Author's Note: Thank you to Gueast 1 (*insert evil laughter here*. And I am having way too much fun writing the moments between Dick and Damian), Guest 1 (It's definitely going to be an interesting meeting!), and soccernin19 (Thank you so much! I'm really glad you liked Broken Wings and I'm hoping I can make this story just as good as the one before it!) for reviewing the last chapter! I own nothing.

The lash came down hard on his back and his cry echoed through the whole room. "You're nothing," a voice purred. "Just a broken tool." It was the closest Master had gotten to saying those words and he shuddered, forcing down a whimper. Whimpering would be showing weakness and that was the last thing he wanted to do after a failed mission. The lash came down again, making his back feel as if it were on fire, and a whine escaped him before he could stop it. In the past month since Master had taken him in, he'd gotten better about keeping those noises silent, hiding the fact that he was still sobbing himself to sleep, but not good enough. He braced himself for the next couple blows, knowing that Master would not hold back after that weakness.

Damian woke with a choked off cry of terror. He was soaked in sweat, his stomach twisting worryingly and his heart pounding. His head felt as if it were too heavy to lift and it took a moment for his vision to clear of the tears he'd apparently been crying while he slept. Crying was a weakness, as was needing sleep, and Damian would have gladly done without both. His hand clenched tighter into a fist as he became frustrated with his own inadequacy. His mother had never cried. Even when she was ill and suffering from nightmares she had remained impassive and unreadable. Damian was ashamed to know that he was very little like her. That was when it registered that his hand was clenched around something.

The boy blinked away as much as his exhaustion and disorientation as possible and found himself staring at a slumbering figure. The memories filtered slowly back. He'd gotten sick the night before and Grayson had carried him back to his room. In fact, Damian had gone so far as to cling to Grayson like a foolish toddler instead of the cool and efficient assassin he was supposed to be. The boy's face burned with shame but he couldn't bring himself to release the shirt. Not when he knew Father was gone.

Father was dead, Mother was most likely dead, and sooner or later Grandfather would figure out where he was. Then Damian and what remained of Father's patched together family would be killed. The thought made his stomach roll and he found himself whimpering as he buried his head in the pillow. Grayson mumbled something incoherent and blinked his blue eyes open, staring at Damian uncomprehendingly for a moment before his expression cleared. A gentle hand stroked through Damian's hair and he found himself nudging into the touch. The hand then settled on his forehead for a moment and when Grayson pulled back his hand, he was frowning.

"You're still feverish," the man explained, moving as if to get up. Damian found his grip tightening again without any conscious thought. Part of him was terrified that if he let go, released the person in front of him, he would find himself completely alone. "Hey, it's okay," Grayson cooed, hand settling over Damian's fist. "I'm not leaving you. I just need to grab a thermometer from the bathroom and then I'll be right back." Damian nodded and forced himself to release Grayson's shirt. He closed his eyes, nestled further into the still warm blankets, and tried to tell himself that he wasn't completely alone.

When the sun rose Barbara wheeled into the back room where she'd gotten Jason settled a few hours only to find the boy gone. If she was being completely honest with herself, which she had done more and more often after the Joker had paralyzed her, she had expected this. Jason was never one for sticking around, even on his best days, and in moments of emotional turmoil he tended towards destroying everything in reach. She was just glad he'd decided not to wreck her computers. For a moment Barbara considered calling Dick and letting him know that there were about to be very dead criminals in the Narrows, then decided against it. The last thing Dick needed right now was another problem placed squarely on his shoulders. Instead she shut down her computers and rolled away, hoping Jason wouldn't cause too much trouble.

The Wayne household was in chaos. The first thing Roy heard when he was let into the building by Alfred was someone yelling. "Be reasonable," a girl's voice was demanding.

"I am being reasonable!" came sharp response. "Bruce is not dead!"

"I am sorry for all the noise," Alfred apologized, sympathy clear in his warm eyes. "Master Timothy is taking the loss of Master Bruce poorly."

"It's fine," Roy replied, offering the old butler a weak smile.

"I'm sorry Tim," the girl was snapping. "Really I am but Bruce is dead."

"He is not dead," Tim snarled back.

"Please calm down," Dick's voice cut in.

"Why won't any of you believe me?" Tim wailed and Roy flinched, startled as a boy several years younger than him stormed by, face red with anger and stained by tears. Roy and Alfred exchanged worried glances. Alfred went after the boy who was probably Tim and Roy headed towards the kitchen. An exhausted looking Dick was comforting a very upset blonde girl who looked to be about Tim's age.

"It'll be okay Stephanie," Dick was telling her, voice worn.

"I just don't understand why he's so angry," Stephanie replied. "Sure he's lost a lot but so have the rest of us and none of us are screaming and throwing a fit about it."

"As far as we know Jason hasn't been told yet," Dick joked tiredly, trying to ease the tension. Instead of calming, Stephanie glared at him.

"How can you be so insensitive about all this?" she demanded and Dick flinched. That was all Roy needed to get him moving.

"Whoa there," he said, stepping up to support Dick who was swaying slightly on his feet. "Dickie isn't the one you're mad at. There's no need to snap at him." Stephanie had the grace to flush slightly but she still looked irritated.

"I'm sorry Steph," Dick added, allowing Roy to make sure he was stable. Seeing that Stephanie softened some.

"I'm going to see if I can calm Tim down," she told him, pausing to awkwardly to pat him on the arm before exiting the kitchen.

"How are you holding up?" Roy asked the younger man and Dick turned tired blue eyes on him.

"Tim's in denial, Stephanie's going through crazy mood swings, Babs was up all night watching the streets, I haven't heard from Jason, and Damian is upstairs sick and terrified that he's going to be abandoned." The words came out in a rush and though Roy appreciated the honesty he did note that Dick was avoiding the question.

"Okay," he said. "And how are you?"

"I don't know," Dick replied, running a hand across his face. "I haven't even had time to let the news sink in." The younger man tried to slip by Roy but the archer reached over to stop him.

"I've known you since you were waist high," Roy said. "I know when you're lying to me Dickie."

"I just-" Dick turned agonized blue eyes to one of his oldest friends. "I can't talk about that right now. My brothers need me."

"I just want you to know that you're not in this alone." That was enough to make Dick hesitate on the bottom step.

"Thanks Roy," Dick said with a barely there smile. Then he placed his foot on the next step, wobbled, and almost crashed to the ground.