard frowns. "We should go and look for him. He can't have gotten outside the perimeter."

Ten minutes later, the four of them are attempting to trace Jay's steps from the house, recreating his potential route from where they saw him head.

"This is dumb," Jason growls as they hit the trees. "We can't all traipse together like a herd of cows, we should spread out."

"We can't spread out, Dick has no phone, and Tim is still in a cast," Richard points out. "But let's split into pairs. Dickie, you want to come with me?"

"No," Dick says quickly, earning himself a surprised and almost hurt look from his alternate. "Just… How about Tim? He can come with you, and I… I'll come with Jason."

Tim frowns, opening his mouth to argue, but Dick is too jittery to deal with this right now. He knows Tim does not want to be alone with Jason, and he himself does not really care at this point, because all Dick wants is to get a move on and find Jay. Ignoring Tim's protest and the others' surprise, Dick marches over to Jason and past him, expecting him to follow.

"Are you coming?" He throws over his shoulder, and, a moment later, Jason catches up.

"Call if you find him!" Richard hollers after them.

"Yeah, whatever," Jason mutters, and he and Dick head deeper into the trees.

For a while, they roam in tense silence, but suddenly, Jason stops in his tracks and smacks his forehead so loudly it definitely must hurt, growling and then cursing under his breath.

"What?" Dick asks apprehensively. "Um, Jason?" He prods carefully, when Jason does not respond. Jason turns his head slowly to Dick, as if in a trance, and the movement is uncharacteristic and eerie enough that it unsettles Dick more than the previous anger. He inches back a step – and this seems to jolt Jason out of his stupor.

"Quit it, kid, I'm not going to do anything to you," he says, irritated. "I just – we're morons. He's not here."

"What?" Dick inhales sharply. "How do you know?"

"Well, I don't, for sure," Jason admits, frowning, "but it doesn't make sense. What would he be doing out here – camping in the woods? But the thing is, we only saw him get to Leslie's car, and we didn't see him beyond it."

"Ok, but…" Dick frowns. "The angle… But… So – what you're saying is, he got into the car?"

"I think so," Jason digs his phone out of his pocket. "She might've left it unlocked, or maybe he waited until she came back."

"Who are you calling?" Dick asks, but Jason ignores him. A flash of irritation shoots through Dick, but before he can even think of voicing his displeasure, he gets his answer.

"Hey, Leslie," Jason says into the phone, and Dick stills, breath bated in hope. "No, no, it's not

about Alfred. Look – is Jay with you?" There is a pause, then Jason scowls. "Jay, the kid B had you examine a few weeks back? The younger one? Yeah." Another pause, but Dick's heart is already sinking. Leslie would not be asking for clarifications if Jay was with her. "See, he's gone, and we only traced him to your car, and…" Jason suddenly looks more alert. "What? You didn't check, did you? Uh-huh." He exhales. "But it could've?.. Ok. I see. Well, thanks, Leslie. Sure, will do. Bye."

Clicking off, Jason looks back at Dick.

"I'm almost positive he got into her car," he says. "Leslie said… she thought she heard the back door slam when she got back to the clinic, but she got distracted right away, and then she convinced herself it was nothing, another car or something like that…"

Cold fear seizes Dick.

"So he's in Gotham," he says in a high, anxious voice.

"Pretty sure he is," Jason confirms, setting his jaw. "I gotta go and look for him. I'll walk you to the house, and then I'll go."

"What? No!" Dick protests. "I'm coming with you!"

"Pff, no way, kid," Jason dismisses him, already turning away, and Dick's anger flares.

"I said I'm coming!" He yells, stalking forward and stopping himself just shy of grabbing Jason's arm; he is not that far gone. Jason stops anyway and looks down at him in surprise. "He's my brother, and I'm not staying here, hiding in a hole while he's out there alone and scared!"

Jason gives him a long, calculating look, but Dick endures his scrutiny without another word. Not that it does not unnerve him, but his concern for Jay beats every other feeling.

"Brother?" Jason drawls eventually, sounding condescending. "You've known him for, like, a second. What's he to you?"

Dick cannot believe they are standing there, arguing about this, when Jay is in danger – or that Jason dares to ask such a question in the first place.

"I said he is my brother!" He explodes, livid. "I don't care how long I've known him! I don't care we're not related! He's my family, he's mine, and I'll do anything to protect him!"

A ringing silence follows, and Dick is ready to continue arguing his case, be it with logic, more anger or pleas. But then, Jason huffs and smiles at him ruefully, reaching out a hand to set it gently on his shoulder.

"Ok, kid. Ok, I believe you," he says gruffly. "Come on. We'll grab my bike and gear and head to the city. And I'll call Dickhead on the way."

He drops his hand and starts walking quickly, and Dick hurries to keep up with his long strides.

Almost an hour later, Dick and Jason are standing outside Leslie's clinic in the street Jason called

Crime Alley, the place where Jay must have gotten out of Leslie's car. Dick did not see all that much of the city the night he and Tim sneaked out, so he did not really think about how different it could be from his home universe. But now, in the dying daylight, he can see everything clearly and is looking around with growing horror. If this is where Jay has spent the last few hours…

"What is this place?" He asks as Jason parks his bike.

"Already told you, kid," Jason's voice somehow sounds impatient even with the distorter built into the unnerving red helmet currently hiding his head. Dick himself is wearing a domino mask Jason insisted he put on before they left the Cave.

"I got the name," Dick responds. "But the place itself?.."

"What, your Gotham doesn't have it? I can't believe it," Jason's mechanized voice is creeping Dick out, and he does his best to hide his reaction.

"It's…" Dick glances around for anything familiar. Nothing seems to be, and he got slightly disoriented on the way here, lost in his thoughts. "I'm not sure. I don't think I've heard that name back home."

"Used to be called Park Row," Jason replies and starts walking, motioning for Dick to follow. "That non-existent, either?"

"Oh," Dick frowns. That name he has heard – many times. "No, it does exist, it's… It's where Bruce's parents got shot, in my world."

Jason hums, leading Dick deeper into the alley. "Funny how these things work. Dimension stuff, I mean. It's like we all started out the same, but then it all went to hell in your version."

"What do you mean?" Dick asks, intrigued despite his nerves.

"B's parents were murdered here, too," Jason explains. "And then everything just kept getting worse here, and now," he makes a sweeping gesture encompassing the place, "here we are. How did it not become a hell hole in your world, then?"

Dick shrugs uncomfortably.

"Dunno exactly," he mutters. "But I heard Batman – once he… appeared… I heard this was the first place he started terrorizing. Sort of… cleaned it up. Before he moved on to killing other people. Innocent ones."

Jason stops so suddenly Dick walks a couple more steps before noticing and stopping, too.

"Jason?" He asks uncertainly, and Jason springs into motion, closing the distance between them and hissing like a snake.

"Don't call me that," he says, leaning in closer, and Dick shrinks back, alarmed. "No names in the field, got it? If you need to call me something, it's 'Red Hood'. Or just 'Hood'. Understood?"

"Oh," Dick ducks his head, contrite. He really should have thought of this on his own. "Sorry. Yes."

Jason gives him another long look before nodding and tugging him forward.

"We really gotta talk about this some more," he says, and Dick frowns, wondering what he means.

Before he can ask, though, Jason tugs him into a small coffee shop that looks incredibly shady.

"Hood!" The thin blond man sitting behind the counter springs up, seeing them. "How are you today, boss? You want your usual?"

"No time for coffee today, man," Jason replies, while Dick stands wondering at the way the guy addressed Jason. "I need all hands on deck. Something's up."

The blond guy's affable manner disappears. His face turns businesslike.

"Sure, boss. Just say the word. Some new business opportunity?"

"No," Jason says, whipping out his phone. Dick notes it is not the one he used back home. "This is personal. I need to find a kid."

The guy bites his lip, looking nervous.

"Look, boss, if this is about those traffickers you wanted to take down… I – I mean, I… Everyone really respects you, and the guys would never… But you know what happened to Marco when he-"

"Shut up," Jason snaps. "It's not about them." Or at least, they all hope not, Dick adds in his head. "The kid's my little brother," Jason continues, and Dick starts at this, but does not dare interrupt. "Had a fight with him, he gave me the slip today. I know for a fact he got out by the clinic, and I need to know where he went."

"Oh, well," the man looks relieved. "You got a picture of the kid, boss?"

"Sending it to you right now," Jason answers, and Dick cannot help but lean in a little to see the screen. How would Jason have a picture of Jay? Dick does not remember anyone taking any pictures of them… The kid in the photo looks slightly wrong, too – it is definitely Jay, but he is wearing an unfamiliar shirt, his hair is longer, and he is holding a mug Dick has never seen before. With a start, Dick realizes Jason must have taken one of his own childhood pictures.

"Yep, got it, boss," the blond guy reports with a small salute. "I'll call as soon as I have anything to tell you."

Without another word, Jason nods and stalks out of the coffee shop; Dick hurries after him.

"So… What now?" Dick asks quietly when they find themselves outside again.

"Now…" Jason's helmet emits a sound like static, and Dick guesses it must be a sigh. "The worst thing." Dick's stomach clenches, but Jason's next words make him bristle. "Waiting."

"What?" Dick exclaims. "We can't lose time! We should-"

"Do what, exactly, kid?" Jason asks, jerking his head in clear irritation. "Run around asking every single person in this place if they've seen him? Unproductive. My people will be doing just that, right now, and much more quickly and inconspicuously. They'll tell us what they find out, and we'll take it from there."

"Your people?" Dick asks, confused. "What do you-"

"Yes, my people. I'll tell you my whole fucking life story if you just move," Jason growls, and grabs Dick's arm to tug him away from the doorway.

"Fine," Dick mutters, holding himself stiffly until Jason gets the message and releases him. "But

where are we waiting? Are we going back?"

"No," Jason answers, walking quickly. "I have a safehouse close by, we're going to wait there. That way, if… when we find out where Jay went, we'll be close enough to act immediately."

Dick cannot stop beating himself up as he sits on the sofa in Jason's safehouse, clutching the mug of tea he cannot bring himself to drink.

"It's all my fault," he says miserably. "You were right. If only I'd paid more attention to him, he wouldn't have run away."

Jason lets out a long breath, turning to Dick and away from the window where he has been staring for the past ten minutes.

"Well, to be honest, I don't think it was just you," he admits, and Dick turns to him, surprised.

"What do you mean?" He asks sharply.

Jason raises a hand to rub the back of his neck.

"I, uh… I might've asked him if he wanted to leave the Manor – it was a few days ago, when I took him out for chili dogs." Dick raises his eyebrows, astonished, because Jay never even mentioned leaving the estate. Jason sighs ruefully. "I didn't expect it, and I definitely didn't intend it, but… He got super upset. He thought I was basically telling him he wasn't wanted, that he had to move."

Dick's astonishment turns to anger. And after that, Jason dares to accuse him of upsetting Jay? Apparently, the thought shows on Dick's face, because Jason throws out his hands and grimaces.

"I swear, literally all I said was, 'I want you to have options'. It's not my fault he took it that way." Dick exhales, shaking his head. "Speaking of which," Jason continues, squinting at him. "Dickface told me you didn't want to leave, either. What's up with that? I mean, no pressure, you should do what you want to do, but, if I were in your shoes, I know I'd want to move out, like, yesterday."

Jason's apparent love for unpleasant nicknames grates on Dick's already frayed nerves, and he is sorely tempted to protest Richard's, but decides to save that confrontation for another time. After all, unlike Tim, Richard can clearly fight his own battles with his younger brother. Instead, he shrugs uncomfortably.

"I just… I wanted to sort of… I wanted to help with your work," he explains, not looking Jason in the eye. "I've done some horrible things as Batman's accomplice, and it seems like a good way to atone for at least some of that."

"Huh," Jason says, and, darting a glance at his face, Dick sees it is drawn into a frown. "I mean – that's pretty noble of you, kid, but there's lots of ways to do that. You don't have to put up with B and his bullshit to achieve that."

"Is that what you did?" Dick asks tensely, irritated enough that he does not really think his questions through. "You left 'cause you didn't want to… put up with his bullshit?"

Jason scowls, and Dick swallows.

"You - you did say you'd tell me your entire life story if I moved," Dick points out to cover up his anxiety.

Jason snorts.

"Fine. I ran away. And I died."

Dick stares at him for a moment, annoyed and jittery.

"Sorry I asked," he mutters. "If you didn't want to say, you could've just said so."

"No," Jason answers, and Dick narrows his eyes suspiciously. "I mean, I literally died."

Honestly, Dick thought that nothing could surprise him after finding out about alternate universes, dimension travel, and doubles – but apparently, he is wrong.

"What?" He asks, thinking that maybe he has misheard. "What do you mean, died? You look very much alive right now."

"Yeah, see, I got better," Jason says blithely, and Dick bristles.

"Well, would it kill you again to explain properly?" He snaps before his brain catches up with what he just said, and he inhales sharply in horror. To his surprise, though, Jason just laughs.

"It's ok, kid, I like your spunk," he says, chuckling. "Good thing you still have it. And I don't get offended by death jokes, either – it's Dickhead who hates them. Always tells me to shut up when I say shit like that. But, anyway," he continues, "I'm not sure of the mechanics myself. All I know is, I died, I woke up in my coffin, I dug myself out," Dick stares at Jason, horrified, and Jason gives a rueful laugh. "Yeah, zero out of ten, wouldn't recommend. So, anyway… then got snatched up by the League of Assassins and dipped into the Lazarus Pit, and…" He breaks off and gestures to himself.

Dick eyes him warily.

"What's a Lazarus Pit?"

Jason shrugs. "A big puddle of some chemical shit that can heal pretty much anything." He sighs. "And there was a lot to heal," he mutters in an undertone, as if to himself.

Dick suddenly remembers Tim saying Jason had been through a lot and feels uncomfortable, as if he is intruding. He is not ready to let go of the subject, but he decides to leave aside the question of how exactly Jason died.

"So… What happened then?"

Jason sighs heavily.

"See, the thing with the Pit is… It healed me, but it sort of… amplified everything about me." He pulls a face. "Everything shitty, I guess. Like – I know I've always had a temper. Much like my dad," the last word, he almost spits out. "My actual dad, not B," he clarifies, seeing Dick's confusion. "Well, the Pit took that to a whole new level. Even now, all this time later, I get angry at the drop of a hat. I'm sure you've noticed," Jason says wryly, and Dick ducks his head a little. "And back then, it was… I was angry non-stop. About – about anything and everything."

"Including Tim?" Dick dares to ask quietly.

Jason raises a hand to rub his forehead.

"Including Tim," he agrees, and Dick thinks he can detect a note of regret.

"Are you still?" Dick prods carefully, watching for any sign that he is overstepping and about to get a taste of that anger. "Mad about Tim, I mean?"

Jason scoffs.

"No," he says, looking right at Dick. He shakes his head. "What a little protector you are," he says with a touch of sarcasm, and Dick tenses up. Of course, Jason notices. "Relax," he orders, but the command has little bite to it. "I said I wouldn't do anything to you, didn't I? Contrary to what you and Tim seem to believe, I am capable of controlling myself these days."

"He doesn't think you're incapable of controlling yourself," Dick replies softly. He is aware he is treading on thin ice. "He defended you to me."

"He what?" Jason looks poleaxed. "But he told you what – he told you I beat him up. Right?" Dick nods slowly. "Speaking of which…" Jason asks, pretending to look unaffected, but Dick can see through his act with ease. "Why did he tell you? What, wanted to warn you to stay away from big, bad Jason?"

"What? No," Dick replies, confused. He hesitates, wondering if he should tell the truth or try to get out of this conversation somehow. He would like to do the latter, actually, but unable to think of a good excuse, he decides to confess. "I… was concerned about him. I thought… I saw how scared he was around you, and I thought you were hurting him," he says in a rush, as if getting the words out quickly will earn him some mercy.

Jason's eyes are almost comically wide – but at least they are not glowing.

"Fuck, kid," he mutters after a pause. "You really are quite a protector, aren't you." Dick bites his lip, unsure how to react. "And so he told you I already have, didn't he," Jason continues bitterly, and Dick frowns, because he has clearly given Jason the wrong idea about that conversation, and that worries him – both because he did not mean to upset Jason and because Jason might take it up with Tim later. Dick is just about to try and rectify the situation – but he is interrupted before he even opens his mouth by the sound of Jason's phone vibrating loudly where it lies on the coffee table. Jason quickly jams the helmet he took off when they came in back onto his head and snatches up the phone.

"Yeah," he barks into it. "Yes. Will you get to the point already?" He stills, and Dick's stomach twists. When Jason speaks, his tone is low and forceful, the questions barely having any inflection. It reminds Dick strongly of Bruce, and he shivers. "Where? Color. Number plate? The fuck do you mean, you don't have it. Fine. When? No, I'll do it myself. Fine."

He clicks off and takes the helmet off again, slowly. Dick looks at him expectantly, tamping down on the growing dread. Taking a deep breath, Jason raises his head and confirms what Dick already knows.

"Someone's seen him. It's bad."

Chapter End Notes

I mean. Nobody is surprised at this point, right?

Chapter 30

Chapter Notes

Hello, friends! Are you hoping for Jay's rescue? Let's see how that is going...

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Dick goes upstairs to check on Alfred when he and Tim get back to the house, so Tim is sitting alone in the Cave when he gets Jason's call. He grabs the phone without wondering why Jason would be calling him instead of Dick.

"Did you find him?" He asks anxiously, skipping greetings.

"No," Jason's voice is curt. "But someone saw him." Tim holds his breath, hoping for good news, but Jason's next words confirm his worst suspicions. "He was kidnapped. I need you to check some footage from the cameras in the city to try and trace the car. Sucks that O is still gone, she could've done this quicker. But you can do it, right?"

"Sure," Tim says hurriedly, already navigating to the database. "Just tell me what car to look for and the location. And the approximate time they saw him."

"The timeframe's pretty vague, but here's what I have…"

Tim jots down what Jason tells him and hangs up before throwing himself into work, pushing away both his thoughts of what might be happening to Jay at this very moment and his concern about Alfred – because Dick still has not come back, and that means Alfred is definitely not better.

As if Tim's worry for Jay was not enough on its own, it is fueled by the guilt he feels for apparently contributing to the kid's state and subsequent decision to run away. Tim is not completely certain what Jay thinks of him, but he can tell perfectly well whenever someone does not like him – and Jay appears to positively hate him these days. Because Jay's reaction seems a bit too excessive to be the result of not getting enough of Tim's attention – if he even valued it that much in the first place. Also, there is a marked difference in the way he treats Tim and Dickie, and, after all, they have both messed up. So, at least in part, it must be something about Tim himself. Something that makes both Jasons eventually come to hate him, even if they start out alright.

Of course Tim suspects – knows – that Jay's initial reason for disliking him was his and Dickie's preoccupation with the case. Jason's rebuke still makes Tim's cheeks burn – because Jason was right, and Tim should be better at this, should have realized the kid would feel left out and abandoned. And Tim knows all too well how horrible that feels.

And then he messed up even worse. Because he and Dickie were both a lot more attentive after that night, especially Dickie – but then they ran away to the city without telling the kid, and the way they handled that was entirely Tim's fault. It is just… he is still doubtful they would have been able to talk Jay out of coming with them or forcing them to stay home. The best course of action, in retrospect, would have been to leave a note, like Dickie had suggested.

Well… actually, after the conversation in the Cave, Tim understands that the best course of action would have been to just tell the others what they knew and not go alone. If he had, Jay would not have been so hurt, and Dickie would not have been in danger. But after so many days of working himself up over being left out, Tim was simply not in the right frame of mind to see that back then.

He still feels foolish, remembering how desperate and upset he felt during that time, how utterly convinced that his family did not consider him good enough, smart enough, mature enough… In short, convinced that he was just not enough. There is still some residual apprehension, because they have not had the time and the opportunity to have a proper conversation about everything – but it helps that he is now allowed to work with them fully once again. So does the fact that Dick did come to talk to him afterwards, however briefly, and reassured him by giving him some insight into what Dick, Bruce, and Jason had been thinking and feeling about the whole situation.

Tim's fingers positively fly over the keys as he searches the surveillance footage for a dark green van – which is not easy, given that Jason was unable to tell him the plate number. It takes Tim longer than it should, but finally, he feels a surge of excitement when his eyes land on the image of the car that must surely be the one he is looking for. To be completely honest, he is not a hundred percent certain, since all dark colors look more or less the same in the black-and-white images… But it is the only one that matches the rest of Jason's parameters, so it must be it.

Unfortunately, the actual moment of the kidnapping was not recorded, so Tim has to make do with tracing the car's route from the place near where Jay was snatched. Tim loses the van near the port, which is not ideal, either; it is clear that the port was its destination – but was it the final one? Tim has no way to check without losing too much precious time, so he has to settle for accepting a high probability instead of fact.

That Jay must have been brought to the port is both a relief and a new cause for concern. On the one hand, the Bats know that the group of traffickers they are looking for have moved from the area, so this means that they are not the ones who have Jay. But on the other hand… if not them, then who? Has another band of traffickers appeared in the city? It is not impossible, far from it, in fact; but they have not heard any reports about it.

It is well past midnight – in fact, closer to morning – when Tim sends the results to Jason and leans back with a heavy sigh. A few seconds later, the comm panel cracks to life, and Hood's mechanized voice breaks the Cave's silence.

"Got it, Robin, thanks. Me and Little D are heading to the port right now."

"Please don't call me that," comes Dickie's disgruntled voice, answering Tim's unasked question about whether Jason has taken a comm for him, too.

"Fine," Hood's helmet emits a weird noise that Tim has learned to recognize as a snort. "Just D, then."

Tim grinds his teeth, helplessly livid that he is unable to join them – again.

"Ok," he says, pushing the feeling down. "Nightwing's upstairs, so I'll be here if you need any info or whatever."

"Upstairs?" Hood's distorter does not allow for a wide range of emotions, but Tim still thinks he can detect a hint of concern. "Agent A's worse?"

"Dunno," Tim mutters, his own worry flaring up again. "Hope not. I was busy, and I haven't heard anything from N."

"Drop me a text, then, when you find out," Hood asks, and Tim marvels, not for the first time, at the strength of Jason's affection for Alfred. Not that the rest of them do not love him, of course; it is simply that Jason pretends to be allergic to showing his feelings openly, aside from anger. But with Alfred, he always makes exceptions without any reservations. "B still out?"

"Yes," Tim replies, darting a look at the clock and wondering when Bruce will be back. On their way back to the Cave, he and Dick debated whether to call him immediately, but decided to hold it off for now. Bruce could hardly do more than they were already doing, and telling him would only worry him and make him abandon his current task.

Because for the first time in what is probably weeks, Bruce is out as Brucie – but it is not just to maintain his cover. That is necessary, too, of course, but he has been making do with various excuses and cover stories. Tonight, though, he decided he had to go, because a business associate was very insistent that Bruce should come – too insistent, and he kept hinting at some one-of-a- kind entertainment opportunity that Bruce simply could not miss. That in itself was not particularly suspicious, but the man's insistence and his demeanor were, and Bruce decided to trust his intuition and investigate. "Want me to tell you when he comes back?"

"Might as well," comes Hood's clearly unenthusiastic response.

Tim opens his eyes blearily when he feels someone gently shaking his shoulder. Disoriented and exhausted, head feeling as if it has been stuffed with cotton wool, he hums and raises himself on his good arm, squeezing his eyes shut and shaking his head to wake himself up. For a moment, he has no idea where he is and why; opening his eyes, he frowns at the computer. Did he fall asleep analyzing data again, or?..

"Tim?"

It takes Tim a moment to realize it is Dickie's voice, and then he snaps his head to the right to see the other boy standing over him, slightly bent, arm still outstretched but no longer touching Tim. And at the sight of him, everything comes crashing back. Suddenly wide awake, though no less tired, Tim straightens and whirls around in the computer chair, searching the Cave desperately.

"Did you find him?"

There is no answer, but, looking back up at Dickie's face, Tim feels a growing sense of dread. Dickie's expression is blank – practically dead.

"Dick?" Tim forces out in a horse voice. "Did you…"

He breaks off, actually afraid to ask. Because Dickie's face could only mean two things: either they did not find him, or…

Dickie must see the fear in Tim's expression, because he blinks and shakes his head quickly.

"We didn't find him," he says quietly. "We didn't find anything at the port. We must have broken into every single warehouse, but either they'd moved before we arrived or they never brought him there."

Tim curses under his breath, dropping his head and covering his face with his good hand. It is not the end, of course it is not, but right now, he feels crushed and hopeless – mostly due to his exhaustion.

"I can't believe I fell asleep," he mutters without opening his eyes. "How come you didn't wake me? I was supposed to provide support."

"We didn't really need any," Dickie answers. "You couldn't have given us any more info about the port, and we only really finished combing through the area about an hour ago. Then Jason dropped me off here and left again."

Tim opens his eyes and looks at Dickie with mixed curiosity and hope.

"Why?" He asks. "Does he have another lead?"

To his disappointment, the other boy shakes his head.

"I don't think so," he says. "I think he just couldn't sit still and went to try and find one. He refused to say – but I honestly felt he was just desperate and not holding anything back."

Tim deflates, and for a few moments, they both stand in silence. Staring into space, Tim feels unease churning in his stomach, and his anxiety is only ratcheting up. Suddenly, he cannot take it anymore.

"We need to think logically," he says, taking a deep breath, "or else we'll go crazy."

Dickie blinks at him, confused.

"What do you mean?"

"Worst-case scenario: suppose Jay's been kidnapped by the traffickers we've been trying to find. I doubt they…" Tim breathes out through his nose in an attempt to ground himself, but it does not work; he cannot pronounce the words. "I'm sure he is still alive." Dickie jerks as if shot, hearing what Tim did not say. Tim presses on. "And we know their… entertainment is only offered at night. So even if he is… meant for tonight, we still have until evening. And they won't want to… spoil the goods until then. So he's… relatively safe for now." He swallows and bites the inside of his cheek. "We need to regroup and figure out what to do. We have to find him – and I… I know we will."

Dickie nods slowly, setting his jaw and mercifully not pointing out what Tim is carefully pushing out of his mind – which is that they have been unsuccessful for so many weeks, and the probability that they are going to have a breakthrough in just a few hours is terrifyingly low.

"Ok. So… What do we do now?"

Tim purses his lips and thinks for a moment, but his mind is blank. He deflates, exhaling.

"First of all… coffee."

Back in the Cave, Tim hoped that the familiar sight of the cozy kitchen and the whir of the coffee

machine would restore at least some sense of normality and calm him down a little. But instead, they only serve to highlight his anxiety, which makes the current events seem like an extended, stifling nightmare that will not let him out of its clutches. Alfred's absence is only adding to the feeling.

A glance at Dickie tells him the other boy is not doing any better; exhausted and worried, he sits slumped in his usual chair, limp hands folded in his lap, staring out of the window with glassy eyes.

"I think you need to sleep, at least for a couple of hours," Tim says gently, even as he is setting a cup of strong coffee in front of the other boy. He is not at all surprised when Dickie jerks his head no, not reaching for the cup.

"You need your strength," Tim argues all the same. "It's going to be a hard day, and you've been up all night. You'll crash, and that won't help anyone."

"I'll be fine," Dickie replies tightly. "Wouldn't be a first."

Tim sighs, letting it go and moving to make another cup of coffee for himself. It is not like he had any real hope of convincing Dickie, anyway; he himself only nodded off due to complete exhaustion after intense but monotonous work and the Cave's stillness and darkness. Under the current circumstances, making a conscious choice to lie down and try to relax enough to sleep seems not just impossible but downright criminal.

The sound of quiet footsteps announces Dick's arrival, and Tim turns to him, hoping for at least some good news.

"How's Alfred?" He asks, noting uneasily the dark circles under Dick's eyes and his exhausted expression.

"A bit better," Dick answers, and Tim breathes a sigh of relief. "Sorry I didn't come back downstairs. It was bad, his fever wouldn't go down, and he was sick half the night. But he's asleep now. The fever broke, and he even managed to keep down some herbal tea. I think he's on the mend now, though, of course, he's going to remain on bed rest for a few more days."

"Thank God," Tim mutters, running a hand down his face and then reaching for his phone to send a message to Jason, as promised. A second later, the message is marked read, but Jason does not respond.

"What a night," Dick groans, dropping into a chair and burying his face in his hands, propping himself up on his elbows. "Tim, could you please make me some coffee, too?"

Wordlessly, Dickie slides his cup over to his alternate, and Dick drops his hands, hearing the scrape of the cup against the table.

"Oh, no, kiddo, that's yours," he says, shaking his head and giving Dickie a worried look.

"I don't want it," Dickie replies tonelessly, and Tim's heart aches for him.

Clearly, so does Dick's; face twisted in compassion, he reaches out and gently lays a hand on Dickie's shoulder. The boy does not react.

"Dickie, come on," Dick implores in a soft voice. "Don't give up. I've already told Bruce, he'll be here soon, and we're all going to work together. We'll find him."

Dickie shuts his eyes and Tim can see he is fighting back tears.

"How?" Dickie asks in a strangled voice, opening his eyes and looking at his alternate with growing desperation. "He's gone, Jason and I left no stone unturned at the port, and we found nothing! And we have no other leads! What if – what if he's… oh, God," burying his face in his hands, Dickie breaks down, clearly trying to stifle his sobs.

Dick retracts his hand and glances at Tim, sighing heavily before clenching his hands into fists and screwing his eyes shut as if fighting excruciating pain. Not as if, though, Tim realizes, feeling his heart break. Tim himself is shaken up badly enough by Jay's disappearance – but what Dick must feel, having essentially lost Jason a second time, and in such a similar scenario, too… The desperation to find Jay becomes so acute it feels like torture; Tim does not even want to imagine what will happen to his family if they lose Jay, too.

"I'm sorry," Dickie rasps thickly after a moment, composing himself a little and dropping his hands, and Dick opens his eyes, relaxing his fists. "I'm sorry, I just can't…"

"Don't apologize," Dick tells him gently, but firmly. "But also, don't give up hope. It's bad, I'm not saying it isn't. But you're a fighter. I know you are. Tell me, when's a fight lost?"

Dickie sniffles, closing his eyes briefly. "When you've given up," he answers quietly.

"That's right," Dick nods at him. "And we're not giving up. We're not. This, right here – we just need a moment to breathe and think. Then we'll act. We just need a lead…"

"I'll check the surveillance footage again," Tim pipes up, desperate to do at least something. "I'll try to find that van again, see if I can trace it to another destination…"

"It'll take you ages," Dickie mutters, shaking his head. "By then it might be late…"

"It's still a viable option," Tim retorts, incensed; in addition to being a little irritated by Dickie's defeatist attitude, he feels like the van's disappearance from the cameras is somehow his personal failing.

"I very much hope we have a better one," Bruce's quiet and tense voice interrupts from the doorway, and they all jump in surprise, none of them having heard him arrive. "Sorry for startling you," he apologizes, seeing their reaction, though he appears to be mostly addressing Dickie.

For once, though, the boy does not look terrified to see Bruce, merely surprised – and hopeful.

"What do you mean?" He demands, straightening. "What option?"

Bruce takes a careful step forward, entering the kitchen fully, the movement obviously designed to appear non-threatening. Dickie still tenses up, but does not look away.

"Did you learn something at the party?" Tim asks, perking up.

"Yes," Bruce replies, leaning back against the counter and looking around at them all. "I think I did. I can't be completely certain, because the man who invited me there kept using euphemisms and telling me he couldn't say more until later. I had to play it very carefully. But I have a very strong suspicion that what I got is an invitation to the next… session. If it was those traffickers that got Jay, I have a very good chance of finding out where he is kept. In fact," he continues, face darkening, "I have a very good chance of finally destroying them."

"B – that's awesome!" Dick exclaims, jumping up from the table. "What's the plan?"

Bruce is silent for a moment, looking thoughtful.

"I hope you're not thinking of going alone," Dick tells him harshly. "You're definitely going to need backup, and I'm not taking no for an answer."

"I'm not saying no," Bruce replies slowly. "But it's not as simple as you think."

"What do you mean?" Tim asks apprehensively.

A crease appears between Bruce's eyebrows – a sign that he is deep in thought, as Tim has learned.

"For one, I am not going as Batman," Bruce says finally. "I was invited as Bruce Wayne, and I must go as myself if I'm to have any chance of finding out where they're operating. Although," he adds drily, "if it is a child trafficking ring, I really do not want to get arrested along with the other 'clients', so I'm going to inform Gordon. But aside from that," he continues, "the man who invited me kept hinting at very tight security. It appeared to be his main selling point, aside from telling me I would be able to 'act out any fantasies I ever had without having to hold back'." A look of disgust crosses Bruce's face. "We already know how hard it has been to catch any of them, so I'm inclined to believe him. This means that, most likely, the address I was given is not anywhere near the actual destination, and I suspect that they will be checking for trackers of any kind. Or communication devices."

For a moment, they are all quiet, mulling it over.

"Well, ok," Dick says eventually. "We can still work with that. Jason and I will just have to follow you."

"What about me?" Dickie asks, frowning. "I want to come, too!"

"Absolutely not," Dick replies firmly, turning to him. Bruce is silent – but Tim suspects he does not disagree and is simply letting Dick speak for him so as not to frighten Dickie.

"Why?" Dickie demands heatedly, climbing to his feet. "I'm not a child! And you know I can fight! I'm trained, I won't be a nuisance!"

Envious, Tim listens to Dickie argue his case; if it was not for his damn arm, Tim would be doing the same. As it is, though, he has to admit defeat without even trying to fight – and settle for running back end for the others.

Meanwhile, Dick turns helplessly to Bruce, clearly silently asking for assistance. Bruce glances at him and frowns briefly before visibly steeling himself. He turns to Dickie, clearing his throat.

"Dickie," he begins in a low but firm voice. Despite his brave words and determination just a moment before, Dickie cringes and drops his eyes. Bruce looks pained, but does not relent. "I'm sorry, but there is no question of you coming along. Please understand that this is not meant as a way to… humiliate or punish you. But we simply cannot risk you as well."

Dickie's face is turned to the floor, but Tim can see his lips trembling.

"Please," Dickie almost whispers after a pause, voice shaking. "I beg you. I won't be a nuisance. Please."

"I'm sorry, Dickie," Bruce says as gently as Tim has ever heard him speak. "Please don't think I doubt your skills. But we have never worked together, and we cannot afford to make a mistake." He stops and glances at Dick and then Tim before looking back at Dickie's bowed head. "And,

also… I couldn't bear for anything to happen to you, as well," he adds softly. "I'm very sorry, but my decision is final."

The hours pass in a haze.

The general outline of the plan is settled, but it does not mean they can kick back and relax. The finer details still need to be worked out; aside from that, they are not certain Jay has been kidnapped by the traffickers, so any new leads would not hurt either.

Dick calls Jason to tell him about the new developments and stays at the Manor until the afternoon; he ropes Dickie into helping him take care of Alfred and charges him with being Alfred's caretaker while he is gone. Tim suspects this is an attempt to take Dickie's mind off Jay; he doubts it is very effective, but at least it keeps Dickie somewhat occupied. In the afternoon, Dick gets the address of the rendezvous point from Bruce before suiting up and leaving for the city to meet up with Jason and discuss their tactics.

Tim glues himself to the computer in an attempt to find the van, but it seems to have dropped off the face of the Earth. By the time Bruce goes upstairs to change and get ready to go out as Brucie, Tim has nothing new to tell him and is ready to tear his own hair out from frustration and anxiety. And if that is his own state, he cannot even begin to imagine what Dickie must be feeling.

In the end, Bruce does take a single tracker – aside from the one in his phone – on the off chance that he might be able to keep it. The tiny piece of tech is hidden in his watch, disguised to look like a panic button – if discovered, Bruce is prepared to act surprised that he is not allowed his usual security measures – and programmed to deceive any scanning software. Nightwing and Hood are supposed to follow him; both have trackers, too, and, as agreed between Batman and Commissioner Gordon, are to alert the latter once they reach the destination. Tim stays in the Cave, keeping an eye on everyone's movements and available in case any kind of support is needed.

The plan is far from foolproof - but it is all they have.

Unable to stay upstairs once everything begins, Dickie overcomes his dislike of the Cave and joins Tim, having asked Alfred to call Tim's mobile if he needs anything. Neither of them speaks as they sit tensely in front of the computer, tracking the dots marking Bruce's, Dick's, and Jason's locations on the map. The comms are completely silent, too; Nightwing and Hood must be too close to risk speaking and being discovered.

As they watch, one of Bruce's dots starts moving – quickly enough that Tim deduces he must be in a car. The other stays still, frozen at the rendezvous point. Tim and Dickie glance at each other grimly, but without any surprise; that is the tracker in Bruce's phone, and none of them expected him to be allowed to keep it. That the other one is still on him and active, though, is a major victory and is bound to make the whole thing at least somewhat easier.

But what happens next is not what they expected at all. Dick's and Jason's dots start moving, too – slowly at first and then fast as they get on their bikes… and in the wrong direction.

"What the hell?" Dickie exclaims, but Tim does not even spare him a glance, already slamming a

button on the comm panel.

"Nightwing? Hood!" He yells. "What's going on? You're headed the wrong way!"

Nothing but static answers him, and Tim's stomach twists. In the hope that maybe something is wrong with the panel, he grabs for his own comm as Dickie continues trying to get through to Dick and Jason – but the result is the same. On the screen, the distance between the dots continues to grow.

And the comms are jammed.

Chapter End Notes

Come on, it's practically a law of the genre that I should draw it out across several chapters!

Chapter 31

Chapter Notes

TW: torture and attempted rape of a minor. Just a little torture, I promise. Like, canon-typical. Like, there's so much worse in canon.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

"I can't believe this!"

Tim slams his good hand down onto the desk with so much force he instantly regrets it; he needs at least one working arm if they are to have any chance at all of getting out of this mess. Hissing with pain and shaking his arm, he turns to Dickie, who is pacing in front of the desk, running his hands through his hair repeatedly and making it stand on end.

"We gotta do something!"

Dickie stops his pacing and lifts his head to glance at Tim, looking tortured.

"Like what?" He asks with barely any inflection, and Tim frowns, momentarily distracted from the main problem by Dickie's tone.

"Dick," he says slowly. "What the hell's wrong with you? You've been like this all day – like we've already lost! Like you're just – just ok with giving up!" Dickie just looks at him with barely any change in his expression, and Tim goes cold. He prides himself on being a good analyst and detective, but he has never deluded himself that being a great leader who can boost people's confidence and rally troops and all that is his main talent.

To be fair, he is not sure which of them could honestly say that; they do cooperate, but, at the end of the day, all of them seem to prefer to work alone. But that is not the point right now.

The point is, Tim's only available ally is standing in front of him, limp and defeated. And Tim has no idea what to do. He forces himself to take a deep, calming breath. If he starts panicking right now, they are done for.

Okay, so emotions may not be his strong suit, but he can still fight with logic.

"Dick," Tim starts again in a low tone, trying to slow down his speech and give his words more weight in the hope of sounding more persuasive. "Listen to me. It's not over yet. Bruce is still moving – which means they haven't even started yet. There's still time to get through to Dick and Jason. I-"

"How," Dickie breaks in, still in that horrible, dead tone. "You've tried to unblock the comms, it didn't work. You said it's on their end. Something must be blocking the tracker, too – fooling either us or them. So what more can we do?"

"A lot," Tim shoots back, trying to rein in his annoyance. "For one, let's get this straight: Jay won't be alone. If he's the victim – 'cause we still aren't sure, don't forget. In any case – Bruce is going there now. Yes, he's undercover, but if push comes to shove, he'll drop the act and fight in

earnest."

"Will he," Dickie interrupts again, and for a moment, Tim stares blankly, not having the slightest idea what the other boy means. He shakes his head, frowning, and Dickie raises an eyebrow, the rest of his face still dead and expressionless. "Will he drop the act," Dickie clarifies, "or is his nice guy – his hero – routine the act?"

Tim actually rears back at that.

"Dick, what the – the hell do you mean? Are you nuts?" No response, just more of that blank staring. Tim chokes on air. "Dick – are you saying you think he meant for this to happen? That he's secretly an actual pedo monster who's only been waiting for this opportunity to fool everyone and go have some fun? Is that what you're saying?" By now, Tim is yelling. "Can't you hear how crazy that sounds?!"

"It doesn't sound crazy to me," Dickie laughs, and Tim's eyes go wide at the soft, deranged sound. "If he's as good a detective as you said, how come it took him weeks to get – well, nowhere? How come Richard and Jason got sent in the wrong direction?"

"Because those traffickers aren't dumb, either!" Tim yells, gesturing wildly. "Because Gotham's a corrupted shithole! You think this is a first? They know how to cover this shit up! And I don't know what the fuck is wrong with the tech, but I know it's not B's fault! Also – what, if you believe he's a monster, then we all are, after all? 'Cause we all know where he is now, so what, we're gonna be covering for him once he's done murdering a kid? Are you completely insane?"

Tim pauses for a moment, chest heaving, but is gratified when Dickie does not argue. In fact, the look in his eyes becomes a little more lucid and less defeated, and he seems to be coming to his senses.

"Look," Tim continues at a regular volume, but his tone is still tense and upset, "I know you've been through horrible stuff, I really do. I know you've tried fighting back before, and it ended badly. I know. But you've only been here for a few weeks. I've known Bruce for years, and – and yeah, he messes up, he's not perfect. But I trust him. So I'm not even going to waste any more breath – and time – trying to convince you he's trying to help. Believe what you will. But it's not over yet, and I'm not giving up. And – and you're not alone, anymore, either, and there are people around you that are prepared to fight."

Tim falls silent, praying that his words are getting through to Dickie, because at this point, he is out of arguments.

"Fine," Dickie responds eventually, raising his chin slightly, and Tim breathes a tiny sigh of relief. "But I still fail to see what we can do. Suppose you're right, he's a good guy. He's still alone, outnumbered, and unarmed. We're just gonna end up with two bodies instead of one."

"I am right," Tim cannot resist spitting out despite his intention to move on from the topic. "Yes, it's bad. But he can still fight, and he's very good." He stops, biting his lip, because while Bruce is good, Dickie still has a point. "Ok," he mutters, thinking aloud, "ok, what can we do? What was Hood and Nightwing's role? A: actually help him fight. B: lead the police to him. Well… at the very least, we can do the latter." He perks up. "We can direct the police to the right location." He bites his lip again, nervously. "I just hope the others won't call them to the wrong place first, wherever they're going."

"And what if they are going to the right place?" Tim is glad to hear Dickie sound more settled, now – not like he is trying to trip Tim up and nitpicking because of his hopelessness and more like

he is actually checking if the plan is a sound one. "I mean, what if we're the ones getting the wrong signal? After all, they're there, and they were supposed to follow Bruce – like, physically. I mean, they should have seen if he went in a different direction, right?"

"Right," Tim frowns, shaking his head. "Dammit," he mutters.

"And also," Dickie continues, "we don't know where Bruce is going. He's still moving, so we can't give his location to the police."

"Well, that's the least of our worries," Tim waves a hand. "We'll just call them once he's arrived. Unlike us, the police are in the city, so it won't take them long to reach him…" He glances worriedly at the dot that is moving steadily away from the center. "Unless they take him outside the city limits…"

"I wonder why, though," Dickie mutters. "The other place was very central. Where that girl was killed."

Tim shrugs.

"Who knows. She might've been only kept there until the… day, or maybe they have more than one location. That would actually make sense, you know."

For a moment, they both stand silently, looking at the map, but Dickie's previous objection keeps worrying him. What if Dick and Jason are following Bruce, and it is the signal to the Cave that is somehow getting warped?

"Suppose we follow him, too," he says uncertainly. "Physically. That should help, right?"

Dickie turns to him, eyeing him skeptically. "You want to go out?" The 'again' is implied. Tim flushes.

"Well, I don't know what else we can do," he answers defensively. "If we follow him, we can see if the dot is really him. And we'll call the police. And maybe we can get through to Dick and Jason. Actually," he perks up, "they might be able to get a signal from my tracker – my emergency beacon, that is. Unless their tech is completely fried, they should. And," Tim continues, warming up to his own idea, "if we get to B's location and see, I dunno… empty space, then it'll mean the others are getting the right signal – and it's all going according to plan."

Dickie is nodding along, but he is still looking too hesitant for Tim's liking. Irritation flares up again.

"Come on, Dick," he snaps. "Weren't you so eager to come along earlier, when you were arguing with Bruce?"

Dickie hesitates just a moment longer, but then a decisive look comes over his face.

"Yes," he says. "I'm sorry, truly. I was just…" He shakes his head. "Never mind. Yes, yes, of course I'm coming. And it's a good plan. How are we getting there, though?"

Tim nods towards the parking area, feeling his uncertainty being gradually replaced by the excitement he usually feels before going out as Robin. Sure, this is unideal – but the plan is not that dangerous, and anything is better than sitting still and going mad from worry.

At least, tonight, there is no problem with their transportation.

"Easy. We're taking the Batmobile."

"Ok," Tim mutters, throwing open the back door and tossing inside a bag containing his suit with the beacon sewn in – Tim really does not feel like cutting the suit to get it out, easier to just grab the whole thing – as well as some weapons and other gear… just in case. They both have their masks and comms – again… just in case. "Now I need your help."

"Of course," Dickie appears next to him. "What?"

Shutting the door, Tim turns, meeting his eyes briefly, and strides away – towards the med bay.

"Tim?"

Tim ignores Dickie for a moment, rummaging through a cupboard; very quickly, he finds what he needs, thanks to Bruce's meticulous storage system. Rising, he spins around to face Dickie and thrusts cast shears at the other boy. Dickie takes them automatically before frowning at them and then up at Tim.

"Tim, no way," he protests. "Your arm…"

"Is a fucking nuisance," Tim cuts him off. "It's been enough time, the cast can come off. I'm not going out on a mission this important one-armed."

To his growing annoyance, Dickie scoffs. "You're only going to rebreak it if you try to fight. And forget fighting – you won't even be able to use it, it's been immobile for, like, a month!"

"Dick," Tim forces out through gritted teeth, "shut up and cut the cast. Or I'll take those shears back and do it myself. I'm only asking you 'cause it'll be quicker."

Dickie exhales angrily, but does not protest again and just gets to work – finally. Tim watches as he cuts his way through the fiberglass. In Tim's opinion, the entire thing is taking too much time, and he can barely hold still. He can hardly hurry Dickie up, though; a cast saw would be the proper equipment for this, but, amazingly enough, that is the one thing they do not have down here – an oversight Tim intends to correct. Finally, though, the cast is gone, and Tim feels an exhilarating but fleeting sense of freedom that is quickly replaced by unpleasant tingling.

Dickie is looking down skeptically at the pale, gross limb that is sorely in need of washing and skincare. Only they do not have the time.

"Right," Tim says, hiding his mild dizziness. He knows the right thing to do would be to sit down and wait until he is better, but again – they are in a hurry. He can sit in the car. "Thanks. Now let's go."

"Are you feeling alright?" Dickie follows him.

"Yes," Tim responds tightly, swinging into the driver's seat. There is no way he is admitting it is not entirely so; he can already tell both versions of Dick are terrible mother hens, and he is not subjecting himself to that. Besides, this is not his first experience with broken bones. He should be alright very soon.

Dickie gets in, and Tim busies himself with setting their destination – an easy task, given that the Batmobile computer is linked to the main one, so all he needs to do is tell the car to follow Bruce's dot and then let the tech work its magic, building the optimal route and, well, driving the vehicle. And then they are moving.

But the motion does little to make the wait less excruciating.

"Damn."

The car hurtles through the dark streets, faster than any other vehicle on the road, but it is still subject to the laws of physics, and the Manor is still outside the city – in addition to the fact that Bruce's dot has been moving in the opposite direction, putting even more distance between the two teenagers and their target. So it should not come as a surprise that they are only just entering Gotham when the dot slows down and stills – a couple of miles to the south-west of the city.

Dick's and Jason's, however, are still moving in the southern part of Gotham.

"We should call the police," Tim mutters, but does not reach for the phone.

"We don't know if he's actually there," Dickie points out, though he does not seem very confident, either. "Who do you want to call, anyway?"

"The Commissioner," Tim answers. "The only one we can trust in a situation like this."

"What, is he the only clean cop in the city?" Dickie asks skeptically. "Doesn't sound promising."

"Well, no," Tim shrugs, "but we can't take risks. Usually, Bruce just contacts him directly, and then he picks his people himself. He knows better whom to trust."

Seconds tick by as they sit in tense silence.

"Look, why don't you call him, then, and check if he got a call from the others already?" Dickie suggests. "Maybe he did, and they've already figured it out."

"Good idea," Tim says, relieved, and dials the number, making sure his own is concealed. He is glad that Dickie thought of this; now they are going to get their answer, and even if Dick and Jason went to the wrong place, they will be able to figure it out, maybe even swing by and find them, while the police are helping Bruce hold the fort…

The call connects, and Tim can almost taste the relief that will surely…

"Hello?"

Tim falters – because he knows Gordon's voice very well, and this is not it.

"H-hello?" He stammers, deciding not to cut the call on the off chance that he is wrong, and it is Gordon, after all. Maybe the man has a cold or something… "Who's this?" He knows it is rude, but the situation does not allow for risk-taking.

"Well, who are you calling, kid?" The man on the other end asks with irritation, and alarm bells go

off in Tim's head. By now, he has no doubts he is talking to the wrong person.

"I'm trying to reach the Commissioner," he responds tightly. "Isn't this his private number?"

"Sure is," the man replies and then does not offer any explanation.

"Well then, can I talk to him?" Tim asks, already guessing the answer.

"Sorry," comes the predictable response, though the man does not sound very sorry at all. "He's not here. Forgot his phone and left a while ago."

"You… wouldn't happen to know where, would you," Tim mutters without any hope at all.

"Even if I knew, I wouldn't be handing out such info to any random kid who calls," the voice on the other end is filled with a mixture of derision and nasty pleasure, and, before Tim can even think of arguing he is not any random kid, the call drops.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," Tim chants, dialing the number again even though he already knows it is useless.

"Tim, what? What happened?" Dickie demands frantically, but Tim just groans as he hears the signal indicating the Commissioner's phone has been switched off. He presses a hand to his forehead, squeezing his eyes shut. The nightmare seems never-ending.

"Tim!"

"I dunno," Tim mutters, eyes still closed. "I dunno what happened. It wasn't him." He opens his eyes and looks at Dickie, barely holding off his panic. "Someone else picked up and said he left the phone and was gone. Wouldn't tell me where."

"Well – maybe he's already gone to meet Richard and Jason?" Dickie suggests reasonably, but Tim shakes his head.

"Doubt it. He said Gordon left a while ago. And besides… I know it's stupid, but he just sounded… way too mean." Hearing his own words, Tim winces. "That sounded childish. But honestly, I got the feeling he was…" Tim swallows. "Dick, I'm worried about him. Gordon, I mean."

"Ok, just…" Dickie sounds like he is having a hard time keeping himself calm, too. "What do you think might've happened?"

"God, any number of things," Tim groans, letting his head fall back against the headrest. "Someone overhearing his conversation with Batman? Him telling the wrong person about it? Him getting amnesia or getting pranked by a nasty colleague with the worst timing? Who the hell can say?"

The two other dots slow down to a stop, too – a fair distance away from Bruce's and completely out of the way for Tim and Dickie if they want to get to Bruce as fast as they can.

"What do we do?" Tim asks in an almost pleading voice, although he knows it is hardly fair to put the decision on Dickie's shoulders. The two of them stare desperately at each other.

"Let's try calling the others again," Dickie suggests as a last resort. Tim nods and practically prays, eyes squeezed shut, as Dickie taps the button on his comm and attempts to get through to Dick and Jason for what must be the twentieth time since they got into the car. But the result does not

change. Dickie takes the comm out and glares down at it, as if it has personally offended him, rubbing his ear.

The rest of the ride passes in a tense silence, and Tim stares numbly at the three pulsing dots, eyes flicking between the two locations. But there are no thoughts in his head anymore; all he is capable of is just sitting quietly and keeping himself together.

"Moment of truth," Dickie mutters as the car begins to slow down, nearing its destination. All they can see outside are some nondescript buildings, and they finally stop in the middle of a badly lit street. Bruce's tracker points a little ahead and to their left, and Tim frowns, peering out of the window.

"Doesn't look like much," Dickie comments, and Tim grunts.

"Doesn't look like anything," he mutters. The boys exchange a glance.

"Well," Dickie unbuckles his seat belt slowly, "I guess I should go and investigate."

"Wait, what?" Tim turns to look at him incredulously. "Why you?"

"'Cause you should stay here and see if anything happens to me," Dickie answers drily. "And if it does, you'll push that button of yours and then get ready to drive us away from here."

Tim slumps in defeat. "Fine," he mutters, and Dickie slips carefully out of the car, blending into the darkness in his black clothes and mask. He slinks along the street and then crosses it quickly, darting a glance in both directions. For a few moments, he stands still, but then he clearly sees something of interest, because he starts walking again, purposefully, heading into the narrow space between two buildings.

Tim's pulse picks up when Dickie disappears from view, and after a couple of tense seconds, he cracks the door open slightly, hoping that he will at least hear if anything goes wrong. To be ready just in case, he twists and grabs the bag from the back seat, setting it beside himself and reaching inside to find the beacon in the suit. Seconds tick by, and Tim feels his body gradually relaxing as nothing happens and there are no alarming sounds. The dots keep pulsing away on the screen, and Tim sinks into a sort of a trance, mesmerized by the steady rhythm.

The shout that comes from outside is such a sharp contrast to the car's stillness that Tim actually jerks, as if hit, and his hand convulses, thumb jamming into the panic button. Cursing violently, Tim stares down at it in horror, because he was only supposed to activate the beacon if they found the traffickers' hideout. Whereas this – this might be anything at all, Dickie might have stumbled into some random thugs, or something…

Another shout breaks the silence, followed by loud cursing and the sounds of a fight. Traffickers or not, Dickie needs help, and all other thoughts fly out of Tim's head as he grabs a few batarangs – the only weapons he can easily reach in the bag right now – and throws himself out of the car.

Tim darts across the street and ducks into the narrow alleyway, readying a batarang to throw. Dickie is barely visible to him behind the two big men he is fighting. Pausing for a second to gauge the situation, Tim observes him and must admit he is good, agile and precise despite the lack of proper training in the recent weeks.

Tim must also admit the situation is not great. They need to get out of the alleyway and back to the car, but the two thugs are blocking Dickie's escape; there is also the unfortunate fact that Dickie is quite far from the lip of the alley. Which means that Tim's best bet is to draw the men's attention

to himself and have them give chase – hopefully, hindered by the gashes from the batarangs. Hesitating for another second to calculate the angles and the probabilities, Tim springs into action.

Tim's aim is good; one of the thugs roars in pain as a batarang slashes his leg, and they both whirl around to face Tim, giving Dickie the chance to attack. Dickie takes it, managing to land a good hit on the other thug while his accomplice charges at Tim. Tim dances and teases, trying to draw the thug out of the alley without letting him get too close. Even if Tim were in full health, the size difference would mean very bad odds for him in a fight at short range; normally, he would have his staff to compensate, but tonight, the batarangs are his only hope.

The next one, however, misses its mark, and Tim does not even have the time to curse; any lapse in concentration can prove fatal in a situation like this. At least they seem to be moving closer to the exit, even if he has no opportunity to check on Dickie's progress.

Only… suddenly, they are moving way too quickly; the thug closes the distance between them in just a few strides, and Tim skitters back, off balance. The thug grabs him and slams him into the wall of the building, and Tim wheezes, the air squeezed out of his lungs by the impact. By some miracle, he manages to twist out of the hold, but the movement puts him in a worse position than before, because now the thug is blocking his escape, too.

Far from ready to give up, Tim raises another batarang – and his blood freezes as he hears a cold, derisive voice behind him.

"I doubt you want to do that."

Stilling, Tim realizes that the only sounds in the alley are those of labored breathing – no signs of fighting or struggling. The thug in front of him is not moving, either. Heart beating wildly, Tim slowly turns around.

Instead of just one thug that Dickie was fighting, there are now several men in front of Tim. One of them is twisting Dickie's arms behind his back, forcing the boy to his knees, and another is twirling a knife idly in his fingers. Behind them, Tim can see more people – though, in the darkness of the alley, he is unable to count how many.

"Not that we can't finish this the… hard way," the man with the knife drawls, "but I think this is quite enough exercise for little kids like you."

Tim shifts in place, eyes darting around wildly, not lowering the batarang. This cannot be the end, no way, he is Robin, he has gotten out of way worse situations before…

Just as Tim thinks that, the situation immediately becomes worse.

"Well, if you insist," the man shrugs, almost disinterestedly, and drops the knife to Dickie's throat with a careless gesture.

"No," Tim croaks, "no – stop. Stop!"

"You want to play nicely?" The thug bares his teeth in a predatory smile, and Tim closes his eyes briefly before nodding. Anything to stay alive; if they are alive, they still have a chance of getting out.

"Good boy," the man praises him like a dog, and Tim feels humiliation burning his cheeks.

The man jerks his head, and a side door Tim did not notice before opens right next to him. A moment later, the thug behind him grabs his wrist, twisting it and causing him to drop the batarang;

then his arm is twisted back, and he is roughly pushed inside and deeper into the room. Tim hears the rest file in behind him.

The door slams, and the thug spins Tim back around, holding him in place easily as he raises the other hand to rip the mask off of Tim's face. Tim bites back a hiss of pain. The adhesive of the mask is supposed to be dissolved with a special substance, so it feels a little like his skin is being peeled off, but he refuses to give these criminals the satisfaction of knowing how much it hurt. A moment later, Dickie is slammed into the wall next to him, also bare-faced.

"Hey, boss," another man's voice comes from his left, and Tim's stomach clenches at the sick excitement he can detect in it. "It's those two kids we saw hanging around near the storage!"

Odd term, storage, Tim thinks distractedly before his brain catches up with the rest of the sentence. If he had any doubt about who has them, now it is gone. Raising his eyes, he sees that the man the thug called 'boss' is the same sinister guy who kept staring at them back in that alleyway in the city. He looks no more reassuring than he did that night, and Tim feels dread rising inside.

"So they are," the man says in a quiet voice that makes Tim's skin crawl. "What do you know. Let me guess," he continues, stepping closer to them, almost prowling, "saw poor, stupid Adam's video and decided to play at being vigilantes?" He pauses and stares at them. Tim only sees his arm move when he backhands Dickie across the face. "That was a question," the man explains in a conversational tone over Dickie's groan.

At least none of them know they are with Batman, Tim realizes. He doubts the truth is going to earn them any mercy, though. He debates revealing their identities; it is unlikely they are going to risk killing Bruce Wayne's charges, so if he does, they will probably claim it was a mistake and settle for a ransom. But Bruce is here, too, and he will be compromised; and if that happens, they will not save anyone. Tim decides it is best to keep quiet for now and hope for an escape opportunity later.

"Yes," he answers in a voice as brash as he can make it.

The man hums.

"Well," he drawls, "unfortunately, you two are too old for what our clients prefer…" He makes a show of looking thoughtful.

"Well, then," Tim nods profusely, as if in understanding and apology, "you're clearly a bit busy tonight, and since we're not to your clients' liking anyway, we might as well get going." Totally not his best attempt at talking his way out of a bad situation. Tim fumes at himself; he should be better at this, he is Robin, for God's sake… He chances a glance at Dickie, wondering if the other boy has any better ideas for improvisation tonight, but his face is ashen.

"You clearly wanted our attention, though," the thug's smile is all teeth. "So it would be quite rude to dispatch of you too quickly…" Stepping closer, he trails a finger down Dickie's cheek, and Dickie shuts his eyes. This close, Tim can see him trembling.

The man steps back and snaps his fingers.

"Well, then. Ed?" One of the men steps forward – limps forward, to be precise, and Tim realizes it is the one whose leg he slashed with the batarang. "You're due for a bonus, if memory serves." Again, his arm shoots out, lightning-fast, and Tim finds himself stumbling forward, right into the thug's waiting arms. "Since you gave Ed trouble, it's only right if you're the one to kiss it better." Tim's breath hitches, and he desperately tries to squash down the panic that rises at the

implication.

"And as for you," the boss addresses Dickie, and Tim twists in the thug's hold to catch a glimpse of the other boy's face; any last thoughts of fighting drown in the horror he feels at seeing silent tears making their way down Dickie's cheeks. "You surrendered so very beautifully, so you get to rest a bit and then watch tonight's performance. And maybe serve as dessert. We do have a special guest today, and, despite your age, you look just his type." And if the victim is Jay, Tim thinks numbly, then there is no knowing whose fate is worse. But – no. Bruce. Bruce is here, and he will save them. Or at least, Jay and Dickie. Tim will take that. "Get him ready, they're starting soon," the man orders, tone once again indifferent, and stalks away.

The last thing Tim sees before the thug holding him chokes him out is Dickie being dragged out of the room.

Tim comes to, instinctively jerking his head away from something smelling sharp and downright terrible right under his nose. Choking on air, he jolts and feels his arm shoot with pain. Gasping, he tries to move it to alleviate the pain somehow, but finds that both his arms are wrenched behind his back in a way that makes not just his barely mended bones but also his shoulders scream in protest.

Looking around frantically, Tim sees he is lying awkwardly on a raised cot, arms tied behind it with a length of something – probably rope – so that there is space between his hands. His legs are free, though, and he intends to use them to his full advantage. Now, if he could only get something sharp in one of his hands…

"Like my smelling salts, sweetie?" Tim freezes as the man he has been given to comes into view and limps towards him, smiling nastily. "Yeah, I thought so. Don't like my toys checking out on me before I let 'em."

Tim knows he shouldn't antagonize this guy any more than he already has, he really does. But his mouth seems to have taken on a life of its own, completely unrelated to his brain.

"Guess you must need to use them a lot, then, with a mug like that," he says cheerfully, regaining some of his usual sass. It is not an unfounded insult; the man's once probably handsome face is bisected by an ugly scar. And he must feel terribly self-conscious about it for whatever reason, because instead of laughing derisively, hitting or ignoring Tim, he turns bright red and rushes forward, grabbing a dirty rag as he goes.

"Shut your trap, bitch," he growls, stuffing the disgusting rag into Tim's mouth, and Tim chokes and writhes, trying unsuccessfully to kick the man, but the angle is all wrong. The thug grabs a plastic bag, rips it and ties it around Tim's head to prevent him from spitting out the rag. "There. That'll keep this hole busy until I want it."

Tim swallows, fighting the rising terror. The man straightens and looms over him, still panting from anger, but, gradually, his features smooth back into the nasty smile. As the true horror of the situation begins to sink in, Tim feels his eyes start prickling with tears, and he tries desperately to blink them back.

"Aww, baby," Scarface almost purrs, "are you crying? Probably 'cause you've been here such a

long time already and you're still not getting enough of my attention, am I right?" He laughs and takes a step back. Again, Tim kicks out, but Scarface catches an ankle easily and climbs onto the cot, trapping first one of Tim's legs under his weight and then the other. Tim bucks his hips, trying to unseat him, but the man only laughs again, barely moving. "Don't worry, baby," he croons, leaning forward to run both his hands along Tim's front, "we have all the time we want. Well," he amends, lifting himself back up and reaching into his boot. His hand comes back into view, holding a small, sharp knife. "All the time I want, anyway."

Tim's breath quickens so much he is close to hyperventilation, and, with the rag in his mouth, he is suddenly terrified of suffocating. Obviously, Scarface is savoring all of his reactions, because of course he notices.

"What?" He asks, faking hurt. "You cut me, and pretty badly, too. I'd say it's only fair if I return the favor." He raises the knife and pauses. "Of course, hurt as I am, my aim might be a bit off."

The knife descends.

A line of fire streaks down Tim's chest, and he does his best to breathe, ground himself and get ahead of the pain.

Scarface raises the knife again, twirling it and gazing at the red liquid staining it.

"Then again," he says almost thoughtfully, "I like things to be functional. Might as well kill two birds with one stone."

The knife goes down again, and this time, Tim screams through the rag, because the pain in his hip is too strong and unexpected. Panting, he glances down and realizes his jeans are ripped now, Scarface having used the movement both to cut him and bare his skin. Mercifully, painful as it is, the cut seems to be shallow.

"I think we need some symmetry…"

Tim screams again as the same pain flares on the other side.

Blinking through his tears, he watches Scarface lay the knife aside, careful and precise like a surgeon. Instead, the man grabs the fabric with his hands and rips it, first one side and then the other. The front of Tim's jeans becomes a flap that Scarface simply flicks down.

"Well, look at this. Isn't this j-"

Bang.

Scarface slumps right on top of Tim, tilting slightly to the side. Stupefied, Tim stares dumbly at the top of his head – and then lifts his eyes to…

The red helmet. Barely able to see and breathe, choking on the rag, his own snot, and terror, Tim can hardly process the image in front of him. As he stares, the helmet moves – and, a second later, Scarface's heavy body is lifted off of him. Tim follows it with his eyes to the floor, hears the heavy thump – and then more gunshots.

He is still staring at the man's face, now even uglier, when he feels hands on his shoulders. He jerks violently with a muffled shout, and the hands release him. A moment later, he screams in pain again as his arms are freed; he was no longer feeling the pain because they had gone numb, but now it slams back into him, full-force.

Tim thinks he hears someone calling his name and looks up, only to find the red helmet looming directly above now. He stills, feeling like trapped prey, and just shakes, looking up at the… at Hood.

There is no question of Hood continuing what… what Scarface started. But anything else…

Tim knows without a doubt that Hood hates rapists – so it is a given that he would stop what was happening. But Tim also knows that Hood hates him, too. And this is the perfect opportunity for him to deal with his 'replacement' – they are alone, nobody knows what has been happening to Tim, and if they find him, say, with his throat slashed…

Hood picks up the knife that Scarface left next to Tim on the cot, and time stops.

Last time, he watched as Hood brought down the knife. This time, he cannot. Feeling like a coward, Tim closes his eyes.

The tension around his head suddenly releases, and then Hood's fingers are tugging the rag out of his mouth. Tim opens his eyes to see Hood flinging the knife aside.

Tim's brain catches up with the fact that his mouth is free, and he begins coughing and spitting, trying to get the disgusting taste out of his mouth. Hood's fingers curl around his shoulders again, very gently, and tug him up and forward until his face is buried in the familiar brown leather of Hood's jacket. Hood's arms come up to wrap around him, and Tim raises his own, ignoring the lingering pain, and clings on, desperately.

Even though they are nowhere near safety yet, Tim allows himself a brief moment of weakness, basking in his brother's hug. Please, he prays, squeezing his eyes shut, please, let Jason forget about his vendetta for tonight, just one night. He can go back to hating Tim tomorrow; but if he pushes Tim away now, Tim is going to break.

Hood does not push him away. Instead, he starts talking.

"Tim, oh fuck, Tim," if the helmet was off, Tim is sure Jason's tone would have been frantic. "I've got you, I've got you, baby bird, you're safe!" Hood's arms tighten, and Tim does not protest it despite the pain. "Did he – did he do-"

Tim shakes his head once, violently.

"Just cuts," he mutters into Hood's shoulder, "you came in time."

"Thank fuck," Hood rasps; Tim mourns that he is not hearing Jason's actual voice. "Don't you ever do anything stupid like that again, you hear me? I can't take it if you get yourself fucking killed!"

Tim wonders briefly if Scarface killed him after all, or maybe Hood did, or maybe he is still unconscious and dreaming that this is happening. Then he decides he does not care; even if this is a fantasy, it feels real enough, and it is so good he does not want it to end.

"You won't let them hurt me now?"

His voice is raspy and small, and Tim is aware that his words make him sound like a pathetic little kid. But once again, he does not care. Not when he feels Hood's arms shift, letting Tim burrow deeper into the hug.

"I'll kill anyone who fucking tries."

Chapter End Notes

I just love to torture you guys. But! In the next chapter, we finally see Jay. Pinky promise.

Also, I have to admit the last line is totally stolen from envysparkler & Periazhad's 'Muzzled'. It's just too delicious. They both are - the line and the fic.

Chapter 32

Chapter Notes

TW: attempted rape of a minor. Also… a lot of other bad stuff happens to Jay, my friends, but it is unavoidable. I tried to keep the onscreen stuff to a minimum, but, uh… well, it didn't happen. As usual, nothing very graphic, but – it's onscreen.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

The towel that Jason was wrapped in after the shower is replaced with regular clothes – jeans and a T-shirt. He is even given underwear, socks, and shoes. He trembles as he pulls the clothes on, trying not to imagine how they are going to be ripped off his body – or how he is going to die in them. Running a trembling hand through his blow-dried hair and then down his face, Jason savors the last moments he gets to spend dressed.

Glancing down at his palm, Jason sees an eyelash stuck to his index finger. Barely holding in tears, he tips it carefully to the back of his other hand and blows on it, making a wish as it flies off. He knows it is stupid. He knows an eyelash will not save him now.

But Jason cannot help himself. And even knowing it is useless, he finds himself wishing desperately that he could turn back time.

The throwaway thought that popped into Jason's head as he was looking at the driveway kept returning. At first, he pushed it away. It was just an old fantasy, a dream born out of necessity, the need to keep himself sane in a never-ending nightmare. It was also only that – a fantasy, because there was never any real hope of escaping.

But that was before.

To Jason, it felt like a haze had settled around him since the night he was waiting for Dick and Tim to come back. It lifted when his brother returned and acted as caring as ever, and by the time Jason fell asleep, he felt warm and safe. But the nightmares, more vivid and intense than he had ever experienced in his life, fractured the peace, and from the next morning, the feeling of wrongness, of surreality just kept deepening.

Dick's presence did help – but only to a certain extent, because it was impossible for Jason to fool himself into thinking that everything was the same as before… before the case, before Tim. He could tell that Dick's mind was on other things most of the time now and kept feeling like a nuisance, ignored by the Manor's other inhabitants unless they had to force him to eat or deal with his nightmares.

His alternate's suggestion to move also kept nagging at him, bothering him like a splinter stuck in

a finger. On the face of it, the other Jason's words seemed like an offer to help, an attempt to make him more comfortable. But Jason was already comfortable enough – at least, in the way that his double meant… until the nightmares started, anyway. And, dissecting the words, Jason only felt increasingly certain they were meant to let him know that he had outstayed his welcome at the Manor. Bruce no longer coming in to sit with him in the library only cemented Jason's suspicion that he was not good enough even as a toy, a distraction, since the man had become tired of him so very soon.

The thoughts kept swirling in his mind, congealing into a decision that very quickly became an obsession. And from the moment Jason first felt that running away could be more than a pipe dream, he did not question it any more.

Mind made up, the only issue that remained was actually executing the plan.

There was a flip side to the others' inattention, though, and it played into Jason's hands. Nobody watched him too closely, and, unlike before, it was very easy to avoid Dick. A cupboard in the kitchen provided Jason with a sturdy canvas bag, probably meant for shopping. And Jason's skills from his life in the streets came in handy when Alfred briefly left his wallet on the kitchen counter after returning from an errand, though Jason did not dare to take too much. The rest – some spare clothes and non-perishable food – did not even require stealing.

The three other items in his bag were of sentimental value – his fox, his mom's picture, and a single book. All Systems Red, even though he had already finished it – but he wanted the reminder of feeling safe and content as his alternate was reading to him and his brother was sleeping next to him, holding his hand. Jason wished he had any other reminder of Dick that he could take with him, but there was nothing. No pictures, no presents; and taking Dick's clothes seemed way too weird. The book would have to do.

So packing was not an issue. The main obstacle, this one more difficult to overcome, was getting out of the house – or, more accurately, leaving the grounds. He could not simply saunter down the driveway and open the gate; nor could he climb the fence without triggering some fancy security alarm. He debated asking the others; but he doubted that Dick would tell him how he and Tim had gotten out, and there was no way he could ask his alternate to take him out, say, for chili dogs again while carrying his bag.

As it often happens, though, Jason got his lucky break when he was least expecting it. The opportunity came in the form of Alfred's sickness. Not that Jason was happy about it, of course; Richard's worry was almost palpable, and Jason could tell the illness was more than a slight cold. But when, standing at the window in his room in the West wing, he saw the doctor pull up and rush inside without bothering to lock her car – because who would touch it here? – Jason knew this was his chance.

Huddled in the space behind the driver's seat and barely breathing for fear of being discovered, Jason admitted he felt more than a little anxious about the moment he had to get out of the car. Running away from the doctor would not be a problem, of course, but he would very much prefer it if she did not see him at all and alert Bruce. He also wished he could look out of the window; the moment the car crossed the boundary of the estate felt important, and Jason would have liked to cast one last look at the house which he had spent so long hoping to escape. But getting out was too

important to risk for such a stupid reason; and, in any case, this was not even the same house.

The drive felt longer than it probably was. Again, Jason wished he could see out of the window, though for a more practical reason this time. He had no idea where they were going, which would make the subsequent decision about where to go a little harder. Jason had spent enough time on the streets in the other Gotham, though, so he was reasonably certain he would be able to orient himself quickly enough. After all, the two cities were bound to be practically identical, weren't they?

Finally, the car stopped, and the engine was turned off. As carefully as he could, Jason shifted and prepared to spring out the moment Leslie opened her door, hoping to match his movement to hers so that the doors would open and then slam shut at the same time. His anticipation kept building, though, as she hesitated to get out, rummaging for something in the glove box. Eventually, just as the anticipation was ready to tip over into frustration, she snapped the compartment shut and fumbled with the door handle.

Jason felt a thrill of triumph when he managed to execute his plan perfectly. Darting away from the car and behind a very conveniently placed dumpster, he saw Leslie look around and frown, but she did not seem overly concerned. A moment later, the door of the building next to which she had parked opened; glancing at the sign, Jason saw it was a clinic. Someone called Leslie's name from inside, and, shaking her head as if to dislodge an unnecessary thought, she quickly rounded the car and hurried into the building.

Jason breathed a sigh of relief. So far, so good. He was free.

Climbing carefully from behind the dumpster, Jason straightened up and looked at the blue sky. He could not help an exhilarated laugh at the heady feeling of freedom that engulfed him. He was free, free and able to decide his own fate for the first time in over a year, free and not a burden to anyone, free and…

The exhilaration gradually faded. Jason realized he was behaving stupidly, standing out in the open and laughing like an idiot. 'Free' also meant 'having to fend for himself' and 'unprotected', and he really needed to move and find some sort of shelter, a place to sleep and keep his stuff before it became dark. Reveling in the newfound freedom had to be postponed.

Looking around, Jason registered his surroundings for the first time and shifted uncertainly. He was not sure where he had ended up, but neither was he sure he wanted to stay in the area. On the one hand, the place seemed too rough, worse even than the slums from which the other Bruce had kidnapped him. On the other hand, though, it looked perfect to get lost in and find a nook to hide.

Standing still would give him no answers, though, so Jason started walking briskly, keeping his eyes open for a convenient spot. The sooner he found it, the better; a lone child was bound to attract the wrong kind of attention in a place like this, especially dressed as nicely as he was. Well, maybe not nicely, exactly – he was just wearing jeans and a simple black jacket with the huge red hoodie he could not bear to leave behind underneath. But his clothes and shoes were conspicuously new and clean, which was… bad.

The wrong kind of attention came all too soon. Slinking along the side alleyway into which he had ducked in the hope of finding shelter, Jason became aware of the shuffle of footsteps behind him. He quickened his own steps, trying to gauge the number of pursuers without turning.

"Hey, you!" A shrill voice called out suddenly, and Jason set off running, clutching the handle of the bag on his shoulder. More voices joined the first, all young and aggressive; a gang of street kids, Jason guessed, probably attracted by his nice stuff and small size, thinking he was easy prey.

And maybe he was, he thought, scared, as he missed a step and fell forward with a muffled cry.

He used to be better at this, Jason cursed himself, struggling to his feet and taking off again, not daring to check how close his pursuers were. Judging by the sound of their voices, though, they were almost upon him, and he was not going to win this fight. They were going to beat him up and take all his things, and he could not afford that. But if it was his stuff they wanted… maybe he could distract them.

Reaching into the bag, Jason grabbed the first thing he could – a spare shirt – and launched it over his shoulder. A triumphant cry told him it would not lie unclaimed for long. It was okay, he told himself, it was just a shirt, it was not that important anyway. But the kids kept pursuing him, so he needed to try again. Rummaging in the bag awkwardly as he kept moving, Jason grabbed something else and threw it over his shoulder without thinking or even registering what it was.

A moment later, it hit him, and Jason stopped in his tracks with a dismayed cry. Turning, he saw the kids – five of them, all older and bigger than him – scrambling to pick up the money he had so carelessly, stupidly thrown at them. Why, he raged at himself, why did he even put it there? Why not put the wadded up cash in his pocket, where it would be safe? The answer was – because he had packed the bag in advance and did not have the time to even think about moving the money when he had to leave, afraid that he might miss his opportunity. But excuses would not help him now.

Anyway, it was done now, and Jason could not afford to linger. The upside was that the notes, not held together by anything, flew out and floated in various directions, and the kids were not about to let any of them get lost. So as far as distractions went, this was not a bad one. It would not last long, though, so Jason had to move; they could see perfectly well he had a whole bag with him, and they would be only too happy to relieve him of the rest of his meager possessions.

Jason started running again, not stopping until he lost his pursuers, and their voices died away in the distance. Panting, he stopped and bent over, trying to catch his breath. After a few moments, he straightened, still breathing heavily, and took stock of the situation. In addition to being left with no money, his jeans were now torn and dirty from where he had fallen; his jacket was also dusted with dried dirt from where he had had to squeeze through a narrow space between two cars. He was also uncomfortably hot now in both his hoodie and the jacket, but he did not dare to take either off.

Well, he thought sarcastically, it took him less time than he thought to start looking like a street kid again.

He had to keep moving, though. It was not late yet, but it would start getting dark pretty soon, and Jason still had not found a safe place. But he was getting more and more tired as he kept wandering, and as the light started changing, reality began to dawn on him.

Jason cursed himself out of his head. What had he done? He now found himself in the same situation as before – homeless, poor, alone, and defenseless. He should have at least grabbed some weapon before leaving. And why did he ever think leaving was a good idea, anyway? So what if he was ignored? At least he was safe, he had food, shelter and clothes, and – and school… He could have had a future. Now he had nothing. He was definitely the biggest idiot on the planet. Did he seriously think he could run away and find something better?

Jason stopped, chewing his lip and glancing around. He should just go back, he thought. It was scary, of course, but… Bruce did not seem to have done anything to Dickie when he and Tim ran away, so… so maybe he would not be too angry if Jason came back, too. And even if he was… well, Jason could take a punishment. Anything would be better than this.

Now the question was how to get back. Jason had no phone and no way of transport… And even if he still had the money, he did not know how to get back to Bristol. Dumb, dumb, he chanted in his head; he had even had access to a computer, he should have planned this better, should have researched all the options. It was like that conversation with Bruce all over again: he got obsessed with the idea, but did not even think to plan ahead and map out the route!

Suddenly, a lightbulb went off in his head. The doctor, Leslie. She knew Bruce, and she was safe. Jason would simply go back to the clinic and ask her to call the Manor. Sure, the Waynes would probably be angry that they would have to go out and retrieve him, but he could take it. Or maybe he could just hang out at the clinic until Leslie went back to check on Alfred or something. That way he would not have to bother Bruce.

Mind made up, Jason started walking faster, trying to navigate back to the street where the clinic was located. He was somewhat disoriented after running and wandering the streets for so long, but he did not think he was completely lost. Still, he had managed to get quite far away from his starting point, so he had to get moving.

Jason turned in the direction he thought the building was. But before he could move, a man stepped out of the shadows just feet away from him, and Jason could not say how, but he knew immediately he was in trouble.

"You look a little lost, kid," the man said casually, approaching slowly, eyes roaming Jason's form. Shaking his head, Jason backed away, adrenaline spiking. "I think you are," the man smirked. "And I think I know exactly where you are needed."

He stalked closer, and Jason turned to run.

He did not get far.

The last thing Jason saw as he was pushed into the back of a van was a small shadow darting to pick up the bag he had dropped.

Jason was determined not to go down without a fight, but he was all too easily overpowered. The van was already moving when the man who had grabbed him pushed him flat to the floor without any problem. Jason writhed like a snake, yelling and cursing, but, trapped under the man's weight, he could do nothing as first his hands and then his feet were tied.

"Save the yelling for when you really need it, kid," the man advised almost compassionately, stuffing a gag in Jason's mouth and taping over it before dragging him to lie against the van's side and strapping him to something so that Jason would not roll around with the van's movement.

The back of the van had no windows, but, judging by the sound of the tires on the road, Jason was certain that they drove at least part of the way underground – or maybe in some sort of tunnel. They drove for a long time, long enough for Jason to start crying silently, tortured by the thought that he would never see Dickie again. He wondered if the boy he called his brother would even look for him - or feel relieved that he would never again have to.

It was just his luck, Jason thought, sniffling. He had to spend all of five minutes on the streets before getting snatched by traffickers. At least, he assumed that that was what the men were. But

there was no other reason for them to grab him otherwise; they had no idea who he was, so any kind of ransom was out of the question, and why else would they want to kidnap him? And now Jason would end up sold to some other pervert or – or in a brothel somewhere, or…

Just as Jason was trying – and failing – to suppress the rising panic, the car stopped, and, a few moments later, he was dragged out. Jason tried to look around to memorize his surroundings, but it was useless, because they seemed to be in an underground garage. One of his kidnappers hauled him over the shoulder like a sack of potatoes and carried him effortlessly through a maze of low- ceilinged corridors, even as Jason tried to thrash and writhe to get free.

A small, brightly lit room with a tiny window near the ceiling turned out to be their destination, and Jason was dropped unceremoniously onto a plain cot. Panicking, he looked up to see the man from the alley stalking out of the room without a word.

The uncertainty was a form of torture in and out of itself. Several minutes passed before the door opened again, and the man returned with another guy who was carrying a heavy-looking case. Jason eyed them apprehensively, unable to even ask what was happening. The new guy dragged a chair to sit next to the cot and opened the case. Meanwhile, the first one stepped up to Jason and cut through the ties keeping his wrists together. Before hope could ignite, though, he raised the knife again and slashed through Jason's sleeves, both the jacket and the hoodie, uncovering his arm from the elbow down.

Jason tried to thrash, but the guy in the chair grabbed his flailing second hand, and then the men shifted so that Jason's kidnapper could press his legs into the cot and hold down Jason's covered arm. Momentarily distracted, Jason did not notice the new guy rummaging through his case until he grabbed Jason's bare arm and pushed the torn sleeves out of the way before swiping at the area just inside the elbow with something cold and wet.

Jason screamed through the gag and thrashed even harder – and just as uselessly – as the guy raised a needle and stuck it into his skin without preamble. Feeling the sting and then the slight but nauseating pull of the needle as blood began to flow, Jason went limp, tears slipping silently down his cheeks. Trying to escape from the present, Jason thought back to his first days at the Manor, to Leslie's visit – and how Dickie fussed over him and held his hand during the blood draw.

At least it did not take long. The needle was taken out of Jason's arm, and a bandage was placed over the spot. Jason breathed a sigh of relief, but it turned out to be premature. His feet were cut free as well, and then the tape covering his mouth was carefully peeled back and the gag removed. Before Jason could feel too happy about it, though, he was hauled up from the cot, and the men started tearing off his clothes.

Sobbing and screaming, fear ratcheting up, Jason tried to get away. It was useless, though; the two men manhandled him with ease.

"Shut up, kid," the man from the alley said, not even sounding winded. "Nothing's even happening yet. Just gotta make sure you're nice and clean for our clients."

Indeed, their hands did not seem to wander, at least, not in that way, not yet. It was a medical exam, Jason realized through the haze of panic, but it did little to calm him down. He could not stop crying as he was forced to follow the second guy's – the 'doctor's' – directions. The exam was horrible and invasive, and once it was over, Jason huddled on the cot on his side, crying softly and hugging his knees to his chest. He was cold, but his clothes were lying out of reach, torn and useless. In the next moment, the 'doctor' swept them up and dropped them into a garbage bag along with the used medical supplies before walking out of the room without another word.

"Good boy," his accomplice praised Jason mockingly, patting him on the hip and then tossing a thin, hard blanket at him and stalking away as well. The door closed behind him with a thud, and then Jason heard the sound of the engaging lock.

Jason sat motionless for several seconds, tears sliding down his cheeks, before exploding into motion. He grabbed the blanket with jerky movements and wrapped himself in it, teeth chattering from cold and nerves. Then he curled into a ball on the cot and waited, sinking into a stupor.

It was a long wait; Jason guessed a few hours must have passed before the door opened again and the same man from the alley walked in.

"Good news, sweetheart," he announced as Jason sat up stiffly. "We had to rush the lab a little bit, but we've got your results, and you're all nice and clean." Jason frowned before realizing the man was probably talking about the blood test. "We did have a kid ready for tonight," the man continued, "but we managed to snag a great new client yesterday, and we hear he has very… particular tastes. And you, baby, fit the profile perfectly, so we bumped you up on the list!" He beamed at Jason, as if honestly expecting Jason to congratulate him.

Jason exhaled shakily.

"What's going to happen to me?" He dared to ask in a trembling voice.

"Everything," the man replied with a smirk. "Ever been filmed before, kid?"

Jason remained silent, but his widening eyes and quickening breath must have given away the answer. The man clapped his hands.

"Well then, you're a pro! Come on, baby, you have a performance tonight, gotta get you all nice and ready! And if you don't please our clients, you'll… ah, wanted to say you'll regret it, but I'm afraid there won't be much left of you to regret anything." He cocked his head, clearly savoring the way Jason was trembling. "Come on, kid, look on the bright side." There was a bright side, Jason thought with rising hysteria? "You'll only have to go through it once. By this time tomorrow, you'll be completely at peace."

Cold horror set in, and Jason found he could not breathe. He was not given any time to wallow in his panic, though, as in the next moment, the man strode over to Jason and tore away the blanket before grabbing him roughly by the shoulder and hauling him off the cot again. Marching Jason across the room, he opened another door, and Jason saw a small but clean bathroom.

"In," the man ordered shortly, and Jason tried to obey; his feet were slow in responding to him, and the man grunted in annoyance, pushing him forward impatiently. "Your performance starts pretty soon, so we'd better clean you up. Inside and out," the man continued and then smirked ominously when Jason hesitated. "Aww, no need to get worried, baby. I'll help... It'll be my pleasure."

The memories of the last twenty-four hours keep cycling through Jason's mind as he is pushed along the corridor and into another room. Only the central part of it is lit with floor lamps; all the corners are dark and terrifying.

It is probably fitting that the room in which Jason is to be murdered has no windows, he thinks

numbly; it feels so dark and oppressive that it already resembles a coffin. All sounds inside it feel muted, too, and the tiny part of Jason that still believes in miracles and hopes that maybe, just maybe, someone might hear his screams and rescue him, dies. Not that it was much of a possibility in the first place. Jason did not see the outside of the building when he was brought in, but he doubts they would have taken him to a place with many people around.

Toys and implements are strewn across the various surfaces of the room, and Jason does his best not to look, not to pay attention, not to recognize them. He is determined not to break down; if he has to die, then he wants to die with some dignity and not squealing like a mindless creature, a dumb, stubborn kid who made mistake after stupid mistake and eventually got what he deserved. And he knows he will not be able to keep himself under control if he starts imagining what those toys can do to him before it all even begins.

A wide square pole stands in the middle of the room, and Jason is dragged right up to it and turned around. The metal feels cold through Jason's thin T-shirt, and he squirms in discomfort. The position puts Jason right in front of the camera, several feet away, and he stares at it, frozen in horror, as his arms are raised above his head and tied to something fixed to the pole. Next, a blindfold is tied around his head, and that is a mercy, because although it heightens the terrible feeling of uncertainty, as least it hides the camera from Jason's view.

Finally, a ball gag is pushed into his mouth, and with that, he is left alone. Nobody is touching him, nobody is trying to cop a feel anymore; everything about the preparations feels purely clinical, like he is just another prop that must be prepared before the performance.

Minutes pass, and Jason's discomfort only keeps increasing. His arms are numb, and they are tied so high above his head that he is forced to stand perfectly straight to keep his feet on the floor, chest pushed out and shoulders wrenched forward a little to accommodate the position. His jaw aches, and having something in his mouth is already making him gag – his usual reaction that he was unable to get rid of even after a year with Bruce. Jason has to force himself to breathe regularly and concentrate on each breath just to keep bile from rising.

The wait is excruciating, and soon Jason begins crying softly despite his intention not to break. He almost wishes for things to begin – anything to alleviate the dull, unrelenting pain and break the anticipation. But then he finally hears the door open, and panic blots everything out. Gagging and struggling to breathe, Jason finds himself wishing desperately for salvation – or at least just a reprieve. The desire to just get this over with is replaced by the desperation to stay alive and relatively unhurt for just a few moments longer.

Jason did not think it was possible, but what he hears next makes everything even worse. A voice calls out his name, brokenly, desperately, and it is one he was absolutely not expecting to hear – his brother's voice.

At first, it sends a bolt of hope and joy through Jason – before he remembers the situation, and then the bright feeling turns into desperate horror. Dick is not supposed to be here, he is supposed to be safe, working with Tim or playing games with the others, or – or, okay, maybe worrying about Jason, but… safe! Dick must have run away too, Jason thinks, probably in an attempt to find him – which makes it all Jason's fault. He feels endlessly stupid and guilty, both for thinking Dick would not care and for getting his brother into this situation. And now they are both going to be raped and killed, and he has nobody to blame but himself.

And he cannot even apologize.

Dick keeps shouting, and Jason whines behind the gag and tries to thrash against the ropes, but it only serves to worsen the pain in his strained shoulders.

"Ah, so not playing a random vigilante, after all, were we?" A man laughs nastily from somewhere to Jason's right. "Following in Adam's footsteps? Didn't want to miss your little bro's best performance? Understandable! Adam did enjoy his sister's…"

Jason has no idea who this Adam the thug is talking about is – but Dick obviously does, because his shouting turns angry; he hurls insults at the men, somewhat illogically mixed with pleas to spare Jason.

"Oh, someone, shut him up," someone drawls tiredly over Dick's yelling. "The little one's going to be screeching loudly enough soon."

"Nah, makes for better drama this way," another man answers. "It's all getting too repetitive. This is so touching, I could cry."

"Well, just for now, then. You can have your drama once they start."

Dick's shouting cuts out, tapering off into muffled sounds.

"All set?"

A murmur of agreement.

"Great, you can let them in now. Action."

This is it. This is it, and Jason loses the fight to remain composed completely. He wails behind the gag, tears soaking the blindfold and escaping from under it. Dick's muffled shouting intensifies and then cuts off, and Jason thinks he hears a strangled sob.

He can sense people entering the room; the sound of heavy footsteps tells him there are several men. He can swear he can feel the room getting warmer.

"Welcome, gentlemen," a deep, resonant voice announces solemnly, as if this is some sort of ceremony. "You are all our special guests tonight, and in this place, you can let go of any restraints and..."

Jason squeezes his eyes shut tightly under the blindfold, trying to tune out what the man is promising his 'guests'. He used to do it with Bruce, sometimes, when the man was feeling merciful and disinclined to punish Jason for being unresponsive. When he succeeded, Jason could escape from his own body and just… float, as if it was all happening to someone else. It did not save him completely, but sometimes he did manage to make the pain less intense.

Jason has a feeling he is going to need that skill tonight. And badly.

But he does not succeed this time. Not fully, anyway. All he manages to do is miss the moment when the host stops speaking, and the first 'guest' reaches him.

Jason jerks and yelps as he feels something cold press against his face, then stills, recognizing the edge of a knife.

"That's right, kid," someone jeers, "stay still. Don't want to spoil your pretty face just yet."

The knife cuts the fabric and the straps; the blindfold falls away, and Jason pushes the gag out, groaning when he tries to close his mouth. His eyes take a moment to adjust to the light, and when they do, he sees four dark figures, all wearing black. Their faces are covered with masks.

"Don't get used to that, kid," one of them laughs, "come on, now, open your pretty mouth…"

Jason thrashes, clenching his jaw and trying to turn his head away – because what the man is holding is a spider gag, and it looks absolutely huge. And even if Jason's jaw was not already aching like crazy, he just cannot handle it, because he knows what this thing is meant to do.

"Now, now. No need to hurry," a very, very familiar deep voice counters, sounding amused, and Jason inhales sharply, whipping his head around to stare at its owner. The tall, broad man moving closer almost lazily. No, no, it cannot be…

"Don't you know how good the thrill of the chase feels?" Bruce drawls, stopping right in front of Jason and raising a knife, too – because it is Bruce, Jason is sure of it. The mask is not enough to deceive him, not when the features it conceals are so familiar, and that voice – Jason would recognize it in a crowd. Not to mention the body that Jason knows far too intimately.

And it – it is just like all of Jason's memories. Just like his nightmares. And it is a nightmare come true. Bruce, this other Bruce, who is supposed to be good, who told Jason he would never hurt him – sounding darkly amused and cruel and about to…

Something inside of him breaks, and Jason shuts his eyes, unable to help the sob that escapes him. Almost immediately, though, his eyes fly open again in surprise, because his arms are cut free, and he stumbles, off-balance. Righting himself, Jason backs away, wide eyes fixed on the men in front of him, and slinks around the pole on shaking legs to put at least some barrier between himself and his would-be rapists.

To them, it is a game. They give him a couple of seconds of a head start; he darts to the side, and, laughing, they give chase, clearly toying with him. Someone reaches out a hand to grab him, and Jason twists away. But then someone trips him up from behind, and he goes down, hard, before he can catch himself. This is it, Jason thinks over the sound of laughter and jeering; sobbing, he waits to be grabbed again, but miraculously, nobody touches him, and he manages to jump to his feet, whirling around.

"Oh, sorry," Bruce is saying with a self-deprecating laugh, righting the man closest to Jason. "I can be such a total clutz."

"Fuck off," the man snarls, shoving him away. "Should've waited for your turn!"

Bruce makes a show of surrender, raising his hands. Jason, meanwhile, tries to back away from them, but, focused on the two men, he misses another one attacking from the side. The man snags him by the T-shirt and drags him closer. Planting his feet, Jason manages to throw himself in the other direction, and the shirt rips – but mercifully, he is free. The momentum, however, carries him back to the other group, and someone catches him. A strong arm presses him into a man's side, while the other runs down from his chest to his pants and starts pulling at them.

Jason tries desperately to free himself, kicking wildly and trying to elbow the man, but his efforts only earn him more jeering. Jason's knees begin to buckle when, suddenly, the man grunts and releases him. Stumbling forward, Jason can still feel the man's motion as he goes down; given the angle, Jason guesses someone slammed into him from the side.

Whirling around, he sees the man is lying on the floor, groaning, and Jason does not really understand what is happening as everyone seems to be shouting at once, angrily – and seemingly at Bruce. A tiny corner of Jason's mind that is not occupied with panic wonders what the hell is happening. Bruce is obviously on board with all of this, because why else would he be here? But he seems intent on not letting the others touch Jason… too much – but if he wants Jason for

himself, if he is that possessive, then why did he never try anything back at the Manor? Something does not fit, Jason is obviously missing something, but-

Before Jason can figure anything out, there are sounds of gunshots and more shouting – this time, from outside the room. Jason freezes momentarily, turning in the direction of the sounds – and pays for it immediately when he is grabbed from behind and lifted bodily into the air. He screams and thrashes in the man's hold, but the arms are holding him too tightly, pressing both his arms to his sides.

"Jay, shh, it's me, it's Bruce, you're safe, son, you're safe," Bruce mutters urgently into his ear, dragging him away. Jason cannot see where 'away' is, exactly, because his back is pressed to Bruce's chest, and Bruce himself is moving backwards. And Jason is still not sure what is happening, still not sure he can trust Bruce's reassurances, but the arms, constricting as they are, somehow do not feel threatening, and they do not move to hurt him.

Meanwhile, the room is plunged into chaos. Nobody is trying to tear him out of Bruce's grip or attack Bruce himself. The door has been kicked down, and the floor lamps lighting the room have been either crushed or overturned, which makes the space look weird and even more ominous than before. Jason can hear more gunshots and shouting, the sounds of fighting.

Bruce backs them into a corner where a wide, heavy-looking wooden table is standing and sets Jason down. Toys crash to the floor as Bruce grabs the table and flips it over to set it on the long edge and then pushes Jason behind it, crouching down next to him.

"Jay, stay here," Bruce orders in a tense voice, fingers digging into Jason's shoulder, "crouch low behind this table and stay here. You hear me?"

"Wait!" Jason cries, reaching out a hand to grab Bruce's sleeve. He can figure out why Bruce was here later; right now, it looks like the miraculous rescue Jason has been praying for, and that is what he is going to focus on. "Dick! I need to help Dick!"

"Stay here," Bruce repeats with more force. "I'll untie him and bring him here, too. Don't. Leave. This. Spot. And stay hidden. I mean it, Jason."

He is still, waiting for Jason's acknowledgement, and, after a moment, Jason nods reluctantly, sniffling, and releases Bruce. Immediately, Bruce ducks out from behind the table, and Jason is sorely tempted to break his promise and peer out, but eventually decides to follow the order and crouches low, biting his nails from worry. His patience is rewarded in just a few short minutes, when his brother is all but shoved behind the table as well. Bruce does not join them.

Dick is a mess. Babbling Jason's name between sobs, he throws himself at Jason, clutching him tight, and Jason responds in kind, crying and muttering apologies. Burying his face in his brother's shoulder, Jason simply cannot process that everything is okay. Well, it is not, not yet, but it definitely seems like they are getting rescued, and that is enough for him to unravel. Jason sags, almost dead weight against Dick.

Dick shuffles, rearranging Jason in such a way that Jason's ear is pressed against his chest. Dick's heartbeat is too fast for its sound to be truly comforting, but Jason does not mind; he is not alone, he is in his brother's arms, and that is all that matters.

Jason is not sure how much time passes, but suddenly, he becomes aware that the room is mostly silent. He raises his head just in time to see a dark masked figure crouch by the side of the table, right in front of them. Adrenaline spiking again, Jason flinches back with a cry.

"Shh, Jay, it's ok," Dick's arms tighten around him, though his voice sounds wobbly. "It's ok, it's Richard."

"Sorry, kiddo," the figure says, sounding contrite, and Jason breathes a sigh of relief, recognizing that it is, in fact, Richard – in what must be his vigilante getup. "Yes, it's me. Are you two alright?"

"Yes," Dick mutters, and Jason nods, still pressing close to his brother.

Richard beckons to them, rising slowly out of his crouch.

"Come on, now, we need to get you back home," he says, and Jason almost starts crying again, because he did not think he would ever get to hear these words – or go home.

Richard steps back, letting them come out from behind the table. But before either of them can start looking around, he tugs them forward and then breaks up their embrace, instead standing in the middle and putting his arms around both of them so that his hands are covering their eyes.

"Don't look," Richard mutters and starts shepherding them carefully towards the exit. "They're all gone, they can't hurt you. No need to look."

"Get them out to the car," Jason hears Bruce's quiet voice.

"What about you?" Richard asks just as quietly, halting for a moment.

"I'll stay behind to deal with the police… when they finally arrive," Bruce answers drily. "I got hold of Gordon. They're finally on the way."

Richard murmurs an acknowledgement, and then they are moving again. Richard's fingers slip for a moment, and Jason catches a glimpse of bodies before shutting his eyes. He does not want to see.

Richard leads them slowly, but steadily along the corridors, and Jason can already feel the draft of fresh air from the outside, when Dickie stops in his tracks, causing the other two to stumble slightly.

"Dickie?" Richard says worriedly, finally lowering his hands – but Dick is already talking.

"Tim!" He exclaims, twisting out of Richard's hold and turning back, and Jason gasps.

"He's here, too? How?"

"It's fine, stop, stop," Richard soothes, and Dick stills, panic slowly sliding off his face. "Hood's already got him out, he's safe. Come."

No longer covering their faces now that they are outside, Richard begins to steer them away. It is definitely not the way Jason was brought here; instead of a garage, they find themselves in an alleyway so narrow it cannot accommodate all three of them. Richard releases them from the half- hug, taking Jason's hand instead and stepping forward to lead the way. Jason's other arm is wrapped tightly around Dick's waist, and Dick puts an arm across Jason's shoulders.

It only takes a minute for them to reach the end of the alley, which opens into a wider street. Richard shifts so that he is no longer obstructing Jason's view, and that is when Jason gets what he hopes is his final unpleasant surprise for today. Because there, thrown into stark relief against the light grey walls of the buildings by the early morning light, is the Batmobile. Jason stumbles and almost falls, causing Richard to drop his hand and catch him instead.

"Jay!" Dick is there too, in an instant, frantic. "What's wrong? Are you hurt?"

Jason shakes his head mutely, unable to tear his eyes away from the car. With everything else that has happened over the past twenty-four hours, it is hard to push away the memories of his first capture, and he is finding it impossible to put one foot in front of the other. Despite knowing that this is a different car, a different world, despite the warm arms around him, Jason is unable to shake the feeling that everything is going to repeat itself. That Batman is going to appear out of the lingering shadows, throw him onto that hood, and…

Dick and Richard are both fussing over him, trying to get him to react, to move, but before Jason can say anything, the back door of the car opens, and a huge figure emerges from it. Jason flinches, but it is not Batman. Of course it is not, he tells himself sternly, Batman is Bruce, and Bruce is back at the crime scene. And even if he was not, he would not do that…

The figure straightens and rushes towards them – a big man dressed in dark body armor with the Bat symbol on the chest and a brown leather jacket. His face is hidden by a domino mask, but before Jason can get scared, the man speaks.

"Jay!" He cries, and Jason sags, recognizing his alternate's voice. "Dick! Thank fuck you're safe!"

Swooping down on them, he wraps them both in a crushing hug, but Jason does not mind the pressure. He clutches as his alternate's sleeve, closing his eyes in abject relief – so strong it even makes him forget about the car.

"I'm going back to B to wait for the police," Richard's voice announces, and Jason opens his eyes to see Dick clutching at Richard and begging him not to leave.

"I have to, kiddo," Richard explains in a gentle tone with a touch of regret, raising one hand to card through his alternate's hair and the other to squeeze his shoulder. "They were supposed to arrive earlier, but there was – a situation. We'll explain later. Point is, they're late, and I need to stay behind with Bruce to explain everything and make sure they get all the evidence. It's ok," he cajoles, "I promise. We'll be home soon, too. It's all over now, there's no danger. Go on."

Dick nods dejectedly, closing his eyes, and releases Richard. Hugging both of them one last time, Richard grips his brother's arm, and they exchange a nod.

"Come on," Jason hears, and before he knows it, his alternate has nudged them closer to the back door of the car. Opening it and reaching inside, he grabs two thick blankets that he hands to Jason and Dick. Steeling himself, Jason tell himself firmly that he can handle just one more ride inside the hated car. After all, he argues with himself, it is just a car. And he did not even get to ride in it all that often, so – it is just a car.

Taking a deep breath, Jason burrows into his blanket and ducks inside after his brother.

"Oh thank God," he hears and raises his head to see Tim on the other end of the back seat. "Jay!" Bundled in his own blanket, Tim is practically crying in what looks like relief. "I'm so happy you're safe!"

Sagging against the seat, Jason finds none of the usual anger he feels towards Tim. He has no idea what the teenager was doing here, but from what he can gather, Tim and Dick both rushed to find him – and that is enough to wash away any lingering resentment.

"I'm happy you're safe, too," he mumbles, head already lolling against Dick's shoulder.

Distantly, Jason hears the driver's door slam shut, and the car starts moving.

Wrapped in the soft blanket and his brother's embrace, Jason falls asleep.

Chapter End Notes

Ok, that's the B-plot practically wrapped up! We'll get a debrief in the next chapter so we all know what the heck happened, but otherwise, that's done. Only the A-plot left, and, guess what? No more angst! We earned ourselves some fluffy comfort.

Chapter 33

Chapter Notes

Me: Ok, now we all deserve some fluffy comfort! Comment section: Yes! Lots and lots of fluffy comfort! Now! Me, panicking: Ohmygod, how do I write comfort???

Maybe I could interest you guys in some more delicious angst instead? No?.. Oh, dang it!..

Anyway. Here's the first bit of comfort. Conversations. Lots of conversations…

"So what happened?" Tim asks, just loudly enough to be heard, but not loudly enough to wake Jay, and Jason glances at the kids in the rearview mirror. The three of them are huddled together, wrapped in their blankets, and something twists painfully in Jason's chest at how young and vulnerable they all look. "Why did you go to the wrong place?"

"We didn't realize what was happening, at first," Jason says, sighing heavily. "We saw B arrive at the rendezvous point, right? He went inside, and N and I were monitoring the building. It took some time, and then… A whole bunch of people went out, all wrapped in these crazy capes, like, floor-length, and with hoods. I swear we thought we saw B with them, but I guess they tried to make those guys look like their clients, with the body types, and everything… So, anyway, they got into two cars and drove off, so we followed…"

"Hold on," Tim interrupts. "But the tracker? Didn't you see it?"

"No, that's the thing," Jason replies, frustrated. "I dunno what tech they have, B will have a look…"

"I want to see it, too," Tim cuts in again, and Jason huffs, a little irritated, because can the kid stop thinking about the job for five seconds?

"I don't doubt B will drag every piece of tech the police don't collect to the Cave, so you can knock yourself out then," he replies drily, trying to keep the annoyance out of his voice. "Anyway… I dunno how, but they've got real good tech, like…" It is a little humiliating to admit, but… "Better than ours," he says sourly. "It jammed our comms and the tracker signal, so we had to rely on our eyes. And, well, it didn't even seem all that suspicious, 'cause we were expecting something like that. I mean, we didn't even expect B to get to keep the tracker. And the jammer must've been portable, 'cause nothing worked during the entire time we followed them. Took ages, too," he adds. "We followed them to the south-east of the city – and there was an ambush. Guess it's not the first time someone tried to follow their clients, so they were prepared. Long story short, we dealt with them, but by then, you two must've left the Cave. Speaking of which," he glances at them again, "how did you know where to go?"

"Looks like they weren't as prepared as you think," Tim replies, while Dickie just listens. Jason cannot see very well in the dim light of the early morning, but the kid's face looks too grey and wan for his liking – hardly surprising, but no less worrying for it. Jason nudges the car to go faster. Tim continues. "They must've jammed your signals, but we got the signal from Bruce's tracker.

And yours, too. Like… I guess you couldn't receive any signals? But could still emit them? 'Cause we saw you all moving."

"And you saw us move in different directions," Jason concludes, nodding and then shaking his head ruefully. "I get it. Or – well, not totally. I dunno if their tech was meant to do that or I've praised them too early, and it was a glitch. The latter, I'll bet, it simply doesn't make sense otherwise. But, like – what were you trying to do?"

Listening to Tim explain their plan, Jason has to concede it was not a bad one, all things considered. If only the teenagers had stayed in the car instead of going in.

"We weren't sure if Bruce was there," Tim replies when Jason asks about that. "We didn't want to go inside, we just wanted to check… Dickie went to investigate and got jumped. I ran to help, and…" His voice trails off.

Jason exhales, nodding, and tries to control his nerves. The kids are safe, they are right here; nobody… well, they did hurt them. Jason's hands tighten on the wheel, and he swears he can almost feel his eyes burn with hate. That those fuckers are all dead now does not really give him the satisfaction he hoped it would when he fired those shots. But at least physically… the kids are fine. What this has done to them mentally is another story, and Jason is not ready to think about it right now.

"We did realize we were in the wrong place by the time we got your beacon's signal," he says instead. "And I, uh… I might've blown up one of those cars, and I guess the jammer was inside, so it worked."

"So it was all for nothing." Tim sounds utterly defeated. "If your tech was working again, then you must've gotten B's signal, too. I got us in trouble for nothing, again."

"You couldn't have known," Jason counters. "And I already told you, it wasn't a bad plan. It was a pretty solid plan that went wrong. Shit happens. And," he laughs bitterly, "your signal really made us get a move on. We practically flew there. Not that we would've dawdled otherwise, but… We got there only just in time. In fact, the only thing you could've done differently, having the info you did, was to come get us instead of driving to B. But then we would all have been late, and there's no knowing how things would've turned out."

Tim does not look at all reassured, and his face in the mirror is chalk-pale, white enough to be visible even in the dim light. Jason purses his lips, wondering what else to say to save the situation, but comes up blank. At that moment, Dickie leans closer to Tim and starts murmuring to him. From the front seat, Jason cannot hear what he is saying – but he is glad to see the kid moving and speaking instead of sitting there like a zombie. Whatever he is saying is working, too; Tim's face does not entirely lose its miserable expression, but at least the misery becomes less acute.

For a while, they drive in silence.

"What happened with the police, though?" Tim pipes up again just as they are nearing their destination. "I called Gordon to check if he had heard from you, but someone else picked up and said he was gone. And then turned off his phone."

"Yeah," Jason winces. "Just the perfect storm. He picked the wrong person for his team tonight. Got jumped, and it took some time for his people to find and free him. The upside is, he found the mole who had been feeding information to the traffickers. That is, there was more than one, and, through him, they got them all. The downside is, obviously, that he missed your call."

A glance in the mirror tells Jason Tim is ready to ask more questions, but at this moment, they emerge in the Cave. As soon as they stop, Jason unbuckles the seat belt and jumps out of the car, moving immediately to the door behind him. Jay is still fast asleep, and Jason slips his arms around his double's tiny body, bundling the blanket more snugly around the kid before lifting him out of the car as carefully as he can. Dickie moves immediately to get out, too, following them so closely he is in danger of bumping into them – but Jason does not blame him. It is easy to understand the kid's desire not to let his brother out of his sight even for a second. Turning to check if Tim has gotten out as well, Jason sees him approach, too, clutching both his blanket and the torn jeans that Jason knows are only being held up by a length of rope.

Looking down at his three charges, Jason experiences a brief moment of panic, not knowing what to do first. He has three traumatized kids on his hands – literally – with differing needs, and he does not really want to put Jay down, but he needs to ditch the armor and the mask and get some stuff from the medbay. And he needs to check the kids over, because at least one of them is definitely hurt, and he would rather do it down here – but he also wants to get out of the Cave as soon as possible, because he knows Dickie hates it, and he has been traumatized enough tonight.

Taking a deep breath, Jason wills himself to calm down. He is not some inexperienced newbie; he is used to dealing with high-pressure situations, and of course he can figure this one out.

"Ok," he says softly. "We're going upstairs in a moment, but I need to take off the armor, and get some bandages and stuff. Come here for a sec."

Tim and Dickie follow him to the medbay like ducklings, and Dickie moves to cradle Jay on one of the cots while Jason takes the armor off in record time. Next, he rummages through the cupboards for supplies, which he hands to Dickie before picking Jay up again and leading their little party upstairs. Jason chooses the sitting room with the biggest, softest L-shaped sofa and sets Jay down on one of its sides.

"Ok, now we need to get you checked over and changed," he says in an undertone. "Well, I'll let Jay sleep, he seems alright," 'physically', he does not add, "so we'll see to him tomorrow. You two, though…" He looks the two teenagers over with a critical eye. He already knows the extent of Tim's injuries, so he focuses on Dickie for now. The kid is sporting a bruise on his cheek and a shallow gash on his forehead, no longer bleeding, but the rest of him is hidden under the blanket.

"Dickie," he addresses the kid in a low voice, "can you tell me your injuries?"

The teenager looks up at him from where he is crouching next to his brother. His face is blank, but his hands are almost white where he is gripping fistfuls of Jay's blanket.

"I'm fine," he says evenly.

Jason works hard not to show any negative reaction to the clear untruth.

"You're not, kid," he replies carefully. "Your face. And I need to check for a concussion. And that's just what I can see. Anything else you're hiding under that blanket?"

A shudder rips through Dickie, and Jason curses his choice of words.

"I won't insist," he tells the kid gently. "And I won't force you. If you say you're fine, I'll let it go for now, just take care of your face, ok? But I need you to be honest, Dickie."

"No," the teenager mutters, and Jason prays it is the truth. "Just a few bruises, but nothing's broken. There's nothing else."

"Ok," Jason nods and lets it go, as promised. "Do you want to change? Or take a shower?"

Dickie shakes his head, an almost frantic look in his eyes, and Jason raises his hands in surrender.

"No," the kid says with a touch of panic. "No, I don't, I just want to stay here with Jay, please-"

"Ok, ok, kid," Jason cuts in. "You don't need to beg, you hear me?" Dickie relaxes minutely, but his eyes are still wide. "Then…" Jason looks round at Tim, who has perched tiredly on the edge of the sofa and is watching them, glassy-eyed. "Tim, can you hang on for a sec longer? I want to take care of Dickie real quick, and then we need to deal with your cuts, ok?"

Tim stares at him for a moment and then nods, so Jason takes a few minutes to deal with Dickie before declaring him concussion-free and letting the kid curl up next to his brother, arms wrapped tightly around him. Once he has Jay in his arms, all the tension seems to leave Dickie's body, and he is out within seconds. Jason looks down at them with a slight frown. He would have preferred to get them to bed, but he does not have the heart to wake them now. Pursing his lips, he decides that spending one night one the sofa is not going to hurt them and lets them be.

Next, he turns to Tim, who by now is looking barely awake, too. But those cuts definitely need to be treated; they have already been neglected long enough.

"Tim?" He calls, and has to repeat the kid's name twice more before Tim reacts.

"What?" He asks with a start, raising his eyes to Jason's.

"We need to treat those cuts," Jason tells him, and Tim suddenly looks a lot more awake. "And get you changed, your clothes are all torn and bloody."

Tim inhales shakily, holds the breath and then exhales, nodding.

"Come on," Jason beckons. "We should go to the bathroom for this." Tim nods again and rises, but after only a couple of steps, Jason has to catch him as he stumbles – hopefully, from the exhaustion and nothing else.

"Want me to carry you?" He asks, but Tim shakes his head with a determined look on his face, and hiding a sigh at the kid's stubbornness, Jason supports him all the way to the bathroom that is, mercifully, just down the hall.

"Right," he mutters, settling Tim on the closed toilet seat, and crouches in front of the kid. Tim's eyes are alert and wary now, and he seems no more willing to give up the blanket than Dickie. In this case, however, it will have to go.

"Tim," Jason says in a low voice, "we need to clean those cuts."

He sees Tim swallow.

"They aren't bleeding anymore," the kid mutters. "He didn't cut deep."

"I know, and that's the only reason I didn't insist on checking you over earlier," Jason replies, low and even. Checking whether the kid needed any immediate medical attention was the first thing he did back at the scene, once Tim had released him. "They still need to be cleaned, though. And bandaged. Otherwise they'll get infected. You know that, kid."

Tim's hands convulse.

"I'll do it myself," he says. "I can reach everything. Just… give me the supplies, I'll do it."

Jason looks him over dubiously. He does not doubt Tim knows how – they all do – but he looked asleep on his feet not five minutes ago. The last thing they need is for him to bang his head on the wall and pass out. Not to mention that arm – which needs an X-ray, really, he thinks with a frown, to check for any new breaks or fractures. Jason still cannot believe Tim took the cast off himself - though, honestly, he is not sure why he is still surprised, at this point. Anyway, checking Tim's arm will have to wait until tomorrow – or, technically, later today.

Still… Jason understands perfectly well why Tim is uncomfortable.

"Well, ok, then," he says slowly. "Taken any hits to the head? Should I check you for a concussion, too?"

Tim shakes his head.

"I'm fine," he insists. "Can you just… could you please get me some clothes? From my room? Just, like, sweats or something?"

Giving Tim one last long, evaluating look, Jason nods and turns to go. He does not like leaving the kid alone for long, though, just in case, so it is only a few short minutes later that he raps his knuckles on the door frame.

"Tim? You good in there?"

"Yeah," Tim's quiet voice comes immediately, and Jason breathes a sigh of relief. "I'm almost done. Can you give me the clothes? Just… don't come in yet."

Jason leans around the door frame and tosses the clothes in Tim's direction, keeping his eyes on the floor. He hears a muttered 'thanks', then the rustling of the clothes, and eventually Tim appears on the threshold, pale and wan.

"I made a bit of a mess there," he mutters, sounding guilty. "Just… leave it, I'll clean it up tomorrow, I… I'm just too…"

"Don't be stupid," Jason interrupts. "Come on, let's get you to bed, then I'll clean it up. I still need to check on Alfie."

Tim must be completely exhausted, because he does not even try to argue, this time. Except when Jason tries to steer him in the direction of his bedroom, Tim stops, and his grip on Jason's arm tightens.

"No, I… I don't want to sleep there tonight," he admits, and Jason curses himself for not thinking about this; of course Tim would not want to be alone. "Just… can I stay with the others?"

"Sure thing," Jason replies and leads him back to the sitting room, settling Tim on the other side of the L shape and making sure he is wrapped up snugly in his blanket. He leaves a floor lamp in the corner on; it is an adjustable one, and he puts it on the lowest setting. It is no longer night, so it is not like the room is really dark anymore, but he figures a nightlight of sorts will feel more comforting to the kids, should any of them wake up.

The kids dealt with, Jason turns to other tasks. He collects and throws out the trash, mops up the spilt water and wipes down the surfaces in the bathroom. Then he hurries to Alfred's room, relieved to see the butler sound asleep. Alfred's forehead feels just the tiniest bit too warm when Jason checks it, and the plate and cups on the bedside table are empty. Seeing as he is not awake,

worried out of his mind, Jason figures he must have slept through the whole thing – a blessing, really. This means there is no actual need to wake him, so Jason picks up the tray as carefully as he can and tiptoes out of the room. He leaves the tray in the kitchen before going to his own bedroom for a very quick shower and change of clothes. All done, he decides to check on the kids just one last time, intending to go down to the Cave to wait for Dick and Bruce afterwards.

When he peers into the sitting room, though, he sees that Tim is still awake. The kid's face looks downright miserable again as he stares straight ahead, head slightly lowered.

Jason frowns, mildly alarmed. Has he missed some other injury? Or… Jason knows Tim is strong, but he is still only a kid, and for all the stuff that he has experienced as Robin, what went down tonight may well feel worse than what Tim usually has to deal with.

"Tim?" Jason calls softly, stepping into the room.

Hearing his name, Tim darts a glance at Jason before quickly looking away again.

"Tim?" Jason repeats, frowning harder and moving closer to crouch in front of the sofa. "What's wrong?"

The kid still does not respond; instead, he darts another, wary look in Jason's direction, and hunches over slightly.

The feeling of alarm grows, and Jason shifts uncertainly, unsure what to do. Delayed trauma response is sometimes even worse, and yes, Jason knows how to deal with victims, but this… this is different. Tim is not some random civilian in the street, and Jason cannot forget about the fact that they have… history. To put it mildly. Cursing inwardly, Jason wonders with a touch of panic where the hell Dick is; his older brother is so much better at this, not to mention that Tim would definitely prefer to be comforted by someone who has not tried to kill him before… and very nearly succeeded.

Jason swallows painfully. Right now, there is nothing he wants more than to undo the past, just so that the teenager in front of him – so delicate that Dick's nickname, 'baby bird', seems like the perfect description for him – would stop shooting him wary glances and just feel safe enough to tell him what is wrong. But time travel is the one crazy thing they have not experienced… yet. And Dick is not here. Nobody else is, and it is Jason's duty to take care of the kids. Even if he feels utterly unequipped for this – he has to make sure Tim is okay.

"Baby bird," Jason says softly, keeping still so as not to scare Tim with any sudden movements. "What's the matter?"

Tim bites his lip, still looking away, and shakes his head minutely.

"Hey," Jason pitches his voice even lower. "Please tell me. What's bothering you?"

After a long pause, Tim shrugs with one shoulder.

"Nothing, I…" He sighs. "I just don't want to be alone right now."

Jason frowns, puzzled. "You're not," he points out, glancing around the room before focusing back on Tim.

"Are you going to leave?" Tim asks in a small voice after another pause, raising his eyes, and Jason breathes a tiny sigh of relief, thinking that he finally understands the issue. In Tim's shoes, he would be feeling vulnerable and jumpy, too. He adjusts his plans on the fly. Bruce and Dick do

not really need him, except for a debrief, so Jason can stay here. In fact, he would prefer it, even, still jittery after nearly losing all three kids.

"No," he replies quietly, but firmly. "No way. I'm staying right here with all of you, and I'm not letting you out of my sight again. And no-one's going to get past me to hurt you, either," he adds, seeing that Tim looks only marginally reassured.

Tim nods, looking down, and Jason's eyebrows draw together again. Was that the wrong answer, he wonders? Has he misread the situation?

"I mean," he says slowly, "I will leave if you want me to?.."

Tim shakes his head rather vigorously, though, and Jason nods. "Ok, I won't," he assures the kid, still puzzled. He can tell that Tim wants something, but he has no idea what it could be. And while he does understand that a few calming words and a blanket are not enough to overwrite tonight's horrible experience, he simply does not know what else to do to make Tim feel better.

And it is not a given that Tim himself does, but it will not hurt to ask.

"Kid," Jason tries to keep his tone even and neutral. "Is there…" No, abort. Knowing the kid, a yes-or-no question will almost definitely earn him a negative response. Open-ended, then. "What can I do to make you feel safer?"

It works, thankfully, though Tim looks almost painfully tense when he finally makes the request.

"Can I…" He pauses to swallow nervously. The rest is said in a near-whisper. "Can I get a hug?"

Taken aback, because this is the last thing he expected, Jason just stares blankly at the kid for a few seconds. At his silence, Tim flushes and drops his eyes again, curling in on himself.

"Never mind," he mutters. His ears are glowing bright red, visible even in the semi-darkness. "I don't – I just-"

"Is that what this is about?" Jason interrupts with a soft, incredulous laugh. Tim hunches his shoulders even further, pursing his lips.

"I'm sor-"

"Yes," Jason interrupts again, getting up and then planting himself resolutely between Tim and the armrest of the sofa. "Yes, you can. Of course you can," he finishes more softly, wrapping his arms around the kid and tucking him in close. Jason sighs, his breath rustling the hair on the top of Tim's head.

Despite being the one to make the request, though, the kid is still so tense in Jason's arms that he cannot possibly be comfortable. Jason's heart sinks. He curses himself, knowing he should not have agreed. Because okay, Tim wants some physical comfort; he is probably used to getting it from Dick after a bad experience. Or maybe not just after a bad experience; Dick will cuddle any family member who stays still long enough. But Jason is not Dick, and he is likely the last person Tim actually wants to hold him – it is just that nobody else is available.

He should disengage from the hug, Jason tells himself. Scaring Tim is the last thing he wants to do – and his touch is definitely frightening the kid, even if he did ask for it himself. Sighing a little, because it actually feels like a small miracle to be allowed to hold Tim after all that he has done to the kid, Jason relaxes his grip and begins to withdraw.

"No!" A panicked yelp halts his movements, and Tim's hand shoots out to grab at the fabric of his shirt. Jason stills, and a second later, Tim releases him, muttering a barely audible apology. Leaning back enough to see the kid's face, Jason frowns at his dejected look.

"Tim," he mutters, thinking that he has probably used the kid's name more times in this one night than in all the time they have known each other. "I'm sorry. Just – you're clearly uncomfortable, so… So how about you just – sit with your blanket for now? I'm sure Dick will be home soon, and you can cuddle with him. Ok?" Tim's expression does not change, but he nods minutely. Jason sighs. "Kid, I just want you to feel safe, is all."

Tim's face crumples, and Jason feels a stab of panic; fuck, how can he be so bad at this that even when he tries to be comforting, all he ends up doing is making the kid cry?

"But I do!" Tim practically wails, and Jason shushes him, darting a glance at the other boys. Mercifully, they are so exhausted neither even twitches. "Please," Tim begs in a softer voice. "I'm ok, I'm not… I just…" Huffing in frustration, Tim breaks off and closes his eyes. "Please, just hold me," he finishes miserably.

"Ok, baby bird, ok," Jason hastens to reassure him, still bewildered but not about to cause another meltdown. A glance at his watch tells him that Tim should really follow the others' example and try to get some sleep.

Jason shifts to lean back against the wide armrest of the sofa and stretches to grab another blanket from the basket next to it, bunching it up into a makeshift, malleable pillow. Adjusting his hold, he shifts Tim's light body so that the kid is resting against his chest. Then he nudges Tim to lift his feet onto the sofa, stretching out, and sink a little lower to end up in Jason's lap. His head is pillowed on Jason's blanket-covered arm. Exhaling, Jason wraps his arms securely around Tim.

"You should sleep," he mutters, trying to ignore how stiffly Tim is still holding himself. "I'll be right here, and you should rest. Ok?"

A shaky sigh and a nod are all the answer he gets, and gradually, Tim's body relaxes as he falls asleep.

Jason wakes when he hears someone shuffling and talking in low voices nearby. Undisturbed, he would have preferred to sleep longer, but he feels rested enough, and alertness returns immediately when he opens his eyes. The events of the previous day are the first thing he thinks about, and it is only the sight of his older brother murmuring quietly to Dickie and Jay that keeps Jason from springing up, ready for action.

Dick turns, hearing him move. He looks completely exhausted.

"Morning, Little Wing," he greets. "You ok?"

"Fine," Jason replies shortly, levering himself up and rubbing a stiff muscle in his shoulder. He wants to ask how the rest of the mission went, but that is not a priority right now. He glances around and feels a stab of panic, even though he knows it is stupid, because everything is over. "Where's Tim?"

"He woke when I came in and went to get some food," Dick answers with a tiny knowing smile that Jason absolutely hates. "He was very careful, wanted to let you sleep."

Jason nods slowly, moving his gaze to the two kids huddled behind Dick – and worry immediately flares up when he sees their faces. He has crossed to the other side of the sofa and crouched down next to Dick before he knows it.

"Jason," Dick hisses, and Jason starts, realizing his abrupt movement has scared the kids – mostly Dickie, who has jerked backwards, clutching his brother. Jay's face is turned up to Dickie, and he is murmuring his brother's name and reassurances in an imploring tone and clutching Dickie's hands even as he is darting panicked glances at Jason.

"Shit, I'm so, so sorry," Jason curses, hunching his shoulders and shifting back and away from Dick slightly so that he is still in front of the kids but not creating a solid barrier together with his brother. "I'm sorry," he repeats guiltily, watching Dickie shudder and squeeze his eyes shut. Way to go, he thinks, doing all he can to keep himself from thinking about the people – the monsters – who have caused this, because he knows he will not be able not to get angry. And his glowing eyes are the last thing these kids need, especially on top of his careless behavior.

"It's ok," Jason murmurs, feeling his heart break; neither kid was like this when he met them – although, he supposes, there is no knowing how bad things were when Bruce first brought them to the Manor. "It's ok… You're both safe. It was dumb, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to scare you."

At the very least, he manages to reassure Jay, he thinks. The younger kid relaxes minutely and even gives Jason a watery smile that Jason finds himself returning, though his own is rather pained. Shifting his gaze to Dickie, he is glad to see that the teenager has at least opened his eyes and is no longer looking as if facing a firing squad. Returning Jason's look, he inhales shakily and winces.

"I'm ok," he mutters, though his tone makes it very clear that he is not. "You just… startled me."

"I'll try not to, again, ok?" Jason keeps his voice low and gentle. "I got worried when I saw you two looking upset, and I wanted to help. I didn't think."

Dickie nods, looking calmer, but at Jason's words, Jay's face crumples.

"Jay," Dick says, dismayed, and it is immediately clear that he is picking up where they left off before Jason butted in.

"What?" Jason demands, looking between them and barely able to keep his voice from rising. "What's wrong? Are you hurt? Did they – did something-"

"Little Wing, stop," his brother orders, and Jason whips his head around, trying to balance relaxed body language with a glare. "Jay's not… harmed," Dick continues, and Jason's face spasms at the choice of words, even though he knows perfectly well the ordeal could not have gone without consequences. Dick would not lie to him, though, not about this, and Jason tries to calm down, figuring that Jay's state is a general reaction to everything that has happened. However, what Dick says next shows that there is a more specific reason.

"Jay's upset, because he lost his things," Dick explains. "He took some stuff with him when he left, and the bag was lost when he was kidnapped. Most of it was nothing, just clothes and food, but… Jay also had his toy and his mom's photo."

Jason's breath hitches. He does not have many reminders of his life before Bruce – and he does not particularly want them. Except those two, both of them of his… of Catherine. No, Jason thinks

with a surge of emotion, of his mom. Because she was; and, really, over the past months, he has genuinely come to feel that she truly was. It is not like he has forgotten about Sheila, of course; amnesia is the one thing he does not seem to be suffering from. But the memory of her has acquired almost a dream-like quality.

Looking at Jay's tears, Jason feels incredibly relieved that when he planned his own escape, at least he did not take his things with him. He has not looked much at them since returning, to be honest. It is simply too painful now, a reminder not just of his old life before Bruce, but also of his old life with Bruce, a life that no longer belongs to him – which is why they are here, at the Manor, and not in any of his safehouses. But he does not deny that they matter to him. A lot.

Well. Now that Jason thinks about it, he is quite happy to share.

"We can fix that," he announces, pursing his lips to hide his smile; he wants this to be a surprise.

Jay pauses his crying, hopeful.

"What do you – did you find it?" He exclaims, shifting away from Dickie and towards Jason in his excitement. "My bag?"

"No," Jason replies, feeling a pang when Jay's face falls but unwilling to give away the surprise. "But I think you'll like what I have for you."

Jay looks doubtful, but Jason does not explain more, instead shifting back carefully and slowly standing, mindful not to repeat his earlier mistake. Three pairs of eyes follow him out of the room, two curious and one infuriatingly understanding and pleased.

Once he is out of room, Jason speeds up. He does not quite remember the last time he felt such clean, pleasant anticipation – almost childlike. Very possibly not since before his death, he muses, pushing open the door to his room – when he was picking a present for Alfred's birthday…

Just as he is about to re-enter the sitting room, Jason hides the toy and the picture behind his back and smooths out his expression. Crossing to the sofa in front of which Dick is now sitting cross- legged, he crouches down and, after a theatrical pause, draws the two items from behind his back.

"It's – how?" His alternate exclaims, wide-eyed, jerking forward and stretching a hand to clutch at the toy without taking it from Jason. "You said you didn't find it!"

"We didn't," Jason confirms. "They're mine. Remember? We have the same family."

Jay's first reaction is exactly what Jason hoped for; the kid hugs Todd to his chest with one hand, reaching out to grab the frame of Catherine's picture with the other. He looks absolutely elated as he drops the frame onto his lap and strokes the image with shaking fingers. After a few moments, though, his lips start trembling, and, with a start, Jason realizes that the tears gathering in his double's eyes are not ones of joy.

"Jay?" He leans forward, alarmed. "What's wrong?"

Jay raises his eyes, tears spilling over.

"I'm sorry," he chokes out. "I…" He shoves the toy and the picture back at Jason, and Jason nearly drops them, unprepared and bewildered. "I can't take them," Jay declares, raising his wobbling chin. "It's my own fault I lost mine, and…" He swallows and sniffles. "I'm sorry I ran away. I was so stupid, I thought nobody would notice, and I didn't even… didn't even think where I'd go, and…"

Dickie tugs him closer, rocking him slightly.

"I'm the one that's sorry," he mutters. "I totally neglected you, and that was horrible of me."

"Neither of you should be sorry," Dick breaks in. "We're the adults here, and it was on us to notice. We're sorry," he adds firmly. "We got wrapped up in the job and totally dropped the ball."

"You were saving people, though," Dickie says quietly. "Kids."

"You're kids, too," Dick replies regretfully. "And we nearly lost you."

The words send a bolt of irrational fear through Jason, even though everyone is safe and sound now.

"And it won't happen again," he says forcefully, more to himself than the others. He takes a deep breath to calm himself and then looks at Jay, learning forward and putting the picture and the toy back in his double's lap. "And you absolutely can take this stuff," he promises. "Like I said, it's mine, and I want to share it with you. Ok?"

This time, a tentative, but joyful smile appears on Jay's face as he traces Catherine's face with his finger.

Dick glances sadly at his own alternate, who is watching Jay with tears in his eyes.

"Wish I could do something like that for you, kiddo," he says regretfully. "But I don't really have any particularly special mementos from the circus. I do have some pictures and posters, though. I'll show you later."

Dickie gives him a tiny, watery smile.

"It's ok," he says. "I'm fine, really. This, I…" He swipes a hand at his eyes. "Honestly, I'm just happy for Jay. Plus, I still have that elephant that Tim said was yours."

"Right," Dick gives a little laugh. "Zitka. Our resident plushie therapist. You can keep her for as long as you need."

"And you sing to me," Dickie adds wistfully, and Dick smiles affectionately, reaching up and forward slowly to rub a hand up and down his alternate's arm – all he can reach from the floor.

"Right," he says after a moment, dropping his arm and suppressing a yawn. "Much as I love sitting here with you guys, I need to go."

"Why, what's the rush?" Jason narrows his eyes. "You need a hand with something for the case? Speaking of which, you and B still need to tell me about last night, how it all went after we left."

"I will," Dick promises. "But a bit later, ok? There's some other stuff to do. I should take Tim to Leslie, see if his arm's ok. And also tell her Jay's ok, she's definitely worried, too. And another thing…" He raises his head to look at the kids. "I think it'd be a good idea for you to talk to your therapist, if you two are up to it. Maybe see if we should move your appointment up a bit. What do you think?"

Dickie and Jay glance at each other, both looking uncertain. The silence is broken, somewhat predictably, by the loud growling of Jay's stomach.

"I think you two can decide all the important stuff after breakfast," Jason says, stifling a laugh.

"Come on, kids, I make the best waffles."

Jason does not see Tim again until late afternoon the next day.

At first, it does not seem weird. Given the Manor's size, it is entirely plausible that they simply do not bump into each other. Besides, the past weeks have been so terrible that their routine – jumbled as it already is – has not been restored yet, so everyone is sleeping, eating and working at even stranger hours than usual.

But the whole day after the rescue passes without Jason catching even a glimpse of the teenager, and by the next morning, he is starting to get suspicious.

The suspicions are confirmed a few hours later, when Jason walks outside to sit in the garden with a mug of tea for a bit and finds Tim already there, sitting on the grass with one knee raised and his good arm braced on it, staring rather morosely into the distance. Not wanting to startle him, Jason intentionally shuffles his feet a little to make some noise. Tim still flinches minutely and turns his head.

"Hey, Tim," Jason says casually, as Tim climbs hurriedly and rather clumsily to his feet.

"Uh, yeah, hi," the kid stutters, looking anywhere except Jason. "Nice day! Bit chilly for summer, right? I was just going inside…"

Frowning, Jason takes a step to block his path, and Tim stills. So does Jason, not liking the tense way the kid is holding himself. Surely he does not still think Jason is going to hurt him? Not after everything that has happened. Not after asking for a hug and falling asleep right next to him.

Then again…

Trauma can make people behave in strange ways, Jason supposes, and Tim's experience has certainly been traumatic. Really, it was Tim's behavior yesterday that was out of character; now, feeling calmer and having his father and brother available again, he must be ready to revert to avoiding Jason.

The realization hurts more than Jason would like to admit. He even feels a bit used; so it was alright for Tim to cling to him like a monkey when he needed the comfort, but now he wants to continue virtually ignoring Jason without even a thank-you or an explanation?

Jason does realize he does not really have the right to feel angry. Tim was traumatized, and it was Jason's duty to help – and he was honestly happy to, no strings attached. He does not intend to lash out or demand excuses; in fact, he does not even want the kid to know. An unfortunate side effect of the Pit, however, is that he does not really have control over whether he wants to display his anger or not. He notices Tim's breath hitch, and the kid inches back; so his eyes must be glowing. Slowly, Jason raises his hands; he is still holding the mug, so he can only keep one of them open. He hopes Tim will not view the mug as a weapon – which, well… anything can be, if used creatively, and there is still steam rising from the hot tea inside.

"I'm not gonna hurt you," Jason says in a level tone, pushing the anger down until he cannot feel it anymore. "I just wanted to talk."

"About?" Tim asks warily.

"You've been avoiding me since yesterday," Jason says pointedly, trying and failing not to sound accusing. "I was wondering why."

"I haven't," the kid replies defensively, but his eyes are a bit too wide and his voice a bit too high. "Why would I avoid you? And we're living in the same house, kinda, so it's not like I could, right? And it's totally statistically possible to just not run into each other in a house that big, so-"

"Tim," Jason interrupts the too-fast speech, feeling a headache gathering behind his eyes. "I may not be the World's Greatest Detective, or whatever, but I like to think I'm not too fucking clueless, either. So can we skip the bullshit and get to the point?" Tim is looking as if he would rather be anywhere else but here and stays silent, still looking at Jason with those too-wide eyes. Jason narrows his own, crossing his arms as much as he can with one hand still occupied.

Tim breaks first.

"I thought that's what you'd want," he mumbles, and Jason blinks in surprise.

"What? Me?" He asks, uncrossing his arms to point at his own chest. "Why the hell would I want you to avoid me? After saving your ass! After cuddling you! Where's the fucking logic?"

The only thing worse than Tim's reply is the kid's bland and casual tone as he gives it.

"'Cause you hate me," he says, shrugging a little. "I get you had to save me, I mean, I wondered, back there, if… if you would, but you probably didn't want to break the truce with Batman, so… And then, when we got back, I – look, I'm really sorry I was so pathetic, and I practically made you hug me, I know I should've handled it better, and-"

Jason finds he cannot take it anymore.

"Fuck, Tim, stop, just – just fucking stop already," he all but growls, and Tim falls silent, tensing even further. Jason runs a hand through his hair, wondering where the fuck to start with all the crazy shit that Tim has just heaped on him. Taking a deep breath, he decides to just go in the same order.

"First of all, I don't hate you." The kid sucks in a sharp breath, but Jason does not stop. "I never did. I've already told you – about the Pit, and how I felt about Bruce, and my – my death, and Robin… I was angry, Tim," Jason's tone becomes almost pleading, because he really wants Tim to see the difference. "That's different! I'm not saying what I did was right. Fuck, it was so wrong that – that 'wrong' doesn't even cover it. But it doesn't mean… Fuck," he curses, running a hand through his hair again, "I'm not explaining it properly. Just… Look, 'hate' is permanent, ok? You didn't do anything to deserve that. I mean," he flails, realizing he is implying the whole thing was the kid's fault, after all, "I mean, you didn't deserve it at all. But… I was angry, and that's not permanent. I'm not angry with you now, ok?"

"You always act as if you are, though," Tim says quietly, and Jason frowns, combing through his memory to understand what he means.

"I – I'm just angry a lot of the time," he confesses, shaking his head. "Not with you, specifically, just – everything. It's been like that since… well, since the Pit. I dunno if it's ever going away completely. I… I hope so, 'cause it's definitely gotten better. When I first came out of it, it was…" Jason stops and sighs. "Everything was just green all the fucking time. And it was impossible to push it down. Then, gradually, it became less intense. I learned to control it, only… only it wasn't

always easy, or even possible, so I slipped at times… But I'm better at it now," he says, a bit more confidently. "I don't go crazy when it rises. But the thing is, it does still rise. And I get angry. And that's… that's what you see," he finishes quietly.

"But…" Tim begins and bites his lip. "You're saying you don't want me to avoid you, but – you're the one always avoiding me! You're curt, and you always seem intent on leaving as quickly as you can when I'm around…"

"Kid, I do it 'cause you always seem so scared," Jason's shoulders sag. "And… with good reason, ok, I know. I just… didn't want to force my company on you."

Tim stares at him with impossibly wide eyes, and Jason cannot take the silence, so he starts talking again, getting agitated as he speaks.

"And, fuck, of course I got you out of there! That was never even – of course I got you out! And it has nothing to do with Batman or any of that shit! I can't even… How the fuck did you even come up with this?"

There is another silence. Jason is focusing on his breathing, trying to even it out, and Tim is slowly relaxing.

"I do want your company," Tim says eventually, almost shyly, and Jason starts before raising a brow quizzically. "You're not forcing your company on me," the kid clarifies. "I… I've always wanted you to…" He stops, reddening. "I've always wanted to spend time with you. I've always wanted to be friends."

The simplicity and the innocence of the admission hurts, and Jason finds he does not really know what to do with it.

"Yeah, well," he says gruffly. "I guess that'll take time, with our history." Tim's face falls, and Jason could hit himself. "Hey, we'll get there," he hastens to say. "Why don't we start with being brothers?"

He is rewarded when Tim smiles, though his eyes are shining wetly.

"I'll take that," the kid says, and Jason breathes a sigh of relief. "But so, then," Tim continues, a little nervously, and Jason frowns again, slightly, "as your brother… Can I get another hug?"

Jason relaxes, laughing.

"Yeah, kid," he says, bending down to set his now lukewarm tea on the ground. "As many as you want."

Chapter 34

Chapter Notes

We're continuing with Important Conversations, and (spoiler) everything is fine, but – TW for some very briefly mentioned suicidal thoughts (in the past). A little less comfort (definitely less fluff) in this chapter, but I feel this is important stuff.

It is late evening by the time Dick comes to stand in front of the door of Richard's room. Jay is already asleep; like yesterday, he has turned in early – unsurprising, after the physically and mentally exhausting events of the last few days. Dick does not really want to leave his brother alone at night, given the boy's nightmares, but Jay usually gets a few hours of peaceful sleep before they begin, so Dick figures he has some time.

The thing is, he really wants to talk to his alternate, and Richard has been gone the entire day, so Dick did not get a chance to see him before now. The thought that has been plaguing him since last night is making him unhappy and anxious, because he sees no way of resolving the problem – and Dick is so, so tired of having to rely only on himself. This time, he wants to share – and trusts that Richard will care enough to help him find a solution.

Dick takes a deep breath and then raises his hand to knock. Waiting for the door to open, he remembers the events of the past two days, trying to assess his own emotions and check if the thing that he has come to ask for is what he really wants.

After Richard had gone to change for the drive to the clinic, Jason herded Dick and Jay to the kitchen and settled them at the table with hot tea while he busied himself with making the waffles.

They turned out to be as good as he had boasted, and, for a short while, Dick almost managed to forget everything that had happened, pleasantly distracted by the comforting smells and sounds of cooking, delicious tastes, and relaxed silence. After worrying so much about Jay, the boy's presence at his side was such a relief that Dick had fallen into a kind of stupor, all anxieties temporarily suspended. His head felt empty, as if stuffed with cotton wool, but it was not an unpleasant feeling; neither was the lightness in his body that almost made him feel as if he was floating.

Next to him, Jay seemed to be in a similar state, though less dazed; he kept shooting amazed and happy glances around the kitchen, as though seeing it for the first time.

Richard came in just as they were finishing their breakfast turned lunch.

"Any left for me?" He asked hopefully, making puppy eyes at Jason.

"You wish," Jason scoffed, making a show of snatching the plate on which the remaining waffles

were towering and keeping it out of Richard's reach.

"Oh, come on, Little Wing!" Richard whined. "I've only slept for, like, an hour, I need some fuel. Be nice!"

Relenting, Jason let Richard grab a small stack of waffles, eyeing him with surprise when Richard did not reach for a plate or sit down.

"Are you just gonna eat them like that?" He asked. "Standing up and without anything? Are you really that hungry?"

"I would sit with you, but I need to take Tim to Leslie and pick up some more medicine for Alfred," Richard replied with his mouth stuffed full of waffle. "On that note…" Richard swallowed and turned to Jay and Dick. "I know Jason's already asked you, but since I'm driving to the clinic anyway… You two sure you're ok? I thought it might be a good idea for Leslie to have a look at you anyway."

The suggestion could hardly be called threatening, but Dick's relaxed state instantly evaporated, as if it had never been there, and he suppressed a shudder. He knew he was safe; also, he had already met the doctor, and she did not make him particularly uncomfortable. But he was just feeling too raw after the events of the previous night.

Admittedly, nothing had really happened to him – getting hit a few times and tied up was nothing compared to what he had gone through with Bruce. And yet, the emotional upheaval due to nearly losing his brother was proving too much. It was amplifying all of his other reactions, and just the thought of being touched, looked over, assessed by anyone was making his skin crawl.

Jay was the only one whose touch Dick could tolerate at the moment – indeed, he welcomed it as tangible proof that his brother was alive and with him… if not exactly well. Even having Richard rub his arm earlier had felt unpleasant, despite Dick knowing for a fact that it was a friendly gesture meant to comfort, not intimidate. It was all very similar to how he had felt during the first weeks after his escape from Bruce – jumping at every invasion of his personal space, not so much because he felt threatened but because he needed to reclaim himself and reestablish his boundaries, prove to himself that they still existed.

"I'm fine," Dick said tensely, hoping Richard was not going to insist. After all, Jason had agreed to leave him be the night before… But then, Dick remembered with a sinking heart, Jason had said 'for now'. He swallowed nervously, noticing that they were both looking at him dubiously. "I really am. I took a few hits, but I know I just have bruises. And Jason has checked that I'm not concussed." Dick was definitely not telling them about the pain in his ribs; he had enough experience with beatings to tell he had no breaks or fractures, and he could not risk Richard and Jason getting suspicious and overprotective. His breath hitched. "Please, I really can't…" Dick broke off, shaking his head.

To his surprise, it was Jason who came to his aid.

"Lay off the kid, Dickhead," he said, shooting his brother an annoyed look. "He's old enough to decide for himself. If he says he's fine, then he's fine." Jason's look turned into a glare, made all the more menacing by the glowing of his eyes. But unlike before, Dick did not feel alarmed at the sight; in fact, it was comforting to know that Jason was willing to defend him even from Richard, despite their not entirely smooth history. "We're not going to force him."

Richard raised his hands, one still occupied by the remaining waffles.

"Of course not. I didn't mean it like that," he said in a conciliatory tone, and something loosened in Dick's chest. "Only a suggestion, in case you maybe didn't realize something was hurting last night." He waited for Dick's small nod before looking to Jay. "What about you, kiddo?.. Jay – Jay, what's wrong?"

Wrapped in his own panic, Dick had not realized Jay's contentment had also fled. But now, alarmed by Richard's tone, he whipped his head around to see Jay looking stark white and trembling.

"No," his brother muttered, curling in on himself, "no, I told you, I'm ok, please, no…"

Dick's alarm skyrocketed. He thought they had gotten Jay out before anything truly awful had happened – well, anything more awful than being kidnapped, tied up and then chased around by several grown men intending to rape him. But what if they had not?..

"Jay!" Dick stretched a hand to lay on Jay's shoulder, but paused, fearing it would not be welcome. Jay had seemed perfectly happy to be hugged, but what if he was simply taking it – the way he had been trained by Bruce? The combination of the memory and the reignited anxiety was making Dick feel sick. "What did they do?!"

Jay began to cry.

"Nothing," he exclaimed, shaking his head and looking around at them all, eyes wide and panicked. "Nothing, I swear, I don't need a doctor!"

"Jay, please," Dick begged in a trembling voice, hand still hovering above the boy's shoulder. "Tell us what happened. If you need help…"

"I don't," Jay bowed his head, and Dick felt on the verge of tears himself. In his panic, he had completely forgotten about the two other people in the room and jumped when he heard someone move. Looking up quickly, he saw Jason round the table to crouch next to his double. His eyes were flickering, as though his mood was flipping between anger and worry.

"Jay," he said in a rough, but quiet voice, "kid, no-one's gonna hurt you here, ok? We want you to be safe and well. And those bastards are dead, so they can't hurt you anymore. But if they…" Jason's eyes flashed green, and he took a deep breath before continuing. "If they touched you, they might still be hurting you, because that… can have consequences. We just need to check."

Jay was hugging himself, not looking at anyone in the room. Darting a glance up at Richard, Dick saw he was looking tortured, eyes flicking between both Jasons.

"You don't need to dumb it down," Jay said, unexpectedly sounding annoyed despite his tears, and Dick turned back to him, finally dropping his hand and frowning. Jay still had not looked up, and he was glaring at his lap. "You mean STIs and shit. I've been fucked before, ok? I know what you're asking. No, they didn't fuck me. And they gave me a - a physical. I'm clean."

"That's…" Richard sounded choked up, but Dick did not take his eyes off Jay. "They gave you an exam?"

Jay nodded to his lap, sniffling.

"Looked me all over and stuck me with a needle to test my blood," he muttered. Dick saw Jason shudder where he was still crouched next to Jay. "Guess they wouldn't want their guests to shove their dicks in a dirty street kid." Jay sniffled angrily. "Smart, if you think about it."

It was the last thing Dick wanted to think about.

"So I'm ok and I'm clean, and nobody beat me up or fucked me, so I don't need a stupid doctor," Jay said forcefully, finally looking up and glaring at Richard, who was in his direct line of sight. Richard's face spasmed.

"Ok, kiddo," he said gently. "I'm sorry I… I'm sorry."

Jay glared at him for a second longer before dropping his eyes again and nodding. Dick saw Richard exchange a pained look with Jason. Then Richard took a deep breath, looking contrite, and exhaled slowly.

"Right," he said, glancing down at his remaining waffles, then again at Jason, who had straightened slowly and moved to the sink to fidget with something, and then back between Dick and Jay. His expression was carefully blank now, but Dick could tell he was upset. "I should go. Leslie has a busy day today, she asked to come as early as we could, so…"

"Anyone want any more waffles?" Jason asked without turning around.

Nobody did, and, with an uncomfortable nod at Dick and Jay, Richard left, darting one last worried look at them from the doorway.

For a few moments, the kitchen was silent, Jay hunched over his plate, still glaring, Jason moving around the kitchen, cleaning up, and Dick stewing in his thoughts. After a few minutes, though, he could not take it anymore.

"Jay?" He murmured, and his brother glanced at him out of the corner of his eye. "You done? Maybe we could go for a walk?"

Jay gave a small nod, and after handing Jason their plates and thanking him, the two of them headed outside.

Dick inhaled deeply as they walked slowly towards the pond, marveling at how new and strange everything felt. Only a couple of days had passed since their last walk together, but it seemed like a lot longer, and it was odd to be doing something so normal after being almost driven mad with worry.

A couple of times, Dick glanced uncertainly at Jay, wanting to talk to him, but closed his mouth both times, afraid of upsetting or angering the boy again. After the conversation in the kitchen, the kid's mood seemed to have returned to more or less the same sullen state as he had been in before running away, and Dick was terrified of triggering him, even if he doubted Jay would attempt another escape.

By the time they sat down on the grass, though, Jay was looking more sad than withdrawn or angry, and Dick decided to take a risk.

"Jay," he said softly, and the boy looked at him, inclining his head a little. It looked like an encouragement, so Dick went on. "I'm so happy you're back and safe, I can't even say."

"You are?" Jay said tentatively, and Dick stared at him, horrified that he had apparently messed up so badly that his brother felt the need to ask.

"God, yes," he said with a breathless laugh. "When we couldn't find you…" He swallowed, remembering the previous day. "There was a moment, yesterday, when none of our leads panned out, and I… I genuinely thought I'd lost you for good and would never see you again."

Jay made a small wounded noise, but Dick was not done. There were things he had to say, and he was determined to let his brother know exactly how much he had been missed. "It was like nothing else mattered," he said dully, feeling an echo of that pain. "Ever since I saw you, I wanted to protect you, from Bruce and then… here… When I thought I'd failed so completely, I really just… I didn't want to go on," he confessed.

At this, Jay's eyes went wide, and Dick immediately regretted saying it. On the one hand, he wanted Jay to know how much he mattered, but on the other, it suddenly seemed very unfair to make a child worry about him on top of everything else and carry such a burden.

"I'm sorry," Dick said awkwardly. "I didn't mean to imply it's your fault or anything. I just meant… I hate that I made you feel so unwanted you decided running away was a better option, and I swear it was a mistake, a dumb, but huge mistake, and I never intended it."

"I thought you replaced me with Tim and didn't want me anymore," Jay muttered, and Dick stared at him, shocked at the confession. He also felt a shiver run down his spine at the strange, horrifying coincidence; was it some sort of crazy dimension magic that was making both versions of Jason feel threatened by Tim? He really hoped not.

"I could never replace you with anyone," was what he said instead. "You're my family. I know we only met a few weeks ago, but I honestly feel that way. And it doesn't only mean that I want to protect you, but that's part of it. I wouldn't know how to live with myself if I let anything happen to you. It was torture of the worst kind to know you were out there somewhere, alone and possibly hurt, and I could do nothing to help."

The words were sincere and – Dick winced internally – maybe he was even being a bit too open… But the thought did not make him feel like he had overshared. Instead, it felt like he had gotten a huge weight off his chest.

Jay looked at him silently before shifting forward and to the side until he was pressed against Dick. Sighing, he laid his head on Dick's shoulder and nestled against him. Feeling his eyes prickling with tears, Dick put his arms around the boy and lowered his head to rest his cheek on top of Jay's.

"I'm sorry," Jay mumbled, and Dick tightened his hold. "I thought you got bored, and so did everyone else… And Jason said I should think about moving, and I thought that's what everybody wanted…"

"Nobody wanted that, Jay," Dick swore. "Not like you thought. He just meant, they could help if we weren't comfortable here." He paused. "Jay…" Dick began uncertainly, nudging his brother so that he could look him in the face. Reluctantly, Jay shifted back a little and raised his head. "Did you mean what you told Jason? You don't want to leave?"

Jay's brows furrowed. "I guess," he said. "I mean, we're safe, right?" Dick nodded quickly, but it seemed more of a rhetorical question as Jay continued immediately. "I was going to come back," he admitted. "I was so upset I didn't think it through. But then I thought… I have everything here. Nowhere's gonna be better. I was going back when… when…"

He trailed off, but Dick did not need him to continue. Drawing Jay close, he hugged the kid again, breathing deeply to calm himself.

"We all looked for you, you know," he said, choosing to change the topic for now. "Everyone." He waited a beat, eventually deciding to add, "Tim, too."

Jay nodded against his shoulder. "I figured," he muttered. "When Richard said you were both…

back there." His arms tightened around Dick's middle. "Thank you," he said, sounding choked up.

Dick just shook his head, hugging Jay close. After a few seconds, Jay pushed away.

"Dick," he began uncertainly. "What… what was Bruce doing there?"

With a start, Dick realized nobody had fully explained the situation to Jay, who had been asleep during Jason's debrief in the car. When they woke up, Richard began to, but they were quickly derailed by Jay remembering he had lost his things.

"Undercover," Dick replied. "He was undercover, someone invited him to this… thing, and he guessed… he hoped… that he might find you there," he elaborated.

Jay frowned.

"But how did he guess? Does he just… go to such places?"

"No," Dick said with an answering frown before realizing that Jay knew nothing about the case, either, except that it concerned human trafficking – which could mean any number of things. "The case… Remember? The one they were investigating? And Tim and I wanted to help?" Jay nodded with a slight scowl. "Well, that was it."

Jay's eyes went wide.

"Those traffickers?" He breathed.

"Yeah," Dick winced. "Now you know what they were doing, and – well, it was so ugly that no- one wanted you involved. I mean… They didn't want to tell Tim and me, either, but Tim hated being left out, stole some evidence, and then I made him tell me. Anyway, none of our leads helped to find you, and it was nothing short of a miracle that Bruce got this lucky break just on the day that you were taken."

Jay nodded, exhaling shakily.

"Jay," Dick dared to ask, because he had to know. "You weren't… hiding anything, were you? They didn't do anything to you, did they?"

Jay's hands curled into fists, but not in anger. His eyes were wet when he looked at Dick.

"It was so scary," he breathed, tears ready to spill over. He paused to blink them back. "They said they'd kill me after they all got to fuck me." His voice was trembling. "Is that what… They did it to – to some kid already?" Dick nodded, choosing not to specify that it had been several kids. Jay nodded, too, like he had already known it – and of course he had. He had never gotten the luxury of being sheltered. "I wasn't lying, though," Jay sniffled. "They didn't – they didn't… The worst thing was the prep," he forced out on a sob, closing his eyes.

Dick's heart clenched.

"Prep?" He echoed, suspecting that he already knew what it meant, but hoping to be wrong.

Jay nodded, stifling that hope.

"For… you know."

Dick sighed heavily, hiding his face in his hands. He did know, did not need it spelled out. He had just hoped that, after getting rescued, neither of them would ever have to endure anything like that

again. And yet...

Dropping his hands, Dick shifted closer again to hug his brother, and Jay let go, sobbing freely into Dick's shoulder. Rocking the boy, Dick whispered reassurances and promises of safety – and hoped that none of them would ever turn out to be empty.

Jay had calmed down considerably by the time Richard and Tim returned home, and had dragged Dick inside to play a board game.

"There you are," Richard said, halting in the doorway and smiling at them. "How are you doing?"

"Ok," Dick shrugged, and Jay nodded.

"Yeah?" Richard studied them for a moment. "So listen – Tim's fine, nothing got broken or anything, and I was thinking of taking him out for ice-cream. You two wanna come along?"

Dick hesitated. Ice-cream actually sounded great – like a wonderfully normal thing to do, but Dick was uneasy about taking Jay out again so soon after everything that had happened. Apparently, Jay was having the same doubts, because he was frowning and looking uncertain.

"To Gotham?" Dick decided to clarify. To his relief, Richard shook his head.

"Nah, I know this nice place nearby. I don't really want to take you to the city just yet, unless it's necessary, not until we're sure the entire network has been shut down."

"Oh," Dick nodded and glanced at his brother. "Well, then… Jay, what do you think?"

"Is Jason coming?" The kid asked hopefully. Neither of them had seen Jay's double since breakfast.

"No, sorry, kiddo," Richard shook his head again. "T… I, uh – I mean, I think he's gone downstairs to help Bruce wrap up some stuff for the police." It was clearly not the whole story, but Dick decided not to prod. "We'll all be together, though. The four of us. I won't let anything happen to you, I promise."

Looking reassured despite his disappointment, Jay nodded, and, abandoning their game, he and Dick rose to follow Richard out to his car, where Tim was waiting in the front seat.

"Glad your arm's ok," Dick told him, and Tim grinned, twisting around to look at Dick in the backseat.

"Thanks," he said. "For getting the cast off of me, too. I was sick of that thing."

Richard clicked his tongue.

"Should've waited to get it taken off properly," he chided. "You could've caused more damage, Timmy. You're lucky that you didn't."

"I wasn't going out with one arm in a cast," Tim scowled, and Richard dropped the matter, shaking his head and sighing. Dick suppressed his own sigh, thinking that taking off the cast had not really helped them much; but that was hardly Tim's fault, so he pushed the thought away.

Despite not feeling particularly enthusiastic about the outing, Dick soon found he was really enjoying himself. The ice-cream parlor with its seemingly endless choice of desserts certainly helped to take his mind off things; as for Jay, he was looking at the display and the menu above with huge eyes, and Dick realized that he had probably never been in such a place before. How could he have? It was definitely not the sort of place he could have gone to as a homeless kid, and very probably way too expensive for his parents to afford – and as for Bruce, well… The less said about that time, the better.

After a few moments of heated discussion, because Richard seemed to know and have strong opinions about everything that was on offer, Dick and Jay both settled on ice cream pies, Tim chose a frozen hot chocolate, and Richard himself, to Dick's surprise, took what seemed like plain pear sorbet but tasted fantastic when Richard offered him a spoon.

Richard kept well away from any subjects that might upset anyone, entertaining them with stories about his life in Bludhaven and somehow even managing to ask Dick and Jay questions about their own lives that did not lead to any bad memories resurfacing. By the time their ice-cream was gone, they had discussed and rated all the movies Dick and Jay had seen since coming to the Manor and made a list of board games they wanted to play, including some app-assisted one that Tim had heard about from a classmate and was dying to try.

"All finished?" Richard smiled at their satisfied faces. "We should come here again, they have this awesome seasonal thing I always order when I'm here in the fall… For now, though…" He glanced down at his watch. "I suggest we get going. I wanted to take you to one more place before we go home. You guys up for another small trip?"

"Where are we going?" Tim asked, and Dick and Jay exchanged slightly nervous looks. Richard obviously noticed their unease and dropped the secrecy.

"I wanted to take you to the mall," he answered. "Dickie and Jay need phones, and…" He raised a hand when Dick opened his mouth to protest they did not need gifts. "Nope, that's non-negotiable. I can't believe no-one's done it yet, we really should've made time for this. You two are, like, cut off from civilization. And we'll stop at the photography store and get that lens you've been talking about, Timmy. Also on me."

"Really?" Tim's eyes were shining even as he squinted at his brother suspiciously. "How come I get a gift, too?"

"'Cause I want to do something nice for you," Richard said with a small laugh. "What, is it so hard to believe?" His smile turned slightly rueful. "And also because I feel dead guilty. So," he clapped his hands started to get up, motioning for them to do the same, "I figured I'd start apologizing by buying you all off with some gifts. How's that for a plan, huh?"

The trip to the mall ended up taking quite a bit of time, because Richard insisted that they actually choose and try out the phones and the accessories instead of buying the first thing they saw. It was not as much fun as he was obviously expecting it to be for them, though. Jay was completely overwhelmed and ended up settling on the same model as Dick, only with a differently colored case so that they could tell the two phones apart. And Dick himself was tempted to go for the same one he used to have before getting captured again, but eventually decided it would bring up too many painful memories. Beyond that, he did not really care and just followed Tim's advice.

Tim, for his part, was a lot more animated when they got to the photography store and spent a solid five minutes telling them about the lenses on display and what he was going to do with the one Richard was buying for him.

"So I've always done action shots, mostly, and landscapes, too," he explained excitedly, gesturing with both hands and clearly reveling in being able to do that, "but I've been dying to try portraits, like, proper ones. It's totally not as easy as you'd think! I mean, so many people are just crazy scared of the camera, so that's part of it, yeah, but there's also all this stuff about the lighting, and the background choice, and the composition, and…"

"Ok, ok, baby bird," Richard stopped him, laughing. "How about we get you this one – it's the one you wanted, right? – and you tell us the rest in the car? I can see Jay's getting pretty tired, so we'd better wrap up."

"Oh!" Tim blushed, and he and Dick both glanced at Jay, who was, indeed, yawning and looking about to fall asleep on the spot. "Sorry! I got carried away. Uh, yeah, it's the one. Thanks, Dick!"

In the car, Jay fell asleep almost immediately, his head pillowed on Dick's shoulder. Dick inclined his head to lean it against his brother's and looked out of the window as they drove back to the Manor, feeling tired but unexpectedly happy.

Jay barely woke as Richard carried him from the car up to his and Dick's room. There, unwilling to undress the boy even a little without his consent or knowledge after his ordeal, Richard insisted on waking him up properly. Grumbling the entire time, Jay kept his eyes open just long enough to sluggishly change into his pajamas and mumbled something incomprehensible when asked if he wanted dinner, so they just let him sleep.

Dick declined dinner as well, still full after his huge slice of ice-cream pie, but decided to stay in the room with Jay, reveling in the calm and quiet and the sight of his brother sleeping peacefully.

Dick himself, however, found he could not sleep despite the exhaustion of the previous days. Taking his new phone from the night stand where it had been charging, he settled on the bed next to Jay and tapped the screen. Watching it light up, Dick felt strange; it had not been that long since all his possessions had burned along with the West-Allens' house, but now it felt like he had not touched a phone in years. Unlocking the device, he hesitated, unsure what he wanted to do. He was not interested in any games. There was nobody he could call or text – outside the Wayne family, that was, whose numbers had already been programmed in by Tim. YouTube videos did not appeal to him either.

Almost automatically, Dick brought up the Internet browser and tapped the address bar to begin a search. Then he hesitated again, thumbs hovering over the keyboard. What did he want to know, he wondered? He felt like he had some unanswered question, but he was not sure what it was.

'Bruce Wayne', he typed in eventually and hit enter. A moment later, the results loaded, and Dick tapped the news tab and scrolled down slowly, scanning the headlines.

It was not the first time he was googling Bruce. He did not know why he never thought to do it during his and Jay's first weeks in this world; really, he might have been able to spare them a lot of anxiety, had he just gone online and researched the man who was claiming to have saved them. He was not sure he would necessarily have believed all he would find, but it might have been enough to get him to question his assumptions.

But those weeks now seemed strangely far away to Dick. He had been so terrified all the time, for both of them, that reality itself had seemed warped, and everything had seemed shrouded in fog. It was as if his brain had been mostly switched off, with just one obsessive thought of protecting Jay at the forefront.

Once the misunderstanding had been cleared, though, and he felt lucid enough to do it, Dick did decide to make use of the computer in the library and google the man with whom he and Jay were now living.

In the end, however, he did not spend much time doing it; he simply could not stand looking at the pictures and reading about Bruce, and besides, many questions had become irrelevant. He did make himself look up Batman, however, just to confirm that the public here saw him as a hero and not a criminal. But Dick did manage to gather that Bruce was on the news a lot – mostly featuring in useless articles such as accounts of the parties he had attended or news about his dates and, occasionally, press releases from his company.

Tonight, however, the results were different. Bruce's name was all over the news, along with the names of quite a few prominent businessmen, politicians, actors, and other celebrities. The press had sunk its claws into the police and was reporting every single detail they could and were allowed to about the trafficking case. Clicking on one link at random, Dick read an account of how the police and the Gotham vigilantes had helped uncover and destroy a ring of traffickers responsible for the deaths of over a dozen children – and how so many prominent society members, Bruce Wayne included, were involved in the crime.

True, the article did mention that Bruce had been there undercover and with the knowledge of the Commissioner himself. But the author made no secret of her skepticism. Not for the first time, she wrote, the public was questioning why Mr. Wayne's name kept popping up in stories featuring vulnerable children; neither, she pointed out, would it be the first time for an affluent man to try to get away with a crime under the guise of helping. She was careful, of course, to not actually accuse Bruce of anything and earn herself a lawsuit, but her attitude was obvious.

Backing out of the article, Dick checked a few more. One or two did laud Bruce's involvement and courage, but there were many more that echoed the first author's thoughts. Scowling, Dick locked the phone, dropped it into his lap and stared into space.

It would be a lie if he said he had not doubted Bruce until the very end. Tim's heated explanations had only marginally reassured him; the boy's insistence that they could not give up until it was all truly over had turned out to be much more powerful in making Dick unfreeze and act to try and save his brother.

Even as Dick sat, gagged and tied to a chair in that horrible room, and watched Bruce play for time, he could not help wondering if it was all going to turn out to be a cruel game. Even when Nightwing broke down the door and Bruce grabbed Jay and started dragging him away from the fight, Dick would not allow himself to trust it, not yet. And when Bruce appeared out of the shadows with a knife, Dick could not keep himself from panicking and wondering if that knife was going to cut into him.

Only when Bruce had freed him and dragged him, shielding Dick with his own body, to the corner where Jay was hiding, did Dick allow himself to be convinced.

But he was convinced now. Despite all his misgivings, now he did believe Tim's words, did believe the reassurances that Richard, Jason, and Bruce himself were always ready to give. Horrid as the whole thing had been, it was what let Dick finally believe he was safe in this world and in this house. And, knowing the whole story and looking back at Bruce's reactions and words with

nothing distorting his perception, Dick could conclude now that they had been sincere.

Which made all the slander in the press truly hurt. The crazy thing was, Dick had never seen anything like it aimed at the Bruce back in his own home world. Not Dick's withdrawn personality, not his lack of friends, not even the death of the teacher to whom Dick had been stupid enough to complain had caused the press to wonder if there was anything strange going on at the Wayne Manor. And even when Dick ran away, Bruce managed to cover it all up with some crazy tale about Dick moving to Europe to study. He must have threatened them, Dick realized now, threatened or bribed anyone who asked questions, the way he had bribed the people at Dick's school and the police to sweep that teacher's story under the rug. And then, of course, there was nothing stopping Bruce from dealing with anyone too nosy the way he had dealt with Dick's teacher.

It was unfair, Dick thought, but he felt more tired than incensed. He had seen – and done – too many ugly things to be truly shocked. But it was still not easy to accept. And Dick could only imagine how much more dirt Bruce would have to deal with if he did keep Dick and Jay, as he obviously intended. And if anyone somehow got wind of Jay being the kid rescued from the traffickers the night Bruce was there…

Dick did not want that to happen.

But aside from that…

The recent events and those articles somehow fractured his perception of Bruce into two. On the one hand, there was the Bruce who was sincere, well-meaning and unfairly accused of being a monster. But on the other hand… On the other hand, there was the Bruce who was a monster, a bogeyman whose presence terrified Dick and made him want to run and hide and do anything to escape the man's attention, because it always ended in pain. And Dick was too old to believe in miracles. He did not believe that this Bruce would ever go away. And if he did not, then Dick would never be happy with the first Bruce, either – not when it hurt both of them.

Because it did hurt them both, Dick realized, remembering the past few weeks and, for the first time, not shying away from thinking about Bruce. The way he was just… never there, most of the time – and clearly, at least in part that must have been because he had been busy. But he also stopped coming to meals when he saw Dick and Jay barely able to swallow their food in his presence. And he stopped coming into the library when he noticed he caused Dick to sit there white and trembling. How long could he deal with that? And the rest of the family?

And who was he kidding, Dick thought with a surge of frustration, dropping his head into his hands and squeezing his eyes shut. Dick would never be able to join the Bats in their work, not if it required working with Bruce. And how could he, when Bruce's very presence made him freeze up and his voice tended to cause Dick's brain to shut down and just run on instinct?

Hardly a good quality in the line of work where quick thinking was often the only thing separating him from disaster.

That, and… trusting his partners.

Even knowing what he did now, Dick doubted he would ever truly trust Bruce. He remembered once again how it had felt to watch, bound and gagged, Bruce chasing Jay around that dark, nightmarish room. Even knowing that Bruce was acting, even seeing that he was trying to keep the others from harming Jay until help arrived, it had still felt like a horrible nightmare, a form of torture. Would that ever go away?

Sliding down along the headboard to lie flat on his back, Dick sighed. He had never truly managed to feel completely relaxed at the Manor, and the nightmares and the memories that kept resurfacing at the most inopportune moments always kept him on alert. But he had managed to focus on other things, and since Bruce kept out of his way, Dick had, unbelievable as it might sound, almost forgotten who had custody of him now – effectively, if not legally, yet.

Now he remembered.

He turned his head to look at Jay, whose face was only just visible to him in the dim light of the lamp. Mercifully, no nightmares had disturbed the boy yet, and he was still sleeping peacefully.

Dick's heart clenched painfully. How could he leave without hurting the kid he had come to view as his family? He could not, it was as simple as that. But neither could he uproot Jay and demand to leave what the kid saw as the best place for himself.

So what could he do?

Well. At least he had found the question, the one that had been bothering him. It was just that he had no answer to it.

Neither, unfortunately, did the dark room or the dark sky outside, and, as Dick's confused thoughts kept swirling around, he did not notice the moment his exhaustion finally overtook him and he fell asleep without even changing.

Yes, Dick thinks as the door to Richard's door finally opens, it is what he wants. He just does not know how to make it happen.

"Oh, hey, Dickie," Richard says, seeing Dick standing in the hall. His tone is surprised, but not displeased, but there are dark circles under his eyes, and Dick suddenly feels guilty for disturbing his double when he clearly still has so much to do.

"Uh," Dick shifts uncomfortably, wondering if he should just leave and let his alternate rest.

"You ok?" Richard asks, narrowing his eyes while Dick stands there, dithering.

"Yes," Dick assures him quickly. "I just… I wanted to talk, but… Is it a good time?"

"Sure, kiddo, come on in," Richard replies easily despite his obvious exhaustion and moves back to let Dick in.

They settle on the small settee by the window, and Dick fidgets with the bottom of his shirt, wondering how to begin. Raising his head, he sees Richard looking at him carefully, face gentle but eyes sharp.

"What is it?" He asks, catching Dick's eye.

Dick bites the inside of his cheek.

"I can't do this anymore," is what comes out, and Dick winces at how dramatic he sounds. Richard's face immediately becomes more alert, even alarmed, and Dick lets go of his shirt to

throw up a hand. "No, wait, I… That came out wrong. I… What I mean is, I can't, I don't want to stay here anymore. I…" Instead of relaxing now that he has gotten the words out, Dick feels himself becoming even more emotional as he speaks, and, to his shame, tears are prickling his eyes.

"Woah, Dickie, it's ok," Richard soothes, raising his hands slightly. "I already told you, if you want to leave, you can, and I will help. It's ok."

"It's not," Dick replies miserably, thankfully having forced the tears back. "I want to go, but Jay doesn't. I can't force him, but I can't leave him, either. So what do I do? I should just…" Dick suddenly feels ashamed of coming in here, crying and demanding solutions. "I should just suck it up," he finishes dully, shaking his head and looking towards the door. "I'm sorry, Ri… Dick. It's not… I shouldn't have bothered you."

"Dickie, slow down just a minute," his alternate says, reaching out a hand but not touching Dick, and Dick pauses. "You absolutely shouldn't 'suck it up', and I'm happy you came in to talk about this." Confident that Dick is not running away, Richard leans back a little and looks at him thoughtfully.

"I'm certain we can find a solution that satisfies everyone," he says. "Maybe it won't be perfect, but I absolutely refuse to believe there is no way to deal with this that won't end up with someone being miserable." He inclines his head slightly. "Can I ask what brought this on? Like, I'm not questioning your decision, it's not that. It's just – the last time we talked about this, you seemed a lot less… anxious."

"I'm a mess," Dick confesses with a small humorless laugh. Richard purses his lips, frowning, but does not comment. "I'm useless. I can't get over being scared of Bruce, and I thought I could stay here and help with your cases, but I can't – I can't work with him, and…" He closes his eyes briefly. "I'm so ashamed of how I fell apart when Jay was taken. When we saw you go in the wrong direction, I just – just froze, Tim had to yell at me to get me to move. And I don't think it's gonna get any better. And I'm just – I'm a problem." Richard's frown becomes deeper, but he is still silent. "I can tell Bruce is avoiding me, so I'm making him uncomfortable in his own home, and now – I googled what the press are saying about him, and it's… It's awful, and they keep accusing him of being a bad guy, and it'll only get worse if he keeps me, and they see how – how I'm so scared, and…" He stops, fighting another infuriating influx of tears.

"Right," Richard says after a moment, when it becomes clear Dick is not going to continue. "That's… a lot to unpack." He pauses, as if gathering his thoughts. "I'm gonna start with this: you're not a problem. Please don't think of yourself in that way, ever. You're a person, we care about you, and… well, I don't know about the others, but I absolutely consider you part of my family. Regardless of what you choose and whether you stay with us or even… even if you decide you want to move across the country and never see any of us again, I'll still care."

Richard pauses again, letting it all sink in before continuing.

"Next… Please stop thinking about Bruce. He's my family, too, and I love him, but he's also an adult and, occasionally, an idiot. He makes his own mistakes and deals with his own messes. It's not on you to 'get over' being scared of him, and, honestly, knowing your history… Dickie, I'd be surprised if you could. I don't even think you should." Dick starts, confused, and Richard raises an open hand. "Not like that. Not in the sense that you have reason to fear him. Just in the sense that it's not, like, the most important thing you should work on. You can totally just move away and refuse to ever see him again."

Dick swallows, imagining how wonderful that would be. Just move away, get rid of the shadow of

the man hanging over his life, and not think of what he might say or do, never have to take his opinion into account again…

"And as for the press," Richard waves a hand dismissively, "forget about that. I know what they're writing, and they've been writing that for ages, ever since he took me in – and then Jason, and then Tim. And he never gave them any reason, I mean, he really was just trying to help, and they still wrote it. In fact," he huffs, "they've become more careful now, 'cause he actually sued a few people and won, so at least we don't have to deal with blatant accusations anymore."

It feels like a weight is lifting off Dick's chest with Richard's every word, and the caring, but casual way in which he is saying it all is almost surreal. Dick feels almost light-headed with relief, but there is still one more thing that is bothering him – and Richard has said nothing about it.

"But I wanted to help," he reminds his double quietly. "I wanted it so much. And I can't. Not when…" He shakes his head.

"You're asking a bit much of yourself, so soon after such horrible things," Richard answers gently. "You've been through too much to expect to be able to push yourself without consequences. You need rest," he says firmly, "rest and therapy. You gotta help yourself before you can help others, remember? You're a person, too, don't you deserve your own help?"

Dick opens his mouth and then closes it indecisively. Put like that, his weakness does not even make him feel ashamed.

"You do," Richard answers for him with a small smile. "And there's no rush, you can join in the work when you feel ready. Or, you know, you might find something else, 'cause, seriously, being a vigilante is not the only way to help people."

"I guess," Dick mutters, reeling a little from what should have been obvious.

"I should also mention," Richard continues, "that even if you want to help with the vigilante stuff, it doesn't mean you have to work with B all the time, or at all, really. This case's been more of an exception, 'cause it was so dreadful. But I don't actually live here anymore, as you know, and I work alone, and so does Jason. He lives in the city most of the time now. It's usually just Timmy here with Bruce. And Alfred, of course."

"How is he, by the way?" Dick asks, ashamed that he has completely forgotten about the butler, wrapped in his own worries.

"Better, thankfully," Richard replies. "Still on bed rest, but he'll be up soon. Maybe tomorrow or the day after. Expect lots and lots of cooking once he's well again," he adds with a small wry smile. "He always overcompensates after being sick, and besides, he was horrified when he learned about Jay. You can absolutely expect him to smother you with attention once he's better, and he usually does that through cooking."

Dick cannot help a small laugh.

"Anyway… back to the point," Richard sighs. "Like I said, don't rush yourself. But if you decide you want it once you're ready, keep in mind that you don't need to go out and fight immediately. Or at all. You can just run back end, research stuff and analyze data, all that stuff that Tim does. It's just as useful. Let's revisit this once you're feeling a little more settled and relaxed, ok?"

To his own surprise, Dick feels relief as he nods.

"One more thing," Richard says. "I really encourage you to talk about this with your therapist.

Your session's tomorrow, right?" Dick nods. "Good. Talk to her. I mean, I'm always here. Always happy to listen. But she's qualified to actually guide you through this stuff. Ok?"

"Ok," Dick mutters, suddenly feeling exhausted in the wake of his relief. Naturally, Richard notices.

"Go to bed, kiddo. I'll think about what you've said, and we'll find a solution," he promises – and Dick believes him.

Probably for the first time since coming to this world, Dick sleeps without nightmares.

Chapter 35

Bruce stares numbly at the words on the screen in front of him, but he is not really seeing them. In fact, for all the time he has spent hiding in the Cave since the children got rescued, his productivity has been very low. Because he has been hiding, there is no other way of putting it, and he is self- aware enough to realize and admit it.

In part, it is because he is trying - uselessly, because it does not work this way, and he knows it - to atone for almost getting both boys killed due to his own negligence. And since he has little doubt that they would be less than thrilled to see or have him near, he is trying to help in the only possible way – by working behind the scenes. His lawyers have almost finalized the papers for the boys, though since word about Jay being the traffickers' victim has somehow gotten out, the legal team has had to jump through some additional hoops. And even though Bruce has settled it with Gordon that he is going to be fostering the boy, the whole process cannot be called easy.

Aside from that, though, Bruce has a whole backlog of tasks from his other cases. He has sidelined them in favor of the trafficking case, and since Tim was allowed to work on the main thing as well, the other cases have been getting virtually no attention from anyone.

Drowning himself in work – or, at least, attempting to – is also Bruce's way of coping with the horrible state he has been in since the night of the rescue. It is similar to how he felt about himself after Jason's death, though it is more of a stupor and less acute misery and rage, since, after all, everyone is alive and relatively well. But he is still to blame, even if he messed up in a different way. Okay, so he did not put those children in flashy costumes and make them fight crime, but he still caused them to be kidnapped, and they both nearly died as a result.

It is all made even more ironic by the fact that the whole reason he brought Dickie and Jay to his universe was to keep them safe. To say he has completely failed in his self-assigned mission would be the understatement of the century.

That knowledge can compete only with the memory of what he had to do to play for time while waiting for help to arrive. He is still haunted by Jay's betrayed look when he saw Bruce and the boy's sobs as he was chased around that room. And even knowing he had no other way to stretch it out, Bruce still feels disgusted with himself.

To be honest, drowning himself in work is not helping. At all. All it is doing is making his head foggy on top of already feeling terrible.

Lost in his thoughts, Bruce completely misses the sound of footsteps until their owner is mere feet away from him and starts when he registers them. He knows that his inattention is partly due to being in a place he considers safe, but he is still surprised; situational awareness is such an essential skill for all of them that he would have thought it is impossible to switch off. Apparently, not.

At least the Cave is safe, and his skills have not failed him at some terribly inopportune moment when an enemy has found their way in. Bruce does not need to turn around to know it is Jason who has joined him. And, judging by the way his son has halted, hovering somewhere behind him, Jason has actually come to him and not just to the Cave on his own business. And since he has not started yelling yet, it seems that he might actually want to have a civil conversation, for once.

The notion is so strange – though welcome – that it takes a few moments to sink in. When it does, though, Bruce has to consciously slow down his movements as he pushes away from the computer

and turns around in the chair so that his eagerness does not scare Jason away.

Bruce manages to catch an uncharacteristically indecisive expression on his son's face before Jason seems to remember himself and rearranges his features into a more familiar scowl. It seems to be more of a default expression than a reflection of his actual mood, though, since his eyes remain a calm, muted color.

"Hey, old man," he greets. "Barely seen you since the night we busted the trafficking ring. How much time are you spending here, anyway?"

"A lot," Bruce admits, keeping his tone neutral. "Has… something happened?"

It is the closest he feels he can safely come to asking why Jason has come to see him.

"No," Jason crosses his arms. "Except that everyone's wondering where you are. And I mean, everyone. The press has gone crazy since they found out you were there, and those fucking tabloids are having a field day, speculating about whether you were really there undercover or trying to escape justice. I'd sue the fuckers if I were you," he suggests casually, though the muted green becomes not so muted. "And since you've not been seen in public since, they're leaning towards the latter. And hey, not like I care, but Tim says it's bad PR or whatever. Think you'd better listen to the kid."

'Tim', Bruce notices, not 'Replacement', barely paying attention to the rest. He already knows about the media backlash; the PR team have only called him a million times, but after giving them the basic details, Bruce found he had no more energy to deal with them and has been largely ignoring their calls. Which is terrible of him, he knows; negligent and bordering on cruel, even, given how much negative attention WE has been dealing with due to his involvement. And this is not a stupid Brucie stunt, either, or an infuriating but baseless accusation about him not treating his sons right. This is… a big deal, even if the accusation is just as baseless.

Still, for maybe the first time in his life, Bruce is having trouble making himself do what he must beyond fulfilling his basic duty of letting the PR team and his lawyers know what happened. In fact, he feels so drained by everything that he seems unable to function beyond the bare minimum in general, and his work results – or lack of thereof – are a testament to that. Which is another reason to blame himself, because he used to manage to get his work done even after Jason died. Not necessarily in the healthiest way, as Tim and then Dick insisted, but he did. And now…

But it is only the indication that Tim and Jason seem to be on better terms now that breaks through the numbness. It ignites something warm inside him, but he knows better than to draw Jason's attention to it; it would be safer to ask Dick later.

"I have given them the basic story," is what he says instead. Tim is right, though, and Bruce knows it himself, so he adds grudgingly, "I'll talk to them again later today."

"Fine," Jason uncrosses his arms and narrows his eyes. "So what've you been doing here?"

"Working," Bruce replies in an even tone that does not give away his frustration at actually barely getting any work done.

"Working," Jason repeats incredulously. "Working? We've given everything to the police, what the fuck are you still working on?"

"I have other cases, Jay," Bruce reminds him, careful not to sound condescending. "I've been neglecting them, and work has piled up."

"Seriously, B?" Jason's expression becomes a touch more irritated, and his eyes flicker. "Are you planning on single-handedly putting the entire police force out of their jobs? Let them get something done on their own. I don't even know how you're not crashing after all of this. Are you trying to put yourself into the grave, or something? Trust me on this one, it's not that great a place."

Bruce actually flinches at that. It is probably irrational, he thinks, but he cannot handle Jason talking about death and graves and anything related – not even other people's, not just his own. Bruce is very happy that Dick seems to have the same reaction; Bruce himself would not dare to stop Jason, but his eldest son seems to have no such reservations. And Jason, though he grumbled and lashed out every time Dick objected, has taken it reasonably well and toned down the gallows humor. For the most part.

"No," he replies after taking a deep breath, deciding not to say anything about Jason's joke, "I'm not. I really do have a lot of work to do."

Jason raises an eyebrow, cocking his head.

"Anything important I should know about?"

"Not really," Bruce answers, mentally checking the list of his active cases. "I have it under control." A complete lie, but he is not about to drag his sons into another case, not so soon after everything, not when all of them need rest. Thankfully, none of the other cases are all that urgent; obviously, they need his attention, but at least his procrastination is not going to get anyone killed.

To his surprise, Jason's eyes flash bright green, and his face twists into a snarl.

"Really," he sneers. "Hoarding information again, Bruce?" The way Jason sneers his name almost makes it sound like an insult. "That mad at me? Well, fuck you, I-"

Jason's anger sends a bolt of surprise and horror through Bruce, and the remaining fog in his head dissipates. He needs to save the situation, and fast.

"Jay!" Bruce does not stand up, but he straightens, holding up a hand, and intentionally makes his voice loud and commanding in an attempt to stop the torrent of accusations. Mercifully, it works, and Jason falls silent, glaring at him. "I don't follow," Bruce continues in a more subdued tone. "Why would I be mad at you?"

Jason actually looks wrong-footed at that, and his eyes dim.

"I – aren't you?" He asks suspiciously.

Bruce blinks.

"Of course not," he replies. They are both silent for a few moments, eyeing each other carefully, and then Bruce risks asking, "Where's this coming from, Jaylad? Why would you think that?"

Jason fidgets before answering, but the nickname seems to convince him that Bruce is telling the truth.

"I shot a lot of people back there," he answers eventually and then scowls again. "And don't even think I'm gonna apologize. I would've done it again, and no bullet is punishment enough for what they've done. I would've preferred to tear them to pieces with my bare hands, slowly, and even that would've been-"

"I'm not mad about that, Jay," Bruce interrupts again, both to explain himself and to keep Jason from continuing. On the one hand, he shares the sentiment, because those crimes were beyond despicable. And he is telling the truth: despite their agreement that Jason would tamp down on the violence, at least of the lethal kind, he feels little to no regret that in this case Jason has not held back. Well – it would have made the following investigation easier, he supposes, had those men been able to talk… but the police have enough evidence as it is. Not to mention that some of them were definitely rich and influential enough to be very likely to eventually escape justice. So, no; Bruce would not have done it himself, but he is not mad at Jason.

But on the other hand… it is painful to see his son so enraged and hear him say all these things. Again, Bruce understands how he feels, because no amount of anger would be enough to encompass everything one could feel towards monsters such as these. And yet, it is useless. The case is over, some of those criminals are dead, and the rest, apprehended by the police or about to be. What more is there to be done? What purpose could that anger serve? None, and while that might seem unfair, all it is doing now is turning toxic and burning Jason out from the inside. Bruce does not want that for his son.

"I'm not mad," he repeats. "In fact," he continues, a little stiffly, "I rather share the sentiment. Even if I couldn't…"

Bruce breaks off, realizing he is treading on thin ice now. Most, if not all of his conversations with Jason seem to end in the same way – with them arguing about his inability to kill, and, more to the point, his inability to kill Jason's murderer. It is horrible and heartbreaking and… no more than he deserves, he supposes.

"Even if you couldn't've killed them yourself," Jason finishes quietly, and, to Bruce's surprise, he does not sound angry. Bruce feels a lump in his throat and tenses up, anticipating the usual explosion from Jason.

For once, apparently, his reaction is transparent to his son. But the truly surprising thing is that no explosion follows. Instead, Jason sighs and steps closer, moving to perch on the edge of the desk, and Bruce shifts back a little, giving him more space.

"It's… ok," Jason says, and it is so surreal that Bruce can only stare, wondering if maybe his exhaustion has gotten the better of him and he is, in fact, sleeping and dreaming about what he has craved for so long. "I know… I get… that you couldn't," Jason finishes awkwardly, and Bruce wavers, wondering if he should pinch himself to check if this is real or let himself enjoy the dream.

In the end, he chooses the latter, because he cannot come up with any way they could have gotten from furious screaming to this reluctant acceptance. Best enjoy the fantasy, then.

"The kid," Jason explains, seeing Bruce's confusion. He raises a hand to rub the back of his neck. "Dickie. He said something… When we were looking for Jay in the city. We went to Crime Alley, and he didn't recognize the place. I asked how come, and he told me that the first thing the other Batman did was to," he stops and swallows, "clean it up. Before moving on. Before becoming a serial killer."

Bruce blinks. He did read the files on his alternate's computer, of course, but he did not have the time to read through everything. This is one of the things he definitely missed.

"You've always talked about how you can't kill," Jason continues quietly while Bruce is busy trying to sort through his thoughts and his feelings about the implications. "I've always thought it was just an excuse. That you're chickening out. Or that you don't care enough."

"Of course I care," Bruce cannot help but interrupt, because he hears the unsaid 'about me', even though Jason seems to be speaking in general. Jason's eyes glisten, and he hides them, looking down.

"I know," he mutters. "I just never thought…" He raises his head. "How come you knew?"

Bruce shakes his head minutely, not understanding.

"Knew what?"

"Ok, maybe not knew," Jason amends, "but you felt you couldn't, right? Couldn't kill. Why were you scared?"

"I… don't know," Bruce answers after a pause. "I suppose I was never scared, exactly, but…" He pauses again, gathering his thoughts and trying to summon the feeling that has guarded him all these years. "It felt like… a necessary barrier. Stop the criminal and hand them over to the police – that was a clear goal I could understand and hold on to. I felt… it wasn't up to me to dole out justice, because…" He looks away from Jason and into the empty space in front of him. Jason waits, uncharacteristically patient. "With the police, I knew where it ended," Bruce says finally. "But if it were up to me, I wouldn't know where to stop, wouldn't know if it was still about justice or revenge or victory. If I were to judge… With all the things that I had – have – access to, it would be… far too easy to go overboard. And if I did it once, it would be very easy to do it again."

Jason snorts.

"Right. Because if you decided to dress up as a bat and terrorize the criminals after having your parents killed, who knows how much more overboard you could've gone if you started feeling so totally above the law."

"Who knows," Bruce confirms wryly, looking back at him.

"It still sounds like a flimsy excuse to me," Jason sighs. Bruce's heart clenches; he did not even realize how much he was hoping for his son to understand. "You still dole out justice! You decide they're guilty, you beat 'em up and hand them over to the police. Like that's not judging?"

"That's – that's more of a philosophical question, Jay," Bruce stammers, because, happy as he is to be having a civil conversation with Jason, and about this, no less, he does not feel up to dissecting his own motivations about something so fundamental just now.

"Fine, fine," Jason waves a hand. "Slippery slope, I get it. I mean, I don't get it, 'cause maybe I've already slipped all the way down my own slope. But looks like yours could be a lot longer and steeper. Whatever."

"That's… one way of putting it," Bruce agrees carefully, and they both fall silent again.

"D'you think you could've ended up like him?" Jason asks eventually. "Is that what you were afraid of? I mean," he amends, "I get you never knew about your alternate, but, like, is that what you were imagining? That you'd become a monster?"

Inwardly, Bruce instinctively recoils from the comparison, although he has to admit it is a fair question.

"I hope not," he replies slowly. "I'm almost certain I could not. Not in the same way. He… the other me… seemed warped. Before. What I mean is, I could never have killed Alfred-"

"What?" Jason exclaims, straightening, face twisted in horror. "You – you never mentioned that in your file! I thought – oh, fuck, I'm so dumb, I didn't even wonder why… I just assumed he was never there, in that world!"

"I'm sorry," Bruce replies, wincing. "I suppose it was relevant, but I… I'm not sure why I did not include it. But… yes. He did, and he did it a long time before he even became Batman."

Jason's face is white, and Bruce's heart aches for him. Reading about Alfred's death – murder – was horrifying, and he knows how Jason feels about Alfred, how he is the exception to Jason's every rule, so learning this can hardly be easier for him.

"How?" Jason demands. "How did he do it?"

"Pushed him down the stairs," Bruce says reluctantly. Jason curses under his breath, hands clenching into fists. "Jay, don't… I'm sorry. But just… please, don't think of it. Don't torture yourself."

"Fuck you," Jason answers, and his eyes are wet. The words lack the usual vitriol, though.

Bruce sighs.

"Going back to your question… He seemed naturally inclined to some things I never was. Even if I went… overboard, I simply do not see myself," he clenches his teeth, because this is painful to even pronounce, "kidnapping and raping children."

"Well, you seem to have no problem with the kidnapping part," Jason makes a sound that is part laugh, part sob, and swipes his hand across his eyes. "Oh, I'm just kidding, B, lighten up," he scoffs, seeing Bruce's expression, and rolls his eyes.

"I didn't…" Bruce begins stubbornly, but Jason cuts him off.

"You totally did, but it's fine," he says, chuckling, and then sighs. "Well. At least it's fine where I'm concerned. I won't speak for those two kids. Though it was terrifying, I won't deny."

"I'm sorry, Jaylad," Bruce says, contrite, but Jason shakes his head.

"I said it's fine," he says on an exhale and then hesitates. "Come to think of it… Your file's missing other relevant details, too. You wrote he kidnapped my alternate, but – do you know… how?"

"I do," Bruce admits, wincing. "Jay tried to steal his tires."

He hears Jason's breath hitch.

"No way," Jason almost whispers, wide-eyed. He gives a breathless, humorless laugh, staring at Bruce. "And – and as a punishment, your alternate kidnapped him and raped and tortured him for a year?" His voice becomes a touch hysterical.

"I doubt he meant it as a punishment for the tires, specifically," Bruce answers stiffly, "not with everything else, not with having held Dickie captive for so many years. I suppose it was more of a coincidence, a child that caught his attention. The end result is the same, however."

"I think I'm gonna be sick," Jason mutters, and he looks it, too. Bruce leans forward, alarmed and about to get up, but Jason raises a hand, shaking his head. Bruce stills, watching him anxiously.

Eventually, Jason's posture loosens, and his face regains some of its color.

"Thank you," he says solemnly, raising his eyes to Bruce's.

Taken aback, Bruce shakes his head, frowning slightly.

"For what?"

Jason sighs.

"First, for getting him out. Both from there and from those traffickers. And second," his voice becomes softer, "for… not doing the same to me."

"What," Bruce tries to ask, perhaps irrationally feeling more than a little hurt and upset. "I would never do that!"

Jason laughs again, softly.

"I know that, old man. I just…" He shrugs. "Back when you caught me, that's what I thought you'd do. Took… took a while to trust you wouldn't."

"I know," Bruce whispers with a lump in his throat. "I'm sorry, Jaylad."

Both for letting the boy think that and for the way it all ended. For not keeping him safe when he promised he would.

Jason seems to understand how loaded the last sentence is, because his eyes are glistening again. He does not reply verbally, but he gives a short, sharp nod before scooting closer and leaning down to put his arms around Bruce.

The half-hug is awkward and uncomfortable, given that Bruce is still sitting in the chair and that he cannot raise his arms high enough to reciprocate. It is also the best – and most unexpected – gift he has been given since learning his son was alive.

As carefully as he can, practically in incremental movements, he moves a hand to pinch his own arm, ready for the pressure across his shoulders to disappear.

The pain feels real enough, but the arms do withdraw, and Bruce curses himself.

Jason snorts incredulously, leaning back.

"What the hell was that? Did you just… pinch yourself?"

He looks amused, and, for once, his face is devoid of any irritation or scorn.

"I… just wanted to check if it was real," Bruce admits, embarrassed.

"Why, did you think it was a nightmare?" His son asks in an offhand tone, and Bruce closes his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose. He knew it was too good to last.

"Of course not, Jay," he answers. "I could never think that."

Jason punches his shoulder lightly, and Bruce opens his eyes. Against all expectations, Jason still looks mellow – and, admittedly, the punch lacked any hidden aggression.

"Just teasing, old man," he grins, and, taking a chance, Bruce rises and wraps him in a proper hug.

"C'mon, B," Jason mutters after a moment, patting him lightly on the back, "let's go upstairs.

You're really turning into a vampire. And also, believe it or not, we're missing you up there."

Chapter 36

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

Dick does not really want to rock the boat until he has a viable solution to his alternate's request, but he quickly realizes he cannot put off talking to Bruce for too long. First, he feels guilty for every additional day Dickie has to stay at the house that is causing him such distress. And second, there are Bruce's lawyers to consider. If a different solution is required, Dick has to find it before everything is finalized – and he will be making more work for them as it is.

But the thing is, Dick is just not sure what he can suggest. If it was only Dickie who needed a different home, things would be relatively simple. Despite what Bruce seems to believe, Dick is quite certain that finding a good, trustworthy family for a traumatized teenager is not an impossible task, not with Bruce's resources and personal involvement. And even if it were, Dick realizes he would not mind taking care of his alternate himself.

In fact, he might even prefer it, he thinks, mulling it over. When Bruce first told him about the kids and insisted that they were 'his', Dick thought it was just Bruce's adoption addiction that was making him feel that way. But now, having met and lived with them for some time, he suspects that it is more than just that. Dickie feels like family to him, which… he probably should not. Bruce's habit must be contagious, Dick thinks with a mixture of amusement and irritation.

In any case, Dick will not hold on to the kid if he wants to leave them, of course. That said, he already knows that letting Dickie go will hurt, and he finds himself hoping that, should his double choose a new family, he will at least keep in touch.

So, no, relocating Dickie by himself would not be that much of an issue. The problem lies with Jay, who, at least according to his brother, does not want to live elsewhere, apparently and against all odds somehow less terrified of the house and its master. But Dick cannot see how he could possibly separate the kids and keep both of them happy.

Well. No problem is insoluble, he tries to cheer himself up. And, in any case, he has not discussed relocating the kids with Bruce since that first conversation, and, knowing the man, there is every chance that he is still intending to keep them both at the Manor – though Dick hopes not. So, step one is to find out Bruce's current stance on the matter – and who knows, Dick thinks, miracles do happen, and Bruce might actually have a good solution for them.

It is early afternoon when Dick makes his way to Bruce's study, where the man has spent most of his time for the past couple of days – since Jason somehow managed to extract him from the Cave. Which is still not ideal, since Bruce is still working too much – but at least he is above ground and seeing daylight now. Dick does not deny that he is both pleased and astounded by the fact that Jason was successful, given that neither he nor Alfred had been able to lure Bruce out. But whatever his brother said or did, Dick is just happy that he and Bruce seem to be on better terms now.

Bruce looks up from some folder on his desk when Dick walks in, having announced his presence with a brief knock. Noting unhappily how exhausted Bruce still looks, Dick suddenly thinks that they could all use a holiday – a notion none of them ever seem to entertain. In fact, he thinks, frowning slightly, Alfred is the only one of them who ever takes proper vacations. Surely it is time to change that?

But that is a discussion for another day.

"Hey, B," Dick says, closing the door gently. "You busy?"

"Hello, chum," Bruce replies with a tiny smile. "A little. But it can wait. Was there something you wanted?"

Approaching the desk, Dick sinks into the chair opposite Bruce.

"Yes, actually," he says before leaning forward to rest his forearms on the desk and taking a deep breath. "I need to talk to you about the kids."

At this, Bruce visibly becomes more alert; in fact, he even tenses up a bit, and Dick finds himself tensing slightly in response.

"What is it?" Bruce asks, snapping the folder in front of him shut and straightening in his seat. "Is something wrong?"

"Woah, no," Dick raises a hand, a little surprised at the strength of Bruce's reaction. "Nothing is wrong, exactly, but there's important stuff to discuss. Specifically, what to do with them."

Bruce's eyebrows draw together.

"I'm not sure I understand," he says stiffly. "What is there to do with them?"

Dick sighs internally. He knew Bruce deciding to let the kids go on his own was too much to hope for.

"Now that everything's over, and we have some breathing room, we need to think and decide what options to give them," he explains carefully. Seeing Bruce's blank look, he clarifies, "Where they are going to live and with whom."

The frown on Brice's face becomes more pronounced, and he does not respond. This time, Dick cannot help but sigh aloud.

"Bruce," he says, very carefully keeping himself from sounding confrontational, "we already discussed this. They can't stay here. We need to figure out some options for them."

Bruce shakes his head sharply.

"We discussed nothing of the sort. They're staying here," he says flatly. "After what happened, do you think I'm going to let them go to live with someone who has no resources to protect them?"

Dick resists the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose in frustration.

"I hate to point it out, but we have all the resources, and we still did a terrible job," he replies drily and feels a stab of guilt when Bruce's face spasms. He does not doubt Bruce is heaping all the blame on himself, as usual, which is not really fair or right – but that is beside the point right now. Dick presses on. "We can make sure the place we choose is as safe as possible, but you have to agree this is not the only place where they can be safe."

Bruce clenches his jaw.

"I know that I failed to protect them," he starts, "but that is not-"

"Damn it, B," Dick interrupts, losing his patience, "stop martyring yourself. It wasn't just you, we

all dropped the ball. But none of that really matters. What matters is, Dickie came to talk to me and told me straight out that he wants to leave."

"He… did?"

Bruce sounds choked up, and Dick pauses, biting his lip.

"B, you've got to understand he's not comfortable here," he says gently. "Come on, do I really need to explain it?"

For a moment, Bruce stares at him wordlessly, and Dick stares incredulously back, beginning to think that, apparently, he is going to have to explain. And while it would not be the first time Bruce missed something completely obvious when it came to emotions, this time, Dickie's discomfort is just too blatant even for Bruce to be oblivious. And okay, Dick will explain if he has to, but he is definitely giving an abridged version; Bruce does not need to know all about Dickie's fears and worries.

Before he can open his mouth, though, Bruce sags and shakes his head.

"No," he says quietly. "You don't. I suppose I should never have expected him to be." He runs a hand down his face. "I hoped that, maybe, after all this, he could come to believe I mean him no harm, but the trauma must be too deep. You're… you're right, he must go."

Dick purses his lips.

"He does know you don't mean him harm," he replies, because even if Bruce is doing what he wanted and agreeing, Dick still does not want to cause more pain than necessary – so he should set the record straight. "But even so, you can't expect him to put it all behind him and just, like, stop associating you with that monster. He's scared, and it's not something he can control. Nor should he," he adds forcefully. "He should focus on healing – in general, not on getting comfortable around you so that you could feel better."

Bruce flinches a little, expression turning guilty, and Dick knows his argument has hit home.

"I'm sorry." Bruce's hands curl into fists on top of the folder, and he looks down at them briefly. "I wasn't – I wasn't trying to… I only wanted him to know he's safe, and-"

"I know, B," Dick cuts in. "I'm not really accusing you, or anything. It's just that that's what it really comes down to. You're keeping them here for your own sake, not for theirs. I know," he adds, raising a hand, when he sees Bruce's eyes flash with hurt, "I know you mean well. But you're a little… off track here. I mean…" He sighs. "You have to get it through your thick skull that you're not responsible for this. It wasn't you who did this to them, so you have nothing to atone for. I mean, what now? Are you going to visit every possible universe you can and kidnap every version of us that has been treated badly until you finally run out of spare rooms? You need to do what you would do for any other victim – just get them to safety and… let go."

Bruce looks straight up tortured at these words, but does not protest, and Dick goes for his last argument.

"They are not us, B," he says gently. "I know they look like us, and believe me when I say I get it. It feels so… personal. But they're not 2.0 versions of Jason and myself, and…" He takes a deep breath and says the next words even softer. "You won't put right anything that went wrong with us by taking care of them. You'll only traumatize them further if you're seeing us instead of them. That's… not fair to them, B."

"I'm not trying to fix… us!"

Bruce actually hits a fist on the desk, face twisted in anguish.

"Aren't you?"

Bruce hesitates, mouth slightly open, as if he wants to say something, and Dick looks at him steadily, hating that he has to be harsh, but knowing that all of this needed to be said.

After a few moments, Bruce shakes his head and visibly struggles to regain control of himself.

"I don't know," he says quietly, face calmer but not as impassive as it usually is. "Perhaps you're right. It is… hard. Seeing them like this, seeing you two in them. But I haven't thought about it like… like what you said, Dick. I wasn't trying to… replace either of you with a different version. And please don't think I was going to switch to Dickie and Jay in an attempt to escape the problems that we… that you and I and Jason and I have."

"I didn't think that, B." Dick suddenly hates sitting across from Bruce as he is, with the massive desk between them, like a barrier. He contemplates getting up and hugging Bruce, but before he can do that, there is a sharp knock on the door. Twisting around, Dick sees Jason on the threshold.

"What's with the long face, old man?" He asks without preamble, glancing at Dick with a small frown.

"We're discussing the children," Bruce answers quietly, and Dick gets a strong sense of déjà vu, remembering a very similar conversation several weeks ago. The tone is very different, though, and Dick really hopes this discussion will go more smoothly - and without any attempted violence.

"Mind if I join?"

It is not really a question, and, without waiting for a reply, Jason crosses the room and grabs a chair to drag it closer to the desk.

"So," he squints at them, settling down with one ankle on the opposite knee, "care to share your brilliant ideas with me?"

"As soon as we have any," Dick says mildly with a mixture of humor and irritation. Not that he is not happy to see his brother, but he wishes Jason had come in just a few minutes later and let them finish the conversation about Bruce's motives, and maybe hug. They could still do that, of course, but Dick doubts they could recapture the sentiment, because the uncharacteristically vulnerable expression has already left Bruce's face.

Jason raises an eyebrow.

"I was just telling Bruce that Dickie told me he wants to leave," Dick explains with a small shrug. "But we haven't gotten around to discussing what to do yet. And, look, B, I haven't told you the other important thing: according to Dickie, Jay's not as eager to leave, so…"

"Yeah," Jason frowns, "I figured so, too. So-"

"Wait, wait," Dick leans closer to his brother. "You figured? So you've talked to him about this?"

Jason raises a hand to rub the back of his neck, as he does every time he is feeling sheepish or uncomfortable. Dick tilts his head curiously.

"Kinda," Jason admits, sounding reluctant. "It was… a while ago, actually, like a few of days before he ran away, I think? I took him out for chili dogs to cheer him up - 'cause Tim and Dickie had ditched him… So I asked if he wanted to live anywhere else, maybe to feel safer or more comfortable, and, uh…" Jason winces. "He got super upset. He thought I was telling him he had to go, like that B wanted him to leave or we all did. Took some time to calm him down, but…" Jason purses his lips, exhaling loudly. "I kinda suspect it was part of the reason he ran away."

Dick curses under his breath.

"I don't know about the last part," he says, if only to spare Jason, "but from what Dickie told me, he hasn't changed his mind. He still doesn't want to go. And that's the problem, 'cause there's no way we can separate them, but then what do we do?"

There is a tense silence, because none of them has an answer. Bruce is the first to break it.

"Let's try and approach this logically," he says, sounding fully like himself now, collected and unruffled. He leans back a little and looks between his sons. "There are only three possible ways to deal with the situation. One: Dickie goes, and Jay stays. Two: they both leave. And three: they both stay. We cannot go with the last option, so we need to choose between just two."

"You make it sound so simple," Jason scoffs. "It's not a math problem!"

"I'm not saying that," Bruce replies calmly. "Not at all. And I remember that we have two mutually exclusive conditions. But it is easier to think this through in this way."

It really is, Dick realizes, and he is suddenly frustrated with himself for not trying to analyze the situation like this before having this conversation. Much as he has criticized Bruce's too-logical, almost clinical approach to everything including relationships, Dick actually envies his ability to focus on the main thing. Dick feels too close to the situation, and this seems to be clouding his judgement. But if he had only tried to distance himself and think this through, he is sure he would be much better prepared to discuss the options for the kids.

But at least he seems to have succeeded in convincing Bruce to let the kids go.

"Ok," he cuts in before Bruce and Jason can go off on a tangent and continue arguing. "Two options. And…" He realizes his preparation has been lacking in more than one way. "I think I should point out that we lack data."

"Such as?" Jason crosses his arms.

"Such as why Jay wants to stay," Dick shrugs. "Now that I think about it, Dickie didn't really explain, and that's a major thing. You didn't ask him, did you, Little Wing?"

"I told you," Jason's eyes flash in irritation, "he thought he was not welcome here anymore."

"That can mean different things," Bruce notes, and Dick is actually impressed by how quickly he has caught on. "And if he likes the location, that's one thing. That is, if he wants this specific house to be his home. But I doubt that. It is more likely that he was thinking about the people."

"Oh," Jason's face smooths out. "I mean… I guess you're right," he admits reluctantly.

"It's just an assumption, though," Dick warns. "We'll need to talk to him to know for sure. I should've done that, but now it's… I mean, it's not too late, just – we can't call him in here, that'd be like an interrogation. And I don't want to go find him and be all 'we're deciding your fate in there, so here's just one question'. They'll both just worry needlessly. Let's… let's just figure out

some options that we can present to them, and then we'll see what to offer and how, based on what Jay tells us."

"Fair enough," Jason grumbles. "So what are we thinking? Say Jay is in love with the house, for some crazy reason. Visits?"

"I guess so," Dick glances at Bruce uncertainly. Bruce nods slowly.

"Probably, yes," he agrees. "That won't be the same as them staying together, I suppose, but they can stay in touch. I'm not sure how to set it up, exactly, but we can make sure that's a condition for any family that… that Dickie chooses."

"And that will be?.." Jason raises his eyebrows.

"Either some reliable family we've vetted personally, or…" Dick takes a deep breath before saying it out loud for the first time. "Or me."

His father and brother both look at him in amazement.

"What?" Dick almost snaps defensively, looking between them. "I'm an adult, I can do it."

"Of course you can, chum," Bruce says in a placating tone that completely fails to reassure Dick. "It's just… It's a big responsibility."

Dick tamps down on his flaring indignation, but is not altogether successful. He thought he and Bruce were past debating whether he can make his own decisions about his life and handle responsibility.

"It might be hard to believe," he says sarcastically, "but I understand that."

Obviously sensing his mood, Bruce holds up both hands.

"I don't mean that you can't handle it," he soothes. "It's just – it would be a big change, that is all."

"He's not a baby," Dick retorts, "he's a teenager. I think I can handle one kid."

"I, uh," Bruce clears his throat uncomfortably, eyes flitting towards Jason and then back to Dick. "Again, I don't doubt that, but… You might find that a teenager is sometimes harder to handle than a younger child."

"Your track record with them is not a universal rule," Jason scoffs, seeing through Bruce's general wording as easily as Dick. But… while Jason might be right, Dick has to concede that Bruce has a point.

"I'm not saying it'll be easy," he says reluctantly. "But you should remember that he is my alternate. I know how he thinks. That should give me some advantage, I think."

Bruce still does not look fully convinced, and Dick suddenly feels tired of this debate.

"Look, I'm not backing down from this," he says firmly. "It's an option, and if Dickie wants it, I'll do it. I already offered it to him, a while ago. I'm not taking it back."

"What if they want to leave together, though?" Bruce asks gently. "You cannot take care of two children at once, chum, not with them both so heavily traumatized. They'll need too much of your attention, and you… you have your own life to live, son."

Dick balks. Much as he wants to insist that he can, he has to take his own advice and think about what is best for the kids. And Bruce is right; he cannot do it, not alone and without a proper support network in Bludhaven. Now that he has so vividly imagined keeping Dickie, however, the thought of letting both kids go to some random, unknown family hurts even worse than before.

Bruce's addiction is definitely contagious.

"Hey!" Jason's indignant voice snaps Dick out of his thoughts. "How come we're not discussing me?"

Dick exchanges a glance with Bruce, who is apparently surprised enough that he fails to control his expression again and is looking almost comically torn between exasperation and apprehension.

"Ah, Jay," Bruce begins hesitantly, and Jason scowls immediately, "it's not that I don't think you capable, but… the same thing applies to you. You-"

"Pff," Jason tosses his head. "What, I have my own life to live? Newsflash: I don't really have one." He ignores Bruce's wince and barrels on. "What other responsibilities do I have? I can take care of them!"

"Jay, you don't even legally exist," Dick reminds his brother gently. "You can't be their guardian."

"Formalities," Jason waves a hand dismissively. "So you can be, or Bruce. I'll just do the heavy lifting."

"Jay, it doesn't work like that," Bruce explains carefully. "You'll need to keep a proper home for them, a good place. They can't stay at one of your safehouses. And… if you think that someone else can cover for all the legal matters without your presence, you're wrong. As their guardian, you'd have to be involved in too many things – with school alone, and there are many other things to keep in mind. And it's a long-term commitment, not just watching them for a weekend. If Dick or I have to step in all the time, I would say that will defeat the purpose or you having custody of them."

With a snarl, Jason jumps up, pushing the chair back, and Dick tenses, wondering if he is about to get violent. To his relief, though, it does not appear to be the case. Instead, Jason just starts pacing in circles, Bruce and Dick both watching him with identical concerned expressions.

"Fine," Jason snaps, arriving back at the desk after three circles and stopping at its edge. "Well, what if…" He inhales and then exhales deeply, as if steeling himself. "You can have my death certificate overturned. Right?"

Dick knows Bruce's tentative but desperate hope is reflected in his own face.

"I can," Bruce answers, slowly and carefully, as if afraid to scare the possibility away. "Jay, would you?.."

Jason scowls.

"For them, yes," he sounds almost aggressive. "I'll let you do the papers. I won't go to your fucking galas, and don't expect me to play the part of your perfect son for the public, but I'll let you do the papers."

Dick can swear there are tears of joy in Bruce's eyes – but Bruce would not be Bruce if he was not always putting duty first. The hopeful expression turns pained, and Dick feels his own heart sink.

"Jay," Bruce begins and stops to take a deep breath. "There is nothing I want more, I swear. But… Again. It is the same as with Dick. It is too much for you to handle alone."

Jason throws out his hands.

"For fuck's sake! These are our alternates! And fine, if Jay tells me he wants me gone, I'll go, but we have to give them the option of staying with us!"

Apparently, he is not the only one susceptible to Bruce's bad habits, Dick muses, frowning and looking down at his hands clasped on the desk in front of him. Jason and Bruce continue arguing, but Dick tunes them out for a moment. He is suddenly gripped by an idea that is completely crazy, but… 'Cannot do it alone', Bruce said…

Dick finds that he simply cannot pass up this chance – not if it would mean being able to both keep the kids in his life and get his brother back, properly.

"What if I move back to Gotham?" He blurts out, cutting off the argument. Looking up, he sees Bruce and Jason staring at him incredulously. Bruce opens his mouth, frowning, but Dick shakes his head, growing excited, and starts talking before Bruce can come up with more objections.

"Look, it'll be perfect!" He exclaims, quickly warming up to his plan. "I'll take a nice townhouse for us, you can overturn Jay's death certificate, and we can share the guardianship. And you and Alfred will both be close by in case we need any help." Bruce starts to say something, but Dick talks over him. "You can't say it'll be too much, 'cause we'll share the workload and the responsibility. And it's as close as we can get to keeping Jay here. It'll only be a short drive away from here, we can visit whenever. And since Jason and I and Dickie will all be with him, he won't feel abandoned."

"What – what? You… want us to move in together?" Dick raises his eyes to Jason, who is staring at him incredulously, still standing and therefore practically looming over him. "You want to live with me? Why?"

Dick frowns, confused and surprised that this is what Jason is questioning – of all things.

"Well… yes? I mean, why wouldn't I? You're my brother."

Jason shakes his head, almost starts saying something, but thinks better of it and just sinks wordlessly back onto his chair. Dick and Bruce exchange a look as Jason attempts to compose himself. Eventually, he exhales and looks back at Dick.

"Fine," he mutters, and although his tone is disgruntled, his expression wavers, as if he is trying to hold on to a scowl but is too pleased to succeed. "You're right, I'd better move in, if only to save them from your dietary choices."

Dick wisely chooses not to argue lest Jason change his mind.

"Dick, are you sure this is what you want?" Bruce asks quietly. Dick shrugs.

"Yes. If that's what they choose, then I'll do it. Plus, you know what, I actually think this setup's going to be better for Timmy, too. I can see he loves having someone his age around – well, anyone around. He's lonely."

"What about your work, though?"

Dick shrugs again.

"I'll figure something out." He sighs. "I can't deny I like being my own boss, so… I have no illusions, we're probably going to clash a bit. And Bludhaven is not much better than Gotham, so it's… maybe not that fair to just leave, but… I'll figure something out. Right now, I want to put my family first."

"Alright," Bruce agrees. His face is composed, but Dick can tell he is happy and feels a smile tugging at his own lips. "Then, we can check with Jay and Dickie, see what they think, and work out the details for whatever they choose. And if they do want another family, I'll start on that. Then we'll adjust the cover stories and finalize everything." Bruce waits for them both to nod. "Alright. So then, I will give the legal team a call, ask them to put it all on hold for now."

Jason smirks.

"Your lawyers are gonna hate you. I'll bet you're gonna have to find a whole new team after this, B, 'cause working for you will drive anyone crazy."

Chapter End Notes

I think it's already clear which option the kids are going to pick, so I won't even bother pretending there's any kind of cliffhanger. One last chapter to go! Where we'll learn about the cover stories and have a glimpse into the kids' near future.

Chapter 37

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

Several months later

Dick feels pleasantly tired after his workout, tired and happy, because today he finally managed to do that flip he had not been able to master for so long despite all of Richard's tips. Shaking out his freshly dried hair, he makes his way towards the reception area of the gym, bag slung over his shoulder.

Pausing by the window, Dick scans the cars in the parking lot, but does not see Richard's. He frowns, glancing down at his watch impatiently. He thought he was the one running late, but it is already ten minutes past their appointed time, and Richard and the others are still not there. And it is not that Dick has become a spoiled brat in the space of just a few short months, really, he has not. It is just that today is somewhat special, and Dick's excitement is feeding his growing impatience.

His phone chimes in his pocket, and Dick digs it out eagerly. 'Sorry, kid, T got held up at school, heading over now,' the message reads. It is from Jason rather than Richard, who must be busy driving; so it must mean they are already on their way. Still, if they only just left the school, Dick has at least ten more minutes of waiting. Sighing, he tells himself firmly to get a grip and heads towards the plush chair closest to the window, which will afford him the best view of the parking lot. Sinking into it, Dick drops his bag at his feet and relaxes, watching the street and using the forced inaction to reflect on the way the last few months have gone.

And the past few months have been… interesting, he thinks, smiling a little. Definitely busy. It has been somewhat of a shock, settling into this other Gotham's life, getting acquainted with its heroes and villains – many of whom are mirror images of the people Dick had known or heard about in his own universe. And… also, inevitably, getting acquainted with the crises that are, according to the Bats, typical for this world's Gotham.

Mostly, though… things have been better. Good, even, though, of course, not perfect – but then, Dick never expected everything to be rosy. He still has nightmares – though they have declined drastically as he settled into his new routine and allowed himself to believe he was safe. Therapy has helped a lot, and as Dick got more comfortable sharing so much with a virtual stranger, he has come to appreciate Bruce choosing a therapist with whom he could be one hundred percent candid.

And, of course, the thing he cherishes the most is having people he can trust and rely on.

But it has been far from easy. Sometimes he struggles; sometimes even the simplest things overwhelm him. And, contrary to what he would have believed or expected, the growing feeling of safety actually made it worse at first. Crying jags, emotional instability, bouts of anger, flipping between wanting to be held and feeling revolted by anyone's touch… Dick has experienced it all – and given himself a hard time about it, even as both his therapist and Richard kept telling him that it was normal, just his brain gradually realizing he was safe and not needing to control himself so carefully, to hold on so tightly.

The explanations and the reassurances have made it all only marginally easier to bear, and being kinder to himself is still not easy; Dick has to make an effort to give himself time to heal without

constantly criticizing his own actions, feelings, and choices. One of the concessions he has made to make life simpler for himself is agreeing to be homeschooled for now, because dealing with more new people is still more than he can handle. Upon Richard's insistence, though, he has joined the nearby gym so that he can have contact with people outside the family. He does admit it was the right decision; given the nature of the activities, he does not have to deal with many people at once, and the exercise always cheers him up, making the interactions easier.

Perhaps it should not have mattered as much as it did, but the hardest thing to swallow has been the need to change his name. Not fully; but Dick and Jay both – grudgingly – agreed it would have been entirely too suspicious for them to have the exact same names as Richard and Jason – on top of looking exactly like them, too. So, at least on paper, Dick has become John Robert and Jay, Peter Jayden.

And then… there is the press. Things have become a little better in that regard, too; at least journalists are no longer besieging the Manor or their new home, the townhouse that Richard has chosen for them in Gotham proper. But, on a bad day, their interference is still enough to make Dick want to scream.

Obviously, he was Bruce Wayne's ward for years and has dealt with being in the public eye before. But while his Bruce cared about appearances, too, he never allowed any scrutiny of his private business and came down hard on anyone who dared to poke their nose into it. Everyone in the other Gotham knew that bothering Bruce Wayne was not a good idea, and those who ignored the advice found out its truth… the hard way.

Here, apparently, things are different – which, of course, Dick already knew. And… this is a change he has not welcomed.

Then again, Dick has to admit that the journalists' relentless attempts to get to the bottom of it all are understandable. And it is not just Bruce's involvement in a dreadful case that has made international news. Bruce's family circumstances have become most unusual, too… to put it mildly – even for a crazy place like Gotham. In fact, Dick thinks, scoffing, it is almost as if the local press cares more about the latter – that is, the new additions to the Wayne family.

Dick's own cover story is probably the simplest. He has been presented as a long-lost relative of Richard's – the son of John Grayson's second cousin, whose identity, life story and untimely demise turned out to be quite easy to fabricate. Dick knows that, initially, the Waynes wanted to go the same way with Jay, pretending that he was Jason's brother who was just a baby when Jason's mother died. Given the terrible state of Gotham's foster care, it would have been relatively simple to explain Jay's absence until now as due to him having slipped through the cracks in the system.

But that plan ended up being scrapped. Try as they might, the story just did not square with Jason's family timeline, what with his father having been in prison for a while and his mother sick and dying at the time of Jay's supposed birth. On top of that, it was simply too implausible for Richard and Jason to suddenly get younger brothers with the exact same age difference at the exact same time – and looking exactly as they did.

So Jay ended up being presented as the kid Bruce helped save from the traffickers – which they had to admit anyway, since the press had already found out somehow – and felt responsible for enough to take him under his wing. They did end up using the similarities in the two Jasons' looks in developing the cover story for Jay, though. After all, the traffickers themselves had admitted to the kid that he had been noticed because of his looks that appeared to match Bruce Wayne's 'type'. Bruce just adjusted the cover story a little bit to say that Jay must have been snatched precisely because he looked like a carbon copy of a younger Jason.

But the thing that has been fueling the interest of the press the most has been, of course, Jason's return. Naturally, there was no way the Waynes could tell the truth there, either, so instead of telling the impossible story of Jason's resurrection, they told the story of how he was kidnapped instead of being killed. Touted as a miracle, but shrouded in mystery – which some hinted was very dark – it ended up being even more highly publicized than Dick and Jay's appearance.

At least now, several months later, things have settled down somewhat, with all of them settling into their new routines.

Unlike Dick, Jay was very eager to go to school properly again, and is thriving there. It is the same one Tim goes to, and although Dick can tell Tim is far less enthusiastic about school that Jay, he has been great at showing the kid around. In fact, in the weeks before he was supposed to start, Jay grilled Tim relentlessly about stories and details about the school, and by his first day he was probably better acquainted with it than many kids who had actually been going there for years.

In all honesty, Dick cannot say he is not at all envious of the almost easy way Jay has slipped into this new life. No, he does know, of course, that 'easy' is not the right word to describe it, not with the kid's own nightmares and insecurities that lead to occasional outbursts. But Jay is still calmer and, to use the word their therapist has mentioned, better 'adjusted' than Dick. And, of course, mostly Dick just feels happy about it.

He knows that Jason's presence is helping Jay, too, and it is a good thing that Jason is around a lot more now. He cooks for them – and teaches them to cook, too, 'so they don't end up useless like Dickhead'. He also reads to them, plays with them and seems to like just hanging out with them. His favorite pastime, though, seems to be discussing books with Jay – and arguing about them, because, apparently, the dimension magic does not mean they have the same tastes in everything. Dick snickers even now, remembering Jason's dismay and horror when he heard Jay criticizing Pride and Prejudice. Even months later, Jason still has not abandoned his attempts to get his double to fall in love with the book.

And, Dick muses, the change has actually been good for Jason himself, too. His temper is still there, but over time, it has become less explosive.

A few months ago, they were all having dinner together at a restaurant, and Bruce tentatively suggested Jason going to college since he was now legally alive again. In response, Jason yelled and cursed at him and stormed out, causing Bruce to mope – no other word for it – for the rest of the meal. But Dick apparently decided to continue what Bruce started, and his careful prodding and cajoling eventually worked – so well, in fact, that now Jason seems fully committed to the goal and is working towards getting his GED. And although he still acts prickly whenever anyone mentions college, Dick can tell that it is for show and that he is in fact secretly pleased and extremely excited about it. He knows Richard can see it, too; in fact, it has become a kind of a game between them, where Richard will intentionally suggest all kinds of crazy subjects for Jason to study just so that Jason can pretend to get riled up and talk about his plans and dreams.

Aside from the odd restaurant lunch or dinner, Dick does not see Bruce. He admits he is grateful that the man refuses to set foot in their new home so that Dick and Jay can view it as their safe space. And, at least for now, Dick is perfectly happy keeping it that way. He does know the man means him no harm, but he cannot pretend he is anywhere near comfortable in his presence. Still, occasionally being in his company in public is alright, and, against all his expectations, Dick actually found himself enjoying lunch the other day.

Jay, on the other hand, seems perfectly comfortable visiting the Manor from time to time with the others, though he never stays the night since he prefers Dick's company to Tim's. He has,

however, graduated to having his own room, no longer needing Dick's presence to fall asleep – even if he does migrate to Dick's bed occasionally after a nightmare.

For his part, Tim is a frequent visitor in their townhouse, sometimes sleeping over if he is not patrolling with Bruce. He has become both a good friend and a fun working partner to Dick, because although Dick never joins the Bats' patrols or goes to the Cave, he does enjoy helping with other things. He and Tim can spend hours discussing cases and running analysis – or watching movies and playing games. Despite restricting himself to data analysis and listening to the others on the comms while they patrol, though, Dick does his best to stay in shape… for when the time comes and he can join them. Maybe.

Dick perks up, finally seeing the familiar car pull up in front of the gym. An excited smile blooms on his face, and grabbing his bag, he leaps to his feet and rushes outside. Tossing the bag into the trunk, Dick slides into the backseat, where Jay and Tim are already sitting.

"Sorry," Tim says in lieu of greeting, "my fault we were late."

Dick waves a hand.

"It's fine. I wasn't waiting long. Hey, everyone."

Jason raises a hand from the front seat without turning, and Richard smiles at him in the rearview mirror. Dick turns to Jay, who is practically bouncing in his seat.

"Finished reading the play, kiddo?"

Jay actually scoffs at that, and Dick cannot help a laugh. Admittedly, it was a needless question; the two Jasons spent the entire evening last night quoting lines at each other. And Jay has been talking of little else but his upcoming, first ever theatre visit since Richard got them all tickets for an afternoon performance of Shakespeare's Twelfth Night. Admittedly, not all of them are equally excited. Dick is not that much of a theatre fan, and Tim is obviously even less of a one. But it is another wonderfully normal, non-violent thing to do, and Dick is still reveling in every new experience that does not involve pain. Besides, just the sight of Jay's shining face is enough to make this worthwhile, and his excitement is catching.

"Right," Richard says with a smile in his voice, turning on the blinker and checking the mirrors, preparing to pull out of the parking lot. "Everyone's seatbelts on? Great, let's go!"

"A question," he continues as they get out onto the main road, "you all ok to swing by the Manor after the play? It's just, B called, and it's a bit weird… Says he wants us all to come, says there's someone he wants us to meet. Really weird." Dick can tell that Richard is frowning even without seeing his face. "He wouldn't say why or who, just said it's not a crisis or anything… Timmy, d'you know anything about this?"

"No," Tim is frowning, too. "There was nothing out of the ordinary when Alfred and I left this morning."

"Huh," Richard mutters. "Well – I guess we'll find out when we get there. Dick, Jay, I don't really care what B said, if you don't wanna come, you don't have to. You mind coming along?"

As expected, Jay does not.

And, thinking it over, Dick smiles, realizing that… neither does he.

Chapter End Notes

The! End!

I mean, it's not a cliffhanger if you all know who it is that Bruce wants them to meet, right? (Ok, update, since people have come up with many versions in the comments: it's Damian.)

I ended up taking longer to come up with the kids' new names than I did writing the entire chapter. And I'm sure a lot of people will disagree with my choice, but… well. I'm the author, so I get to choose. Also, John Robert happens to be the name of my best friend, which is hilarious, because choosing this combination for Dickie was totally unintentional.

Anyway! We're done, and I still can't believe I've written almost 160k words. Or that this thing ended up having both a plot AND a happy ending. It's been an awesome journey, and I really enjoyed it.

Thanks again to everyone who read, left kudos, or commented! Actually, a special thanks to everyone who left comments, 'cause, although I haven't lifted anyone's ideas directly (aside from the 'B-plot' name ), I definitely got inspiration from you. This story would've been so very different without you, friends.

Chapter 38

Not an update per se, but I just had to share with you all this lovely fanart by Nrainyus! It's such an awesome gift

Please drop by the archive and comment to let the author know if you enjoyed their work!

https/youtu./works/42488928/comments/new

Head above water

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38