A/N: This was just going to be a vignette, but it got away from me. Enjoy!

Timeline notes: Now back from being lost in time, Bruce has been travelling internationally for Batman Incorporated. Dick is Batman in Gotham and Cassandra is Black Bat. This takes place almost immediately after All the Corners That Are Left, in which Dick formed a tentative truce with Jason, but that's not required reading.

For comics readers: This is set shortly after Batman: Gates of Gotham, in a universe that's largely canon compliant, except Robin: Wanted and Flashpoint never happened, so Cassandra never turned evil and there's no New 52 reboot. Therefore, it exclusively draws details from Post-Crisis comics, and exact issues are cited in the end notes.

A Manor of Speaking

The conversation wasn't as long as Dick expected. Settling himself in the Batbunker, he called at the agreed time, delivered pleasantries—which mostly went unacknowledged—and then presented his case, remembering all that he and Tim had discussed several days before. Unfortunately, he was so focused on conveying every aspect of his argument accurately that he became somewhat long-winded, until Bruce finally interrupted him, saying,

"Dick. Do you want me to return to Gotham earlier?"

Dick was dismayed to realise that Bruce was frowning, but it was not in the way that he usually did—the way that indicated disapproval of some sort. No, this was a rarer expression—one that Dick had felt on his own face more and more often in the past year.

Bruce was concerned. Dick felt his own affection swell.

So, talk to him, Tim had said.

Dick gave a sheepish grin. "Yeah," he said, when he could speak. "I'd really like that."

Just like that, it was decided. Bruce had been occupied with establishing local operatives for Batman Incorporated, but he now trusted them to continue the work that he'd begun, leaving him free to return to Gotham within the week.

"It can't be any sooner, I'm afraid," Bruce apologised, and Dick assured him that it was fine.

"It's not like we haven't been handling Gotham up until this time," he said, echoing the words Tim had reassured him with the previous week.

To his surprise, Bruce's face softened.

"Yes," he said. "You've done well—all of you. Thank you, Dick." And then, while Dick was still reeling from this uncharacteristic show of emotion, the call ended, and he found himself blinking at the dark screen.

"Hi," came a soft voice from behind him. Dick spun around.

"Cassandra," he breathed, seeing the girl in the doorway. "When did you get here?" It was mid-afternoon; he had thought that the only other occupants of the penthouse were Alfred and Damian, who would both be occupied with Damian's schooling.

"Just now," she said, stepping into the room. "I spoke with Alfred. He wants us to inspect the Manor today, before Bruce comes back."

Dick's eyebrows shot up. They had all been expecting Bruce to return to Gotham within six weeks at the latest, but Bruce's recently established change of plans meant that such a visit now had to be practically immediate.

He mentally groaned as he thought of how big the Manor was. But Alfred had Damian to contend with, Tim had work until the weekend, Steph was occupied with preparing for finals and Jason was obviously out of the question.

"Sure," he said, standing up and trying to ignore the way his fatigued muscles protested. "Lead the way."

They drove to the Manor in one of Dick's favourite cars—cool enough that he could almost forget that he was the guardian of a preteen, but not so flashy that he felt a teenager himself. Cass wound down her window and rested one arm against the ledge, letting the wind buffet her short black hair.

As they passed through the front gates and followed the long driveway that led to the house, Dick reminded himself that he had to keep his expectations reasonable. Alfred had employed a gardener to keep the majority of the grounds tidy, but the Manor itself had been closed off for over a year, barring sporadic incidents such as Tim's return to Gotham and the whole business with Dr Hurt. Cassandra took out the keys that Alfred had given her, but Dick still felt an odd urge to ring the doorbell or use the knocker, as if he had arrived at a place that his instincts no longer recognised as home.

The high-ceilinged entrance hall echoed as they eased one of the enormous double doors open, and Dick could almost hear his breaths reverberating in the vast emptiness. The windows were covered, and the dim passageways resembled nothing so much as abandoned catacombs, devoid of energy and life. Unbidden, tears sprang to Dick's eyes, but he hastily blinked them away, hoping Cass had not seen.

"You grew up here," she said softly, watching him with her unerringly perceptive brown eyes. "Right?"

"Yes. No." He gazed up at the oversized chandelier above the staircase as he tried to keep his emotions in check. "The house collapsed into the Batcave when the earthquake hit, so Bruce had to get most of it rebuilt. Some parts are still the same, but a lot… a lot's changed." He cleared his throat. "Why don't we start with the west side?"

You can do this, he told himself, falling into line behind Cassandra as she led them through the house's maze-like structure, from the portrait-flanked passageways to the windswept balconies and hidden alcoves. She was taking notes, he dimly realised, and he tried to make himself useful by offering up his own observations about what areas needed extra maintenance or care.

As they worked systematically, pushing open the curtains and removing dust covers from the furniture, Dick gradually felt something inside him begin to loosen. But he did not miss the sideways glances Cass was giving him; there was an element of worry there that Dick had felt directed his way far too often in the past week.

Their next stops took them through the formal dining rooms and an array of ballrooms and living rooms, each more vast and deserted than Dick could have imagined. He could not remember the stately mansion being this hollow before, except when he had first arrived, and everything had seemed far too big and expensive and misery-inducing for a small boy who had grown up in trailers and circus tents.

"Tim and I cleaned up this place once, years ago," he said, as they paused in the last dining room for her to scribble something else down on her notepad. "Or, I cleaned it up, and he sat and watched until I threw brooms and towels at him." A hollow sort of feeling erupted inside him at the memory. "He was just a kid then."

"When?" she asked curiously.

"Oh—years ago. Before the quake. I'd been away from Gotham for years by that point, but Bruce asked me to come back and be Batman for a while—long story. But the house had been trashed by Bane—again, long story—so while I was living here, I spent quite a bit of time cleaning it up. Puttying the windows, doing repairs here and there."

"I never knew all that," she said.

He smiled. "Yeah. Tim likes to think that he's grown up now, but I still catch him bringing his laundry to the penthouse sometimes."

"I know."

Dick could have kicked himself. "Of course. Sorry." How had it slipped his mind that Cassandra was currently staying at the Nest with Tim?

But she merely frowned. "You seem… distracted."

"Long week," he muttered. Pasting a smile on his face, he added, "Let's keep going."

The kitchens, once Alfred's domain, had been thoroughly cleaned out, and so there was no food for them to snack on, save some ancient and unappealing cans and jars that Dick suspected had been insisted upon by Bruce in case of emergency. All the equipment was tidy and polished, as if their owner had simply left for a few days, and yet there was a mild musty smell lingering in the air—dust, perhaps, and who knew what else.

Dick pushed open the windows, and the change was immediate—he felt sure of being able to breathe again. The breeze blowing in past the panes caught the scent of the ferns outside, making him think of afternoons spent in this very room, perched on one of the stools at the bench as he told Alfred about his day. He swallowed, running a finger along one windowsill as he remembered watching Alfred wipe down every kitchen surface.

There was only the faintest trace of dust on his fingertip.

"Alfred's been here," he said quietly. "Hasn't he?"

"Yes," she answered, clearly reluctant.

"Then why are we here? Did he put you up to this? Is there something happening at home I should know about? There's so much else I could be doing right now instead of tripping down memory lane for no reason…"

"It's not."

"What?" he asked, irritation already fading.

"It's not for no reason." She sat down at the bench, and he copied her. "I don't know all the details," she continued. "But Bruce called me last week, while you were sick. He wanted me to talk to you."

Dick's heart thudded. "About what?"

She made a face, but he could tell that she was more frustrated with herself than annoyed at him. Despite the leaps and bounds she had taken in her literacy skills since first arriving in Gotham, there were still moments when she struggled to find appropriate words to convey exactly what she meant.

"He's worried about you," she said finally. "And Alfred thinks you're overworking yourself again."

He shot her a grin. "This is Alfred we're talking about, you know."

"You were sick last week," she pointed out.

"That was food poisoning, not the flu." Dick thought about what had happened that night and winced. "Combined with Jason's booby-trap drug."

"You were also exhausted," she said, not rising to the bait at the mention of Jason, who was so antithetical to her own ideals. "Running on empty. That's what Tim said. And Alfred. And Barb—"

He held up a hand. "All right. I get the point."

They sat in silence for a long moment, punctuated only by the ticking of the large clock in the hallway nearby. Then it struck the hour, sending its chimes tumbling through the desolate rooms, and the nostalgia of it all brought a lump to Dick's throat. How many times had he heard that same sound when he was a child, grieving and desperate for the love and affection that had been torn from him in a single instant? Initially, it had kept him company during the long, sleepless nights, and when he'd moved out of the Manor, he'd found himself profoundly moved by the realisation that he missed that comforting peal more than anything—well, almost anything—in the world.

A place to call home. Someone to call family. Dick had missed it as he missed his mother's songs and his father's jokes and Bruce's rare smiles. He missed… he missed…

He wiped his eyes, sniffling a little as he tried to pull himself together. "Damn," he murmured. "I'm not being very good company, am I?"

Cassandra's round, earnest face was before him. "No," she said bluntly. "But it's okay."

Her honesty startled him into a laugh. "Got it."

"What was it like, talking to him?" she asked.

"Who?"

"You know." An odd sort of expression crossed her face—curiosity mingled with wariness. "Red Hood. Jason Todd."

Oh, yeah. Him.

The hollow feeling had returned, trembly in its blankness, and Dick didn't know how to feel. He unfolded himself from the bar stool and headed for the doorway, gesturing for Cass to follow him. There it was, the centrepiece of the house—the larger-than-life portrait of Thomas and Martha Wayne. Dick stepped closer and again noted that the heavy, expensive frame was entirely free of dust.

"I… I don't know what to think," he answered, his voice sounding small and distant to his own ears. "Once I stopped throwing up so much, we talked. A lot. That part was good. He took care of me, too… although he made it sound like he didn't have a choice…"

"There's always a choice," she said.

"Yeah." That's what I keep telling myself, too.

"What's he going to do now?"

Dick let out a breath. "I don't know." He felt for the tiny com-link in his pocket and showed it to her. "I convinced him to take the other half of this pair—it's the old style, hardly irreplaceable—but who knows if he'll use it." Who knows anything about him, these days.

It seemed so long since Jason had been a bright-eyed Robin with a hunger for independence and something to prove. When Dick had been a distant but still supportive somewhat-brother. Before Jason had perished in a warehouse in Ethiopia. But just as Dick couldn't go back to being Robin, he knew that Jason could never again be the martyred child that Bruce had adored. It was a riddle with no solution: a tragedy in two acts.

"It's not your fault," Cassandra said, touching his arm, and the simple gesture gave him a newfound strength; maybe he was still holding the strands of his fragmented family, but he was no longer alone. "You can't blame yourself for his choices. Maybe he didn't choose to come back, but he chose to kill. That's always a choice."

"Yeah," Dick breathed. "I know. But—thanks." That was a depressing topic and a half. He decided to switch tack. "What about you? Still going to be Black Bat?"

"Yes. Hong Kong was good, but I want to stay in Gotham. I missed…" She waved an arm expansively around them. "This."

The room was as bleak as before, but he thought he knew what she meant. If he half-closed his eyes, he could almost picture the room comfortably filled with people. Steph curled up on the squashy sofa next to Tim. Babs on her laptop in the corner. Damian muttering over his homework at the table. Alfred plying Bruce with food at the other end.

But what about Cassandra? And Jason? He couldn't imagine Cass taking one of the books from the shelves against the wall and leafing through it. Nor could he picture Jason without the array of armour and guns that were always on his person—a visual shorthand for what separated him from the rest of the family. Was it still Jason's family anymore, or had the Jason that they'd known died long ago in that lonely place?

And where would he, Dick, be? Did he still belong in the house that he had grown up in? He remembered how Barbara had teased him—with the sting of truth in her words—about the way the penthouse's décor had been the same as the day he'd moved in, as if he'd just arrived, or was preparing to move on at a moment's notice. Circus blood, she'd said, from the tower that she'd outfitted as Oracle's new base. But although it no longer applied, there was something in her light-hearted observation that still perturbed him.

Blüdhaven was long gone, but even before its annihilation, he had lost so many of his treasured belongings to the destruction of his apartment building. Maybe there was some part of Dick that was still recovering from that trauma and everything that had come before it. When he'd been abruptly orphaned, he had been sent to Gotham's youth study centre with barely more than the clothes on his back, and although Bruce had bought him everything he ever needed, something within Dick still rebelled against the casual spending.

He had been silent for a while, he realised belatedly, but quelled the discomfort. Cassandra herself was not a natural conversationalist, and they had been brother and sister since before Bruce's supposed death, so both knew the value of when to speak, and when to stay silent.

"I want Bruce to be home," he said finally. "But I don't know if I'm ready for it. For what he'll say."

"Me, too," she said.

He must have looked a little startled, for she elaborated swiftly, saying, "Ever since I met him, all I've ever wanted is to be like him."

Dick remembered a warm hand on his shoulder, grounding him; he remembered the assurance that he would always have a home to come to, no matter what happened. He remembered indomitable strength and willpower, and below it all, incurable compassion. There was no one like Bruce in all the world.

"Yeah," he said. "I know what that's like."

She smiled as if she could see right through him, and he almost thought that she did.

"Do you ever call him…" She faltered. "You know… Dad?"

His heart stopped. What? "No." Not to his face. "Do you?"

She shook her head. "In my mind, he's always Batman. Maybe because I first knew him that way. But I know he's still my father. I don't know if he would want…"

"I don't think he would mind."

She was looking down as she spoke. "I don't know. I changed my name to his. I didn't think it made much difference. I just didn't want the name that I had. But then Bruce gave me papers, made it official finally, and I felt…" Her expression twisted. "A little guilty, I think. Because it meant more to him than it does to me."

"You know," he said, "I never got the impression that you liked this sort of thing—just standing around and talking. So why did you agree to talk to me?"

"Because Bruce asked me," Cassandra said simply. "And because I want to be more of a family."

"Then, at the risk of sounding cliché… I think it does mean more to you than you think." He nodded at the opposite wall, upon which was displayed a large professional photograph of Bruce, Alfred, Tim, Dick and Cassandra. "We'll have to remind Bruce to get that updated—reckon we can keep Tim and Damian in the same room for long enough?"

But she was sombre as she gazed at the serious-faced image of herself in the frame.

"I haven't told him that I want to stay in Gotham," she blurted. "Before, he always understood without us needing to talk, but he's been gone so long…"

"Sometimes, there's no way around it," he said wryly. "It's like the clock there—it needs to be wound every week, or it'll stop working. You can't take it for granted."

"I… I think I see," she said, meeting his eyes uncertainly.

Dick thought of the frank conversation he'd been able to have with Bruce earlier, and how it wouldn't have been possible without Tim's support, or even Jason's insight, and he thought about the web of relationships that surrounded him and made him whole. "If you like, I can help you find the right words—I've been learning a lot lately."

His younger sister's smile was immediate and bursting. "Yeah," she said. "I'd really like that."

Sources:

Bruce and Cassandra both separately expressed their desire to stay in Gotham in Batman: Gates of Gotham.

Tim returned to Gotham in Red Robin #12, and the Dr Hurt incident was in Batman and Robin (2009) #13-16 (collected in Batman and Robin: Batman Must Die!).

Wayne Manor was damaged by an earthquake in Batman: Cataclysm and Dick and Tim cleaned it up in Batman: Prodigal, when Dick was Batman.

Tim's base in Park Row was introduced in Red Robin, and the Robin's Nest is used as a general name for his base in various comics, including Robin (1993) #138 and the New 52 comic Batman Eternal (see #50).

Cassandra arrived in Gotham in Batman: No Man's Land, and she worked as Black Bat in Hong Kong in Batman Incorporated (2010) #6.

Barbara teased Dick about not decorating the penthouse in Batman: The Black Mirror.

Dick's apartment building was destroyed in Nightwing (1996) #89, and Blüdhaven was destroyed in Infinite Crisis.

Dick's stint in a youth study centre in Gotham is mentioned in Nightwing (1996) #12.

In canon, Bruce adopted Cassandra in Batgirl (2008) #6, though for the purposes of this fic, Cassandra never turned evil, so the circumstances were different.