"Are you still working on that?"

Damian snatches the contracts out from under my pen. I set it down with a sigh, resting my head on my palm as he inspects the object of my frustration.

"These are simply figures, Grayson."

I hear the underlying insult. "My mind doesn't work that way," I defend half-heartedly. Damian is a mastermind of insults, but I know when they're empty comments and I'm honestly too exhausted to care. "I'm good at math, I'm good at people, I'm good with computers. But business just doesn't make any sense."

"Give it to Drake, then." He tosses the papers back on the desk in disarray. I was half hoping he'd do it for me. "Did he not inherit father's company?"

"He did," I allow, careful not to rile him up again. Even though he refuses to admit it, he loved Bruce. His mood has been absolute trash for the past two weeks. Especially since the DNA results came back on the charred body Superman had found in the explosion's wreckage. 99.97%. For all intents and purposes, a perfect match. "But he left this morning."

"Because he has the ridiculous notion that Father is still alive and we're not clinically insane or idiotic enough to believe so as well?" His fist clenches and unclenches in his folded arms, betraying his frustration and loss.

I raise an eyebrow, trying to placate him without taking his side. "Something like that…"

He scoffs, arms now falling to his sides. "Very well, that makes this easier." He folds his arms again but this time behind his back, something I've observed to be his stance when addressing a matter that he deems very important.

This should be good.

"As you are now Batman, it only makes sense for me to take up the mask of Robin."

I don't hesitate. "Okay."

He looks taken aback. "R-really?"

I've never known him to stutter.

He composes himself. "I… Father always said I would never be able to."

"Yeah, well, you almost killed the current Robin at the time. That was a long time ago. I believe you've evolved, or whatever. Besides, I didn't want to train anyone." I refrain from mentioning I don't even want to be Batman. He already knows. Even Bruce knew, as he'd specifically told me not to take up the cowl if he were to die.

I catch a glimpse of one of Damian's rare half-smiles. "I daresay I will surpass your skill at my age."

"At my age, I'd only been doing this a year. You've been doing this since you could walk."

"Before that."

"How-"

"You don't need legs to wield a dagger, Grayson."

I nod, as if taking it into serious consideration. "I see." As usual, I can't tell if he's joking or stating a fact he regards obvious. Either way, it was funny.

Damian nods to me and leaves the study. I probably should get back to work, but Damian's distraction was enough to make that impossible. Sighing at the paperwork, I turn around in my chair so I don't have to look at it.

Bruce's study is dark and modern; its design is the closest his civilian and vigilante life come to each other. Both of which, unfortunately, he left to me. Being Batman is something I can do. It is simply a role I'd practically been raised to be. But the finances, the publicity? I don't understand how it works.

Right now, we have a Bruce Wayne stand in, but we all know he won't last forever. Eventually he'll grow tired of the parties, girls and endless money and leave us to fend for ourselves. Tim was taking care of Wayne Enterprises, but now he's off trying to prove Bruce is still alive. And I still have to deal with the Justice League.

Bruce made it clear he didn't want the world to know Batman is dead. That means I have to essentially run the League, even though I have little experience with their team as a whole. Superman and Wonder Woman are doing it for now, but for every public appearance, I'm Batman.

I hate this. It can't go on forever, and as soon as the world knows, there will be chaos. Batman is the embodiment of fear! I'm quips and acrobatic stunts. How can I fool all his enemies? How will I fool the Joker? He'll know in two seconds flat I'm not Bruce. This is exactly why I didn't want to do this, why Bruce didn't want me to do this.

I tug my hair, exhausted and frustrated. Everything is so complicated right now…

Bruce only released me from the responsibility because he knows me. Knew me, I guess I should say. It was his way of validating my decision to become Nightwing. He never told me he forgave me for leaving. I left because I didn't want to become Batman… And now I know he accepted that. Now I know, and now none of it matters.

When I finally open my eyes, I catch sight of a small indent on the floorboards. Curious, I slide off my chair and bend down next to it. It's tiny; no bigger than my pinky nail. I'd never been in Bruce's seat before, which is the optimal place to spot it. I run my finger over it, wondering why it stuck out to me in the first place.

With a frown, I return to the desk and dig out Bruce's wax. Yes, he has wax. For family seals. I break off a small piece and place it on the heating plate for a few moments. Satisfied that it's now soft, I return to the indent and press the wax inside.

It hardens within seconds, and I gently ease it out, careful not to break it. Under the lamplight, I tilt it until I see exactly what I thought I'd seen when I first saw the indent.

It's a tiny bat.

The intercom buzzes, so I mash the wax into a ball and put it back in one of the drawers, erasing my discovery. "Yeah?" I ask through the speaker.

"Would you be so kind as to join me in the foyer, Master Dick?"

"Sure, Alfred. I'm on my way."

This doesn't make any sense. Bruce is hardly the type to leave potential identifiers in the mansion. If it was a coincidence, it seems unlikely that he wouldn't investigate and dispose of the little mark. His paranoia knows no bounds.

On my way to the foyer, I pause as I pass over the rugs. What if there are more markers? I haven't seen any, but the first was so small.

I silently apologize to Alfred as I mentally plan to shred the carpets and look underneath. Just as I think that, I carefully amend the idea. I'm starting to get as paranoid as Bruce.

Still lost in thought, I enter the foyer.

"Hey," Dani says.

For a second, my head struggles to pull itself from the train of thought it was following. "Dani!" I greet when I'd caught up with myself, feeling my scowl pull into a smile.

She's in the same outfit I'd last seen her in; a blue sweatshirt and a red beanie. I see she'd recently showered, though her hands and shoes are as dirty as ever.

"I use my hands ten times more than I wash them, and I can only wash them so many times," she'd explained once.

I see Alfred eyeing them warily, probably mentally cleaning up the messes she'll make.

"I didn't think you'd come," I continue, smiling widely.

She shrugs with an indifferent look. "I was mad you didn't say goodbye." I give her a second to elaborate why she took two weeks, but she doesn't.

"Sorry."

She nods, ignoring my sarcasm. "Finding this place was harder than it looked. You'd think a giant mansion would make it easy, but there are a lot of mansions."

"Gotham's elite," I explain distastefully, but don't stop on the topic. "Are you staying long?"

"As long as you want me to."

She says it offhandedly, but I see the insecurity behind her words. It's so out of character I almost tease her, but think better of it. It's best to treat unusual behavior as you normally would.

"In that case, we might want to set up a room for you." I say the words to her, but they're directed at Alfred.

He nods his assent stiffly, though not with disapproval. "I'll make up one of the spare bedrooms."

"Thanks, Alfred." He takes his leave after giving us a slight bow, wincing slightly at the movement. He'd taken quite the beating a while before Bruce died, though he refused to take it easy once he was released from bed rest. I take a moment to worry over him before redirecting my attention to the girl in front of me.

When he's gone, Dani points in his general direction. "You have a butler?"

"He raised Bruce. He's more family than anything."

"But you treat him as a butler."

I wave it off. "Alfred does what he wants. Did you see me ordering him around?"

She lets it go, so I take the opportunity to offer a tour. At her nod, I lead her out into the hallway and start walking. "When you mentioned three brothers and two sisters, I figured the place would be louder," she observes as we pass the main hall.

"It was earlier," I recall, thinking of Tim's tantrum. "But now it's pretty empty. Everyone but Damian, Alfred and I are somewhere else."

She suddenly looks uncomfortable, as if she just remembered Bruce wasn't here either. "Sorry about your dad."

"It's okay," I assure her. "I mean, it's not, but… I'll be okay."

"When's the funeral?" she asks, saying the words like they're unfamiliar.

"Already had it," I lie. Well, it's not exactly a lie. We incinerated Batman's body, though Bruce Wayne, in the public's eyes, was still alive and well.

"Sorry I missed that. It sounded like a blast." She grins and I return it.

"What was your work? Now that it's done." She looks at me with a question in her eyes. "I'm guessing, since you're here and all."

Recognition flickers in her eyes and she nods, explaining, "Remember the baby?"

It takes me a second. "Jack?" I'd done a follow up a couple weeks later. He was in a foster home. I say as much, and she shakes her head.

"He was, but I wanted to make sure he got adopted. He just did, a few days ago. Jo and Graham." A bright smile passes over her face. "They're adorable."

My admiration of her grows. "That was noble."

"I have my moments," she responds vaguely, her eyes dimming ever so slightly. We're in the main dining room now, which has a grand chandelier made of sparkling crystals. Her eyes sparkle when she sees it, drawing her out of the slight reverie she'd fallen into. "Is that off-limits?"

I glance at her from the corner of my eye. "Are you asking if you can climb it?"

"It's so sparkly," she breathes.

"How will you get up there?"

"Where there's a will, there's a way."

I chuckle, leaning back to study the chandelier as if considering it. "I've been up there."

"Really?!"

"When I was younger. Alfred was maaaaaaddd…"

"Did it break?"

"Oh, no. Bruce knew he was adopting a circus kid."

"How did you get up there?" I laugh, shaking my head. She frowns at my reaction and scrutinizes the room. "The air ducts? How big are the air ducts?"

Well, after that, one thing led to another. We started arguing about the air ducts, then about ladders, then climbing the wall. Dani insisted Alfred has a way up to clean it (she's not wrong) and I insist that's the easy way out. Eventually, that led to Dani proving she could get up there by climbing up the bookshelves.

After she gets up, she realizes it's too far away to jump. She looks around her head until finding the air vent. It was how I got to the chandelier myself. Entertained, I watch her wiggle inside the ducts and mentally track her path through the hidden ducts.

Faster than I expected, the grate covering the vent just to the right of the chandelier is pushed open. Feet first, Dani wiggles out the hole and carefully finds ground on one of the main branches of the fixture. It pitches when she lets go of the vent, but before she can lose balance, her hands grip the main part of the chandelier.

I'm not worried about the fixture falling; it fell through when Tim and Damian decided to have a to-the-death spar on it. The new design can support up to three-hundred extra pounds on even the smallest branch.

"Bravo!" I call up to her.

"There should be a house up here," she replies, clambering carefully around the fixture. "Like a tree house. With a hammock." The crystals rattle as she straddles the center and leans back against one of the branches.

"I'll submit your suggestion to Alfred."

"Does that means it's not happening?"

I grin at her plaintive tone. "I don't think the chandelier's that big."

"How big does it have to be?"

"Miss Dani," Alfred scolds, suddenly appearing in the doorway, "do come down from the chandelier." He sends a glare at me, interrupting my calculations, and I return it with an impish smile. Dani hooks her knees on part of the structure and hangs down, giving Alfred a wave.

"Do you think if the chandelier were big enough there could be a tree house in it?"

I stifle a laugh.

Alfred regards her sternly. "I believe tree houses belong in trees, miss. And if I'm not mistaken, they can also be utilized for climbing."

She smirks at his sarcasm and grabs either side of her legs so she can transfer herself into an upright position. Dangling by her hands, she looks down at me, ten or so feet below, then at the air vent. "Catch," she orders, and lets go. Immediately, I hold out my hands and grasp her around the waist as she drops.

"Thanks."

I set her down. "No problem."

Alfred rolls his eyes, probably imagining Dani becoming the sixth Robin. Or seventh? There have been so many, I lose count. "Dinner is ready, Master Dick. How many places shall I set?"

"Four," I reply, looking at Dani briefly to see her nod. "That is, if you're joining us and if Damian decides to bless us with his presence."

Alfred frowns. "And Master Tim?"

I shake my head. "He's taking a leave."

He nods once, forcing impassiveness. It's been so hard on him, since Bruce died. He needs all the sons he can get right now, and we had already lost Jason. Hopefully Dani can lighten the mood of this place. It was always gloomy before, but now it's downright depressing. It feels wrong, without Bruce.

"Let's go meet Damian," I suggest, more for a change in subject than actually wanting to initiate an introduction.

Dani smirks. "Ooh, won't this be fun?"

"It will be for me," Alfred interjects, calmly adjusting his cuffs as he walks out of the dining room.

There you go! Yet another chapter, as promised. This one still has too much of a filler taste for me, but I promise the next few chapters really start picking up.