Cass glared at the open book in front of her. It had been hard enough learning to read and write as her normal self, and she still really didn't like doing it. Trying to relearn or at least refresh the skill of reading, of making ink shapes become words then making those words become something that made sense, and as a twelve-year-old? Not even body language could fully express how much she hated this.

Briefly, Cass imagined herself as Clark Kent. If she was Superman, she could use her glare to set the book on fire with her heat vision. Then she wouldn't have to read the stupid thing anymore, and everything wouldn't be so awful!

The thought made her happy, but only for a moment, because if she set the book on fire, she'd get in a lot of trouble, and then nobody would want to hang out with her.

Nobody wanted to hang out with her now, though…

Cass shook her head and put it down on her arms. It was beside the point. She was not Superman. And everything was awful. It stunk.

"This stinks."

Cass pulled her head back up. That was her own thought, spoken out loud.

She looked to the left.

The student one seat to the side of Cass was muttering to herself as she read. Or, perhaps, muttering to herself as she pretended to read like Cass was pretending to read.

"Don't like it, don't like it, don't like it," the girl repeated to herself, propping her chin on one hand. Her voice was quiet enough that likely nobody else heard it; if anyone else heard, they seemed to ignore it. She got even quieter then, mumbling something else.

Cass casually leaned a little to her left, straining to hear.

"What good is reading, anyway?" The girl barely mouthed. "I don't want to be a teacher or a librarian or anything. I want to be a dancer. I don't need to read. I don't want to read."

Oh, Cass could relate to that.

Straightening up again, Cass glared at the book she was supposed to be reading with a new determination. She flipped the pages at a lazy rate, not absorbing or even trying to absorb the words, but coming up with a strategy instead.

The other girl wanted to be a dancer?

Cass could work with that.

It was all so very suspicious.

Dick frowned to himself as he snuck through the hallways.

Damian claimed to have made a friend, but Damian didn't know what she liked to do, or how old she was, or even what her name was. Maybe that was normal for preschoolers, but Dick didn't really think so. And it wasn't normal for Damian. Damian was sharp, paying attention to the words and actions of other people. Normally, Damian would've known a lot about anyone he encountered, and he would've known a lot more about anyone he tried to be friends with.

This wasn't normal. It was very un-normal, even when Dick took the whole "being a preschooler" thing as a factor for Damian's behavior. And un-normal things in their lives tended to be dangerous. And Damian, though well-trained and certain he could handle things, certainly couldn't handle something dangerous right now.

Damian and Dick together, though?

Together, they could handle it, Dick was certain.

Carefully maneuvering around a corner, Dick made his way to the side of the school, where the door was to where the courtyard was that classes went to for "outdoor play time." He double-checked all around him, making sure the coast was completely clear, then Dick slipped out.

A class of really little kids was out and about, swarming the playground. As he'd carefully investigated the night before by looking at the materials Bruce had gotten from the school, Dick knew this was the time Damian's class of preschoolers was supposed to be at the playground. So where was Damian?

Dick stayed near the fence, clinging to the bare shadows there as he worked his way around the playground and courtyard. He searched and searched, looking for Damian alongside another child.

He couldn't find him. Dick couldn't find Damian.

Panic started to rise in Dick's chest, but he forced it down. He'd only made it about halfway around the fence, after all. He didn't need to panic yet. And even if Damian wasn't here, it didn't mean anything truly bad had happened, right?

Then-

There! He heard Damian's voice!

Dick rounded a tree that barely fit inside the fence and found him.

Sitting on the ground with his legs crossed, Damian had a thick stick in one hand, drawing something in the dirt. He had the other hand out to one side, holding something by the tree.

Dick squinted.

That was…

That was a doll? Damian was holding the hand of a large doll?

Huh. Okay. Not too weird for a preschooler. Damian had probably gotten from the classroom and was using it as cover to make himself seem like a normal kid or something.

Then Dick realized what he was hearing.

"And if we wanna make it really good, we can add color," Damian told the doll. Damian was quiet for a moment, staring at the doll, then he nodded. "You're right. We do not have paint or any of the traditional means of adding color to art. No, not crayons either, and I wouldn't use them if we had them. They're childish. They are too. They are too!"

"You're actually playing with it," Dick realized.

Damian startled hard, flopping over onto his back. The doll came with him in a tumble.

"Hey!" Damian objected, his eyes flashing to Dick. Then his eyes widened. "What- how- why are you here?"

"I wanted to check on you and your friend," Dick said. "Where is she?"

Damian sat up, propping the doll against the tree again. "She's fine, no thanks to you."

Dick blinked in confusion. That hadn't been his question. Also, what?

"Yes, this is my brother," Damian told the doll. He giggled after a moment, genuinely giggled. "No, I would not say that. That's silly."

Dick frowned. What was Damian implying?

"And this is my friend," Damian said, turning toward Dick. He held up the doll's hand.

Realization hit Dick like a truck, which was saying something, because he'd actually gotten hit by a truck once as Nightwing. Dick breathed, "That's it."

"What's what?" Damian asked. "We want to know."

"We," Dick repeated, looking back and forth. "Damian… Your friend is a doll?"

Damian scrunched up his face in what looked like a mix of confusion and anger. He looked at Dick, then at the doll, then at Dick, then at the doll for much longer.

"Ohhhh," Dick said gleefully. "Oh, this is so good."

In a split second, Damian's face became fully angry. He launched himself to his feet and started stalking toward Dick.

Despite himself, Dick cooed. "That's so cute!"

"I'm not cute!" Damian screeched, and he flung himself at Dick.

Dick would pay for this!

Damian smacked his hands at every part of Dick he could reach, shrieking in rage.

Dick fended him off clumsily, but Damian's own attacks were equally clumsy with lack of muscle memory in that body, so not much progress occurred.

"Boys!" A voice rang out.

Dick froze.

Damian managed to get in one good hit, slapping Dick's shoulder, before someone scooped him right up off of Dick.

"Boys, this isn't-" The voice continued, coming from right behind Damian, then it paused. "Who are you?"

Dick gave a smile that he clearly thought would be charming.

Damian grunted as the person put him down next to their leg. "He's my stupid brother."

"I'm your stupendous brother," Dick corrected.

"Richard Grayson-Wayne," the person, who Damian now recognized as the teacher of the preschool class he'd been assigned to, said slowly. "But you're not in my class. You shouldn't be out here, how did you get out here?"

Dick wilted under the teacher's gaze. He looked sadly at the ground, using one shoe to toe at the stick Damian had been using to make art.

And.

Well.

Damian was mad at Dick, but he didn't want Dick to be miserable.

"I told him to meet me here," Damian said without thinking.

The teacher switched her gaze over to him.

"We had important business to discuss," Damian added.

"Important business," the teacher repeated. She did not sound impressed. "Like what?"

Damian paused. He didn't have an answer to that.

"Like who's picking us up today," Dick spoke up. "We've been picked up so far by Alfred, our butler, who's really good at taking care of us-"

"Yes," Damian said, catching on. "He is very good with us. But today we were not certain if he would be available, as it is the day he polishes all of the silver-"

"And that takes a really long time," Dick said. "Because we have a lot of silver. Which means we have a lot of money."

"A lot," Damian agreed. "And so since he might not be able to pick us up today, we needed to be sure we knew who would pick us up today."

"We were worried," Dick said, widening his eyes up at the teacher. "We didn't want to be worried. And we wanted to be good kids and not worry anybody else, so we decided we'd figure it out ourselves."

The teacher frowned at Dick, then at Damian, then back at Dick. "You still should have asked someone, not gone off by yourself."

"Yes, ma'am," Dick said, smiling and trying to look charming again. "We'll think of that next time. We're sorry."

The teacher sighed at Dick, but she was smiling a little bit. "Let's go get a para to bring you back to your class. I'm sure your teacher is worried about you."

"And I wouldn't want to worry anybody," Dick said, grinning and taking the teacher's hand when she offered it to him.

Damian watched them walk away, with Dick throwing a wink back at him. Damian plopped back down beside his friend and stared at her. Now that he was really looking, he could tell he'd been imagining all of what he'd been seeing. She was a doll.

"You're not just a doll, though," Damian said, and he imagined her grinning at him knowingly. "You're also my friend."