Alfred had had a youthful skip in his step ever since Batman had called to tell him that both of their missing boys were alive and on their way home. Almost bursting with relieved joy, he had passed the few hours until their arrival in shifting pillows, laying out medical supplies, and baking a fresh batch of double chocolate chip cookies. It was only as he was opening the front door to allow Dr. Thompkins inside that he felt his burst of energy begin to lag.

"Hi, Alfred," she greeted. Her smile buoyed him up despite the exhaustion he'd stockpiled over the last week, and he couldn't help but return the expression.

"Good morning, Dr. Thompkins," he said, stepping back. "Your timing is superb. I expect them back within the half-hour."

"I'm glad," she nodded. "Maybe once they're home you'll get some sleep. Don't object," she raised one hand to stop him. "I can tell you've been up fretting all night."

"...Touche," he gave in. You know me too well, dear lady. "I suspect, however, that my workload will only increase once they're safely returned."

"And you'll revel in it, because you always have," she teased. "Do we have time for a cup of tea, at least? I'd like to hear what they've gotten themselves before I see their injuries, for once."

"In my experience, Dr. Thompkins," he agreed, "there is almost always time for a cup of tea."

He caught her up on what little he knew over a steaming pot of breakfast blend. She had been aware of the earthquakes occurring around the globe, of course, but not of Dick and Tim's proximity to the first one or of the JLA's involvement in trying to apprehend the responsible party. "...Those boys really do have a knack for walking right into trouble, I swear," she shook her head when he'd finished.

"They do indeed. Fortunately they seem to possess an equal talent for walking out of it, and thank heaven for that." Draining his cup, he stood. "If you're ready, we should make our way downstairs. They'll be here any time now."

"Right behind you," she rose as well. "After what you just told me, I think I'm only a little less anxious to see them than you are."

They stood in the hangar a few minutes later, waiting silently. Alfred felt himself beginning to slouch again, and squared his shoulders. There's no time for that now, he lectured himself. Later, when they're all in bed and fast asleep – then I can take my rest, and not before.

At that moment the ceiling opened, revealing the late-morning sky. The Batplane descended swiftly through the passageway, hitting the ground with a jarring thud. "That was a hard landing for anyone in there with broken bones," Leslie winced.

"I'm sure he would have preferred to come in slowly, but it's broad daylight," he reminded her. "You ought to see him take off in such circumstances. It's absolutely hair-raising."

"I'll skip it, thanks."

"I don't blame you in the least."

The stairs unfolded themselves slowly, and he leaned forward in anticipation. To his surprise it was Flash who appeared first, rubbing his eyes and yawning. "Hey, Alfred," the speedster said as he joined them on the ground. "Hi, Leslie. Long time no see."

"Hi, Wally," the physician responded before Alfred could. "Do they need help in there?"

"Nah. Robin's not hurt and Tim can walk. Dick can't, but I'd worry about the sanity of anyone who tried to keep Batman from carrying him out. I only left early because it's cramped when there are five people in that little medical bay." He turned to the butler. "Don't worry, I'm not staying long. I'd love to, but the wife's going to have my head as it is."

"I assure you, Mister West, I wasn't worried," he answered. "You've had an open invitation to this house since you were twelve, and I don't imagine that will ever change. I keep your usual guest room ready at all times as a result, the same as I do with Mister Kent's preferred space."

"I know, but still...you're gonna have your hands full. I didn't want you to think you were going to have to try and feed me on top of everything else."

"Still insatiable?" Leslie queried good-naturedly.

"It's like Alfred said," the redhead grinned, patting his stomach. "Some things never change."

"Here's one such thing now," Alfred remarked as Batman appeared at the head of the stairs with a blanket-wrapped figure cradled in his arms. "...That can't be terribly comfortable for Master Dick," he frowned.

"He's sedated," Wally said. "He woke up when Batman came in to tell the rest of us we were fixing to land, but he knocked him right back out."

"If he can't walk, that's a good thing," the doctor opined. "...Looks like I've got bones to set in two patients," she went on as Tim emerged with his arm in a sling and a pinched look on his face.

"Yeah...they both got busted up pretty good," Wally winced. "To be honest, though, it could have been a lot worse." He paused. "We got really lucky last night, on multiple levels."

"So it appears, Mister West," Alfred agreed as his eldest charges reached the bottom of the steps. "...Welcome home, sir," he nodded to Batman. "I assume medical is the first order of business?"

"Yes," the cowled man replied as he walked past without stopping.

"Master Tim," he smiled at the next person off the plane and examined him with a quick glance from head to toe. Oh, child, your knees look terrible, he winced as he spied the thick scabs over both joints. "Welcome home."

"Thanks, Alfred. Hi, Leslie." He pointed after Batman. "Fix Dick first, okay? I can wait."

"Now how did I know you would say that? Come on." She offered him her arm. "You can at least let me help you to bed. Those scrapes look painful."

"Thanks," he conceded, taking her elbow and shuffling off towards the main cave.

Robin was the last one down. He glanced after Batman several times during his descent, then tried to rush past in pursuit of him. "Ah, young sir," Alfred stopped him. "Wait a moment, please."

"...Think I'll catch up with the others," Flash muttered, clearly sensing a talking-to on the horizon. "See you in a few."

"Can we do this later?" the boy requested impatiently once they were alone.

"No, I'm afraid not." He, too, desired nothing more than to follow the others; they were in no immediate danger, though, and he wanted to make sure that the youth before him didn't think he had gotten away with the misstep he'd made a week before. "Now," he knelt, "I ought to be rather miffed with you, Master Damian. I think we both know why." You got past me, you devious little hellion, he almost smirked. While the others had all managed it at one point or another as well, there had been something about Damian's flight that had reminded him of the illicit escapes of Bruce's childhood. He didn't know what it was exactly, but once he'd finished being upset over the entire incident he'd found himself feeling a bit proud.

"...However," he said now, "if it's all the same to you, I'll settle for being glad that you returned safely and let the matter go. That is not permission to repeat your transgression," he warned as a look of disbelief spilled over the boy's face, "and I'm not making any guarantee that your father won't want to punish you for doing something so dangerous and foolhardy. Is that understood?"

"Yes," Robin nodded. "...Are we done?"

He arched an eyebrow. "I believe there's something you're supposed to say when someone forgives something you've done, is there not?"

A huff sounded. "Thanks. Now can we go after them?"

Straightening, he clasped the child's shoulder. "...Welcome home, young sir. And yes," he smiled, "now we can go after them."

Tim was in a bad mood as he stomped up the stairs from the cave to the house. Superman had just brought him the first piece of interesting news that had come out in the week since the fall of the force field, and he was not happy about it. She did it to herself, he told himself as he closed the clock. It's not my fault, damn it...

Thunder rolled overhead, making him jump. "That's exactly what I needed right now," he glared at the ceiling. "Thanks a lot."

"Master Tim?"

He lowered his head to find Alfred watching him. "...Hey," he greeted, scrubbing his good hand across his face. "Sorry, just...tired." It was partially a lie, but he couldn't bear to repeat what he'd been told quite yet; it was all still too raw.

Something flickered in the butler's face, and he was certain he was about to be called out for his untruth. Then the older man just nodded. "Understandable. Judging from the tale you and Master Dick spun for us about your adventures, you had quite a lot of rest to catch up on even without taking your injuries into account. I'm sure Master Wayne won't take offense if you don't wait for him to return from patrol."

"You'll wait for him, right?" It was a silly question – of course Alfred would wait, he'd been waiting up all night for Batman since before Tim was born – but he asked it anyway.

"Of course. Go take a little relief for yourself. Goodness knows you've earned it."

"...Thanks, Alfred."

"Not at all." Tim moved past him towards the foyer, but was called back. "Oh, and young sir?"

"Hmm?"

"Master Dick was awake about ten minutes ago. I'm sure he'd be delighted if you stopped in and bent his ear for a little while." A fresh atmospheric rattle reverberated through the house. "...Until the storm passes, for example."

Tim gave a grim smile despite his depression. "...Alfred?"

"Yes, Master Tim?"

"You're a genius when it comes to this family."

"Thank you," the Englishman replied, his expression flustered but pleased. "I do try. Good night, young sir."

"Night, Alfred."

A minute later he rapped his knuckles against Dick's half-open door. "Knock knock."

The man in the bed looked up from his book. "Hey! I wondered which of you I'd be seeing first tonight."

"Yeah..." Tim sighed as he dropped onto the edge of the mattress. "...How long do you figure I've got until the trouble child comes rushing in?"

"If he's already asleep, you might be good indefinitely. He can't be afraid of what he doesn't hear. Why, though? Is something up?"

He stared at his socks for a long, silent moment. "Tracy's dead, and Charity hates me," he breathed, closing his eyes against a sudden rush of heat.

"...Whoa." There was a snap as Dick closed his reading material. "Okay...ah...when did all of this happen?"

"Earlier today. Superman was downstairs a little bit ago. He said they found her under a section of cliff that had sloughed off right before the river leaves the mountains."

"Down by the hover-lake?"

"Yeah. Down there."

"Man...that's a long way. No wonder nobody found her right off. But...what about Charity? Are you just assuming about that part, or...?"

"No," he shook his head. "I wish I was. They're still holding her in Chicago, so Superman went to...to tell her. About her mom. I gave him a letter for her a few days ago – I wanted to apologize for not seeing her again before she got taken off the plane, you know – but today was the first time he saw her since she's been in Federal custody. I guess she...she read it...and she said she understood, and that she wasn't mad at me. Then he told about Tracy, and...well..."

Slumping forward, he buried his face in his hands. "She blames us entirely. She said we should have knocked Tracy out better, or rescued her sooner, or...well, from the sound of it she said a lot of things, the most important of which was that she never wants to hear from me again."

"...Aw, Timmy," Dick crooned. "C'mere. I'd come to you, but..."

"I know," he sniffled, sliding up until the older man could wrap an arm around his shoulders. "Plaster socks."

"Right."

He took several long, deep breaths before a new voice spoke from the doorway. "Your girlfriend's deluded, Drake."

"Oh, damn it," he muttered. Depending on how much the boy had overheard, he knew he would be ragged on for either weeks or months to come.

"Dami, you were eavesdropping," Dick accused, his tone disappointed as the child entered the room.

"...I was trying to let you finish your conversation before I entered," he countered, a hint of hurt underlining his words. "I heard Drake ask how long I would stay away, and surmised that he wanted to speak with you privately."

"So naturally you listened in," Tim grimaced.

"How else was I supposed to know when you were done?" Something plinked against the window, drawing the attention of all three of them. "...It's hailing," Damian observed.

"At least the thunder's sto-" The loudest boom yet echoed through the clouds. Both Tim and Damian jumped. "...Never mind," Dick finished. "Tim, I don't think he was trying to listen in for a bad or mean reason. Okay?"

If he said that he disagreed, he knew what would happen; Dick would sigh, Damian would stomp off to sulk on his own, and he'd be left feeling even more rotten than he already did. Knowing as he now did that the child possessed the same fear of thunder that he did, how could he say something that might cause him to suffer through the storm alone? To do so would have been too cruel even had their tentative truce not held up for the last seven days. "…Okay," he allowed.

"Great. Dami, you want to come in? I've got two functional arms now, and I seem to remember making an oath to cuddle you both once that was the case."

"…You're still not supposed to be using it much," the boy corrected as he drew up to the bed.

"Maybe not, but I think a pulled muscle or two can stand up to a hug. Don't you?"

Damian glanced at Tim and muttered something incomprehensible.

"Okay," Dick allowed. "We'll find out in a little while, then. To go back to what you said a minute ago, though…Tim, I think Dami's partway right."

His brows drew together. "She's not deluded," he defended her.

"No, but she does have a few pretty important things mixed up in her head. Enough of that built up over time is pretty darn close to delusion. I mean…she really has no call to blame you for her mother's death. I understand her logic, don't get me wrong, but Tracy Collins made her own choices. We did everything in our power to keep those choices from killing her, and it's not our fault that our best efforts weren't sufficient. Heck, if it weren't for Uncle Clark our best efforts wouldn't even have been enough to keep us alive. So while I'm sorry that she died, and I'm very sorry that Charity's chosen to take her pain out on you, I'm not going to let her death make me feel guilty." The arm around his shoulder tightened. "…Don't let it make you feel guilty, either, little brother. It's unfortunate, but it's not your fault."

He'd known all of that, but it helped to hear someone he trusted verify what he'd already been thinking. "…It's just such a shitty ending, Dick," he complained. "Millions of people died, hundreds of millions more are displaced and injured, the economy's – well, let's not even go there – and there's no one to pin it on. I guess justice was sort of done, since she came to the same end as her victims, but…"

"It's not enough," Damian put in when he trailed off.

"…What do you mean?" Dick asked, taken aback. "She died with the knowledge that her life's work was being shut down short of completion and under the impression that her daughter had betrayed her. What greater punishment would you have wanted for her?"

"I don't know," the boy shook his head. "But for that many lives, and for what she did to you…it doesn't feel like enough."

For all that Tim fully believed in and abided by the familial 'no killing' rule, and as little as he liked to cause others unnecessary pain, he agreed. Putting such a sentiment into words felt dangerous, though, so he said nothing. Instead he caught Damian's eye, held his gaze for a second, and gave him an infinitesimal nod. She did deserve more punishment than the quick exit she got, he gulped. …But I'm glad Charity didn't have to see her like she would have been, mentally broken and in chains.

"Well…putting that aside," Dick frowned at them both, "at least we don't have a Schrödinger's villain on our hands anymore."

"'Schrödinger's villain'?" Tim repeated.

"I made it up the other day, while you were sleeping," Damian put in with a little smirk. "Is she alive, or is she not? Nobody knows until she's seen."

"It's horrible," Dick said, "but it's also technically correct."

"It is horrible," he sighed, "but I suppose knowing is better than waiting around to see if she escaped and is trying to figure out a way to strike again."

A beat passed. "Did Superman say if they'd learned anything about the system during their excavations?" Dick inquired, directing the subject away from Tracy Collins' demise.

"It's buried under a mountain," Damian snorted. "How could they have learned anything from a pile of broken electronics?"

"Not everything was in the cave system," Tim corrected. "The broadcast tower was above ground, and they actually have learned something about it."

"…Oh. Well, what was it?"

"They figured out how she was getting the trigger signals past the force field." It was a question that had been vexing all of them ever since they'd returned and put together a more complete picture of what had occurred, and as he'd expected it would his announcement drew looks of interest. When he explained that the top of the tower had been equipped with a small compacting sphere of its own which, when activated, merged with the larger field and allowed the transmitter to rise a few inches above the barrier, both of the others groaned.

"I can't believe none of us thought of that," Damian scoffed. "It's so obvious that the force fields could be made to merge."

"Well, none of us are super villains with aspirations for world domination, so…" Dick pointed out.

"Still…it's annoying that a lone geophysicist outsmarted all four of us."

"To be fair, she had a lot of help from her husband," Tim reminded. "She must have fitted the sphere to the tower herself, though. Charity said that using the dome for protection was her mother's idea, not her father's, so-"

The window rattled suddenly under a massive cluster of thunder. His brain clicked into a flashback, and he threw himself down on the pillows. Aftershock, he thought, clinging to Dick lest they become separated by the shaking. When he came back to himself a minute later, heat flooded his cheeks. "…I hate that shit," he muttered, trying to sit up in an attempt to save the last shreds of his dignity.

"Hush," Dick ordered, holding him in place. "You're not the only one that got to."

"…You, too?"

"That was more earthquake than thunder, so…yes. On the plus side," he brightened, "I'm finally carrying out that dual-cuddle I promised."

Tim raised his head just enough to see Damian glaring at him from where he had dug in against their elder brother's other shoulder. "…I'm not a hypocrite, you know," he told the boy. "I won't make fun of you. Not for this, at least."

"…You don't like storms either?"

"No," he flinched as lightning flashed outside. "…I really don't."

"Which is why we're going to have the first ever Wayne Manor 'hide from the evil thunder' slumber party tonight," Dick beamed at them. "It'll be great. I've got tons of blankets and pillows, cuddles are on tap, and you just know Bruce will stick his head in later. Sound good?"

"I can deal with that," Tim yawned. He hesitated, then went for broke. "Damian? You in?"

There was a long, pensive silence. "…Yeah, Tim. I'm in."

Settling back down, he couldn't keep a smile off of his face. He used my first name, he marveled. Maybe, just maybe, Dick had been right about him all along. "…Cool."