When Pinioned Birds Take Flight

by Ionaperidot

Summary:

Their dad is dead. Their brother is gone. All three of them are fugitives. Is now a good time to adopt two zombie children? No. Will that stop them? No.

Notes:

(Read 1st part of Talons Clipped With Care for details on how we got here - it’s just like 2k words.)

Chapter 1

Dick’s fought a Court of Owls before. He’s even met a Talonized version of himself before. This is—this is different. All of these Talons are ruthless killers, half of them are wearing faces he loves, and most of them are children. It’s horrifying.

He focuses mostly on fighting himself, initially because it feels less awful than fighting a little sibling, or someone who could have been one in another world, and then because it turns out Talon him is really good, and by the time a few of them together have managed to take him out, the fight is mostly over.

It’s a relief to gather up his own little family—plus the new additions—and go through the portal home. (Or near home, at least. Whatever tech keeps their new place invisible to any searching supervillains also glitches out the teleportation tech, so they had to drive out an hour before dimension hopping.)

Dick carries the small, dead form of Damian.

His new little brother.

“I’m not sure this is a good idea,” Jason says, as he picks up the undead, unconscious Tim.

“I am,” Cass says.

They pause the conversation as they step through the portal, trading the dark and dingy Gotham for a beautiful summer day in an Asian forest. Their car is parked in a little clearing.

“You think it’s a good idea?” Jason asks Cass.

“Sure it’s a bad idea.”

“It’ll be fine,” Dick says.

“Bad idea,” Cass repeats.

“It’s Tim.”

“It’s not. Can’t replace.”

“Of course not. But it’s still—”

“No. Bad idea. If they kill us in our sleep—I’d say I told you so, but I’ll be dead.”

She gets into the front passenger seat of the car, slamming her door hard.

Dick frowns. He shifts his hold on Damian; the kid is small, but not so small he’s not difficult to carry when he’s literally dead weight. “It’s not like her to be so…unsympathetic.”

“It’s not about the kids,” Jason says. “It’s about Tim. I’m driving—you can sit in the back. Shout if they wake up and try to murder you.”

Neither kid wakes up on the drive, fortunately. It’s an unpleasant drive, Cass silent and radiating unhappiness, Jason doing nothing to help Dick lighten the mood.

It never occurred to Dick that she would mind. That either of them would. They like helping people, and they’ve both complained of being lonely and bored. This’ll help.

And yeah, maybe he wants his little brother back. Or someone like him. Maybe he wants to see his dead dad’s face in Damian’s. But it’s not like he’s any different from the other people other Jason is sending Talons to. Replacements for people they lost, or never had but should have.

He should have asked Jay and Cass first.

It’ll be fine. They’ll come around. Bruce never asked any of them before bringing home the next new kid, and they all love each other now.

-

Jason pulls into the garage, noting the car in the next stall. It’s not one he recognizes, but it never is—they only get two visitors, and those two visitors are unrepentant car thieves.

Harley Quinn and Poison Ivy are here.

An undead, approximately twelve year old Tim Drake is here.

This is gonna be such a shitshow.

He glances back at Dick, who’s gone a little white. He knows how their visitors will react, too.

Cass gets out of the car and heads inside without a word. Jason gets Damian’s body out of the car and follows; he’s not gonna be the one Harley catches with alternate Tim.

“Good luck with the girls, Dickie.”

He spots Harley and Ivy loitering by the front door, and nods at them before hurrying past with the kid. He dumps Damian on the couch, and gives himself a few minutes to prepare before heading for the door.

The argument is already well underway by the time he gets back.

“He’s not a replacement for Tim,” Dick is saying as he struggles to carry the replacement for Tim.

“No? What else would you call someone who’s literally another Tim?”

“Harley—”

“And don’t think I haven’t noticed he’s the same age our Tim was when it all went wrong. You think you can just pick up where you left off?”

“It’s not—”

“Fuck you,” Harley says. “I’m not staying here to watch this.”

She brushes past Jason to go inside, slamming the door behind her.

“Pam?” Dick asks.

“I’m not getting involved in this. You know how she feels about—”

“Okay, he’s my little brother, you don’t get to tell me—”

“Is he even alive? Because I’ve made a lot of corpses, kid, and I—”

“He will be. In a couple hours. Just—Jay, will you take him inside? He’s really too tall for me to carry.”

“Yeah, whatever.” He doesn’t really want to hear the fight continue, anyway.

About ten minutes after he dumps the kid on the second couch, Harley stomps past carrying two suitcases. Jason hears raised voices coming from the door, again, and a few minutes later, a car driving off.

“Well,” Dick says, finally making it inside. “You were a lot of help.”

Jason shrugs. “Not my kids.”

“Are you mad at me, too?”

“Not like Cass. But this is a shitload of responsibility, Dick, and you didn’t even check with us first.”

He sighs. “I know. I’m sorry. I just—I saw that other Tim, he helped me take out Talon me, and he was—he was him, and he was healthy, and I—I miss our Tim so much. And then there was this one, and he didn’t—he didn’t have anyone, and I thought—”

“Yeah. I get it. And the little one?”

“He’s—it’s like having a little piece of Bruce, I guess.”

“Yeah, well. I’ll help with the care and keeping of assassin babies, but you get to explain it to everyone.”

“Think I just did.”

“Pam and Harley, yeah. And me and Cass. But at some point you’re going to have to talk to your Tim—I’m sure his Bruce already told him what happened.”

Dick frowns, like he always does when Jason says “your Tim,” instead of “our Tim”—give him a break, he never even met the kid (who, by the way, killed his dad)—then frowns harder as what Jay’s saying registers.

“Oh, shit.”

“Yeah, that about sums it up.”

“Okay. That’s—that’s something I’m going to worry about later. You want to help me set up bedrooms?”

“Not really,” Jay says.

“Jay—”

“Someone should watch them, and I don’t think Cass is in the mood.”

“Fine. I’ll do it myself.”

-

Dick picks out two rooms and starts making up the beds.

They’re living in what used to be a clinic. It was the only building left standing in the area after a brutal superhero battle decades ago; the whole area was abandoned, and a forest has grown up around it. It’s safely secluded, and it makes a decent house, with some modifications.

There was a decent kitchen already; they just upgraded it a little. The lobby is their living room. Plenty of bathrooms—toilets and sinks, anyway. They did have to figure out how to install a couple bathtubs and showers. There are a lot of little rooms, individual offices and exam rooms—the former exam rooms can be identified by their sinks and countertops. They’ve knocked out walls to expand some of them, and taken out some of the sinks, to make bedrooms. They had to build in closets, too. Fortunately most of them had a small window already.

One for each of the three of them, and one for Tim, before they knew they weren’t getting him back. Another for the live-in doctor they thought they’d have to hire or kidnap for Tim, considering his condition the last time Dick managed to break into Arkham. They’d prepped another room for Harley and Pam to stay in, once they started visiting; that was still before they knew they wouldn’t get Tim back.

There are still rooms left. A few that aren’t in use at all, a few that they use for workrooms for various projects.

Tim’s bedroom is going to a new Tim, now. Damian can have the one they prepped for Tim’s hypothetical caretaker.

Tim—Dick’s Tim—he has no idea how he’ll react to Dick taking in a new Tim.

Harley is furious. So is Cass. Jason seems mostly indifferent, but this—this might have been a mistake.

It doesn’t matter. He already volunteered. He already brought them home. He’s gotta make this work, now.

It’s getting late. It’s been a really long day—they landed in Owlman’s world sometime yesterday, and the sun is starting to set. The ten hour injection on the kids will be wearing off soon. He finishes with their bedrooms, and knocks on Cass’ door.

“Cass? I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have offered without talking to you. But they’ll be waking up soon—I’d like to get your thoughts on them when they do.”

She doesn’t answer, but she slinks out of her room and down the hall, going to sit on the living room floor next to Jay.

Dick stays standing; he’s not sure he’s welcome in the floor pile right now.

Tim wakes up first. He sits up slowly and glances around, apparently unconcerned to find himself in an unfamiliar location.

“Tim,” Dick says, and he flinches, barely—Dick would never have noticed it if he wasn’t looking for it, and if this wasn’t some version of his brother.

“Do you know our names?” he asks. The small, Talonized version of himself hadn’t known his own name originally, so he figures Tim might not know theirs, even if he recognizes them.

Tim hesitates for a long moment before shaking his head.

“I’m Dick. This is my brother, Jason, and my sister, Cassandra. I know we look like people you know, but we’re not; this is a different world. You and Damian are going to be living here with us now. Owlman—Owlman is gone, and you’re safe.”

“Okay,” Tim says, emotionless.

Dick gives him a moment to ask any questions—he doesn’t. He sits there, apparently calm, eyes almost meeting Dick’s but not quite. Dick looks over at Jay and Cass, hoping for some idea where to go from here; Jay frowns and Cass shrugs. Not helpful.

“We have a room set up for you,” he says, finally. “Would you like to see it?”

“Okay,” he says again. Dick stands and leads him down the hall.

He’s explaining to an apparently indifferent Tim that they can totally repaint the walls and get different bedding if he wants, aware that he’s rambling a little, when Jason shouts, “Dick! The other kid is waking up!”

“Do you want to stay here, or come back with me to see Damian?” Dick asks.

Tim studies him for a moment before saying, “I’ll come.”

Chapter 2

Summary:

Dick takes Damian’s hand—the kid flinches violently, Dick lets go quickly, and then the kid grabs his hand again. They walk out of the room together, and Jason watches Tim, catches a moment of wavering indecision before he makes the choice not to follow them, and remains standing motionless halfway into the room.

Dick and Tim wander off, and Jason turns his attention, reluctantly, to the still-unconscious Damian. It was easier to ignore him when Tim was still in the room.

Jay remembers when his Damian was that age. It was—it feels like a long time ago. It wasn’t, really. He had—he had wanted—

He had wanted Damian to be his brother. He had wanted Talia to be his mom. But he hadn’t been a son, for Talia. Damian was her son. Jason was a tool, and one that stopped being useful once Bruce was dead.

They didn’t part on bad terms, exactly. But he’d known—he’d known she didn’t have a use for him anymore. She didn’t need him, and he—he hadn’t been planning to go back to Bruce. He’d thought, some days, that he was going to kill Bruce.

He hadn’t expected a brother he’d never met to beat him to it.

And Talia had gone, and taken Damian with her. And Bruce was gone. And he was alone.

And then Cass found him.

She squeezes his hand, now, and he turns away from Damian’s small gray face to try smiling at her.

He doesn’t really succeed.

“Okay,” she says. “It’ll be okay. I take Damian. You take Tim. We leave the ones that hurt us. Someday we’ll be ready for both. But not yet. It doesn’t have to be yet.”

Jay nods. “Dick’s the one who volunteered; he can be the main parent. We’ll just do what we can handle.”

Cass nods. She leans into his side, and they sit there, waiting. After a while she nudges him, and he looks up to see Damian’s owl eyes staring at him.

“Dick! The other kid’s waking up.”

Dick hurries back, Tim trailing behind. Damian sits up quickly, eyes darting around the room. Tim was eerily calm; Damian is understandably panicked.

Jason decides to let Dick take the lead. He watches as Dick crouches down carefully in front of the couch.

“Damian?”

The kid doesn’t react to this. Jason wonders if he knows his name—but Tim did. So he should, right?

“Damian,” Dick says again, and one more time. The third time, the kid makes eye contact, and tries to slow his breathing.

“Hi,” Dick says. “My name is Dick, and this is my brother Jason and my sister Cassandra. You and Tim are going to be staying with us. Owlman is gone—he can’t hurt you anymore.”

The kid just looks incredibly confused.

“Do you want to see your new bedroom, Damian?” Dick tries.

Damian glances at Tim. Tim doesn’t say anything, or even look back at him. Damian turns his attention back to Dick, and nods very slowly, bracing himself as he does, like he thinks the answer might get him hit.

Fuck, these kids are gonna be so messed up.

Dick takes Damian’s hand—the kid flinches violently, Dick lets go quickly, and then the kid grabs his hand again. They walk out of the room together, and Jason watches Tim, catches a moment of wavering indecision before he makes the choice not to follow them, and remains standing motionless halfway into the room.

“Come sit down, Tim,” Jason says, because he may not love this situation, but that’s Dick’s fault, and he’s not gonna be an asshole to the kids.

Tim sits gingerly on the floor. Jason glances at Cass, who stares at Tim in that intense way of hers for a long moment before standing and running out of the room.

Tim doesn’t react to this.

“I’m Jason,” Jay says, even though Dick’s already introduced them, technically. He’ll check on Cass when he can, but she’s a grown up, and right now he has an extremely traumatized child in front of him.

“I’m Tim.”

“Yep. So. Um. Do you know how long you were with Owlman?”

The kid tilts his head, studying Jason carefully. “Forever?” he ventures, not sounding particularly confident.

“Well. That sucks. But it’s gonna be better now. Do you want some food? Or would you rather sleep? It’s getting late.”

A long moment passes while Tim considers these options. “Sleep?”

“Cool. Let me show you how to get back to your bedroom. We’ll come and get you in the morning for breakfast, okay?”

Tim nods. Jason ushers him into the room and pulls the door closed. Dick is doing the same thing with Damian’s room next door.

“Did you just lock him in?” Dick whispers.

“Yeah, and we’re gonna lock yours in, too.”

“We want them to feel like they’re safe here, not like they’ve just swapped kidnappers.”

“And we can work on that later. They’re undead serial killers, and they’ve had like five minutes to get to know us.”

“They haven’t been violent at all.”

“We took off our suits, and now we look like people they know. I’m pretty sure that’s the only reason they didn’t attack as soon as they woke up.”

“I don’t want to keep little kids locked up.”

“I let you bring them home, but this is where I’m drawing the line, okay? I’m not having them free to roam while we sleep until we know they’re safe.”

“What if they have to pee in the night or something?”

“If you’re worried about that, you can sit out here and wait for one to try opening his door. I’m gonna check on Cass, then go to bed. You’re on your own until morning.”

-

The soft knock on her door is Jay’s. They have different knocks; Jay’s is two times, and Dick’s is one. She doesn’t want to see Dick right now. If it was Dick she would say go away, but it’s Jay, so she doesn’t say anything, and he knows that means he can come in.

“Okay?” he asks as he sits next to her on the bed.

She shakes her head. “He wears my little brother’s face. But he—he’s not.”

“Do you want to call Tim? Would that help?”

She shakes her head again. She does want to, and it would help. But it would help her; it wouldn’t help Tim. He is far away, and hurt in big, complicated ways that she doesn’t fully understand. He gets—anxious. He likes to be the one to come to them. He doesn’t like it when they reach out to him. And that—that hurts. But Tim hurts, and they—they weren’t there, when he needed them. And now he doesn’t need them anymore, and they can’t push too hard, or they make him hurt worse. It is hard and awful, but it is the way their lives work now. She isn't going to call Tim. She isn't going to take her hurts to him, when he has enough hurts of his own to deal with.

“It was shitty, dragging us into this deal like he did.”

“Dick means well. Always means well.”

“I know,” Jay says. “But he didn’t just volunteer to help some kids in need; he volunteered us to help kids in need. It was shitty, and we don’t have to feel guilty about not wanting to help.”

She nods. “Will, though. Both of us.”

“Yeah, we’ll help. Because we’re good people. But we don’t have to be happy about it.”

“Mm. Okay.”

“What do you think of them, so far?”

“Too soon to say. Only a minute or two, with each. Just—scared, so far. Very scared.”

“Yeah, well. Maybe they’ll feel better in the morning. Maybe we will, too.” He stands to go. “Night, Cass. Love you.”

“You too,” she says, and flops over to hide her face in the pillow. This is—Jay is right. This is—shitty. She hasn’t felt this bad since they found out where Tim was, that he was happy and safe, but without them. Better off without them.

She doesn’t want to have to look at his face every day, attached to someone else’s body. It isn't fair. It isn't fair.

-

He follows the first Talon to his room. There are too many names to remember, so he starts with his—Damian. They called him Damian. He can remember Damian. He will have to learn the others later, if this lasts long enough to matter.

He’s not good at games.

“You’re too young,” Owlman says sometimes, in his disgusted-disappointed voice.

He doesn’t think it’s his fault he’s too young, but maybe he’s wrong. He’s usually wrong.

He can remember Damian.

The other Talon says a bunch of things, and he wasn’t listening, he was distracted, he’ll pay for that later, but it’s too late now.

“Okay,” the other Talon says. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

He’s still trying to decide exactly what that threat means when the door clicks closed. There are voices outside, quiet, but loud enough he could understand them if he tried. He should try. It might be important. But he’s so tired. There was a big fight, and he lost—he doesn’t even know who he was fighting, but he knows that he lost, and now they’re in a game he doesn’t know how to play, and he should try to figure it out, but he’s just so tired.

He considers the bed, and decides that’s too risky. Underneath is safer. He goes down, but first he grabs a pillow to take with him, even though he knows he’ll be punished for it later. It might be worth getting punished later, if he can just be comfortable for a little bit.

Notes:

So I currently have partially written stories about the Talonized versions of Jay and Cass, and one completely written story for the Dick from that world. The other stories start at about the same time as this one, but Dick's starts several months later, sometime after chapter 15 of this story. So. Would you guys rather I posted the Dick story now, or waited until sometime after chapter 15, when we catch up to it? (There will be no spoilers for this story in the Dick story. There will eventually be spoilers for the Dick story in this story.)

Chapter 3

Summary:

“Tim,” Jason interrupts, “why is your name carved into your arm?”

Tim glances down at the raised scars spelling TIM on his left forearm. “Because I’m a bad Talon,” he says, sounding resigned.

Notes:

Bonus chapter because I didn't want to wait a whole week for Tim POV.

Tim’s not stupid. Owlman likes tests, especially the unpassable kind. Owlman doesn’t die. And this isn't the first time he’s staged a fake rescue to mess with them.

The obvious solution to this test is to prove his loyalty to Owlman by killing the Talons posing as rescuers and find his way home. But Owlman doesn’t like quick, easy solutions. He likes to watch you suffer for a while, first. He gets just as mad if you pass the test too fast as if you pass it too slow.

He’ll just play along, for now, until he figures out what Owlman wants from him.

He studies the room, trying to look like he isn't, because there are probably cameras.

Big bed. Small window. Dresser and closet. He decides, after a few minutes of consideration, that he’d better check for pajamas he’s supposed to wear, so he won’t get the sheets dirty with his Talon suit. But the drawers are empty.

He’s probably supposed to sleep in the bed, if he’s playing along. But that doesn’t mean he won’t get in trouble for getting it dirty. Maybe he’ll just sleep on top of the covers. That seems safest.

He thinks about the conversation he overheard as they locked him in. Nothing useful there. It was definitely staged; they know how strong his hearing is.

He goes over the names he needs to know for the rest of this test. Dick. Jason. Cass. Damian. He wonders if those are their real, original names. He only remembers his own.

He’s the only one who remembers his own.

He wants to sleep. But sleeping is dangerous, when he doesn’t know the game yet. Even on top of the covers. And he can survive a lot longer without it.

Besides, he’s spent some time unconscious, or maybe dead—does that count as sleep?

He doesn’t know how their fight ended, or how long it’s been since it did. Probably this test is punishment for not doing well in the fight—he doesn’t think he even managed to kill any of the attackers.

He’s covered in dirt and dried blood. If his fellow Talons were more convincing rescuers, they would have offered him a bath and change of clothes before sending him to a nice clean bed. Which is definitely an oversight Owlman will punish them for later.

Tim won’t win this game—no one but Owlman ever wins—but he won’t be the first to lose. The older Talons have harder roles to play, and the baby always loses.

He never stands a chance. He’s just so little. The rest of them—most of them don’t remember much, about before they were Talons. Tim remembers, because he cheated. The siblings remember, because they have each other as reminders. But even if they don’t have any conscious memories of their lives before—some parts of their brains remember. Social lives. Parents. School. How to be human. How to think. It makes it easier to keep up with whatever crazy thing Owlman wants next.

Damian-for-now was pretty much a baby when he came. He’s still pretty much a baby. He can fight, as well as any little kid can fight, but he can’t think the way Owlman wants him to. He can’t keep up. He’s too little.

So he’ll mess up first. Then probably the Talon currently known as Dick, because his undercover skills are way down since the last time Owlman did—whatever Owlman does to him, that makes him scream, and gives him scars that don’t heal like the others.

And then currently-Cass, because of the talking thing.

Which means Tim only has to figure out the game and do the right thing before one other Talon.

He repeats the information he has so far to himself, over and over again, so he’s sure he won’t forget anything. Dick, Jason, Cass, Damian. Owlman is gone. Dick, Jason, and Cass rescued him and Damian from Owlman. They’re pretending not to be Talons.

All Tim has to do is play along until he figures out what Owlman wants from him. He can do this. He can.

-

In the morning, Dick finds Tim sitting on the edge of his bed, awake and alert, and Damian asleep on the floor under his. He crawls out quickly, looking terrified, and Dick has no idea how to comfort him.

“Breakfast time,” he says, and both kids follow him silently down the hall.

They’re filthy. He should have thrown them in the shower last night. He should have explained more last night. He should have gone over some ground rules for everyone’s safety.

Last night was—not great, overall. He’ll just have to do better from her on out.

“Can one of you run into town and get the kids some clothes?” he asks as he pours a few glasses of orange juice.

“I will,” Cass says. She probably wants to spend as much time away from the kids as possible. (He’s gonna have to figure out how to fix things with Cass, soon.)

Damian eats quickly, like he’s afraid the food will be taken away. Tim eats slowly, reluctantly, like he suspects the food might be poisoned. Cass stares at them both. Jay busies himself with the dishes, and mostly ignores them. Dick tries to look safe and friendly. He’s not sure if he’s doing a very good job of it.

-

After breakfast, Cass heads into town, and Dick takes the kids to get showers. Which leaves Jason in charge of finding them clothes to wear until Cass gets back.

He raids her closet first. She’s not much shorter than Dick, but she’s narrower. Definitely their best bet. He finds a pair of shorts and a t-shirt for Tim. Damian’s pretty much hopeless. Jay ends up getting one of his own t-shirts the kid can wear like a dress.

The kids already looked tiny and sad in their Talon uniforms. It’s even worse when they’re in oversized, secondhand clothes, hair still wet from the shower.

Dick sits them down together on one couch, and sits beside Jay on the other.

“Okay,” he says, “we just—”

“Tim,” Jason interrupts, “why is your name carved into your arm?”

Tim glances down at the raised scars spelling TIM on his left forearm. “Because I’m a bad Talon,” he says, sounding resigned.

Dick slides over into Jason’s space—he probably couldn’t see the scar from his angle, before.

“Yikes. Who did that to you?”

“I did,” Tim says.

Dick and Jay exchange glances, coming to the silent agreement to revisit that when they’ve built some trust.

“Okay,” Dick says. “We’ll come back to that. For now, let’s go over some house rules. First of all, no violence. That’s really important—we don’t have healing factors like you guys, and it’s a long drive to the nearest medical facility.”

The kids don’t react. Jason questions the wisdom of telling the baby assassins how easy it would be to take them out; he and Dick should have discussed this before talking to the kids. Several seconds pass before they seem to realize some sort of response is expected.

“Okay,” Tim says.

“Okay,” Damian echoes.

“Good,” Dick says. “You guys are free to eat, sleep, and shower whenever you want. You can go anywhere in the house except for bathrooms that are currently in use, other people’s bedrooms without permission, and the locked room where we keep our weapons—it’s the only one that’s locked, usually. You can go outside, but tell one of us or Cass first. Jay, am I missing anything?”

“Don’t think so.”

“Good. Tim, Damian, do you have any questions?”

Tim shakes his head.

“Damian?”

“Will Owlman be back soon?”

“Owlman won’t ever be back,” Dick says. “He’s gone.”

“He’s dead,” Jason adds. No point in beating around the bush—these kids are used to death, and they need to know Owlman won’t be back.

Damian frowns. He doesn’t say anything else. Jason looks at Dick—he doesn’t know where to go from here, and he doesn’t think Dick does, either.

“Do you guys want to watch a movie?” Dick asks.

“Okay,” Tim says, slow, cautious.

“Okay,” Damian echoes.

Dick turns on the TV. Jason goes to find an age-appropriate movie. It’s a weirdly anti-climactic day after rescuing zombie assassin children.

He’s pretty sure it’s not going to stay this easy.

-

Cass doesn’t like going into town, usually. Better than being home right now, though.

She and Jason are usually the ones to go into town. They blend in better, in this region, than Dick does. (Pam and Harley keep visiting, and they don’t blend in at all, and usually they steal a car, too. But they’re less worried about getting caught than Dick.) Jay blends in better than her, though, because he can actually talk to people. (Cass has enough trouble with English. She can’t manage a second language.)

They need clothes. Probably groceries, too. They were running low anyway, and two more people in the house means food will go faster.

It’ll take her all day to get everything. She doesn’t mind; it’s a day she doesn’t have to be around not-Tim or Dick.

Pam and Harley were upset, too. Not just her. She’s not being unreasonable. And now Pam can’t help her with the garden.

Clothes she can guess on. A little too big is fine. She gets stuck on the shoes. Shoes should fit. And she didn’t even look at their feet.

Sandals, maybe. Sandals don’t matter so much. She’ll get those cheap foam flip flops in a few sizes, and if they’re too big they can just cut off the backs. Jason can order real shoes online later, and have them sent to the PO box.

She doesn’t want these kids here. But they are. She’s not—she’s not sure she can be nice in person, yet, not sure she can be around them enough to be nice. But she can be nice when she shops for them. She remembers Tim—her Tim—saying his Dickie is always cold, so she buys them plenty of warm clothes, even though it’s summer.

She gets them soft things, safe things, kid things she didn’t have, when she was a baby assassin-in-training. Fluffy blankets and fuzzy socks. Stuffed toys and coloring books. Things they won’t be ready to use yet, maybe, but things that will be waiting for them when they are.

Notes:

I've decided to post the Talon!Dick story around chapter 8. It's 1 chapter, 11k words. I wrote it six months ago, so I've already been waiting for so long to post it, but I think doing it at chapter 8 makes a little more sense than doing it now, without making me wait another 4 months to post.

Chapter 4

Summary:

He stopped killing people for Cass.

They get the kids into clothes that fit. The kids sit on the couch, quiet and alert, like they’re waiting for orders. Dick puts on another movie.

“What do you think?” he asks Cass, as the three of them watch from the next room. Which, in hindsight, was a mistake.

“About me? Or about them?”

“Both?”

She frowns. “I’m mad.”

“I know. And I’m sorry. But they’re—they’re here now. I need to know what to do with them. I need to know what they’re thinking.”

“Don’t know,” Cass says. “Not—he’s not Tim. Not like Tim.”

“Cass—”

“I don’t know and I don’t care. He is not my brother and I am not Google translate.”

She stomps off, and he hears her bedroom door slam shut.

“Great job,” Jay says, rolling his eyes. “I’m gonna go clean up that mess—you’re on kid duty for the night.”

Jay’s right. That was—that was bad. He needs Cass’ help with the kids. Badly. But he needs to actually talk to her, and make up for bringing them here if he can, before giving her work to do.

It’s hard. Since the three of them met back up. Since Tim disappeared from Arkham, especially since they tracked him down, and realized it was going to be just the three of them, and never the four of them.

They don’t quite fit. They never lived together, before. Were never at the manor at the same time.
Dick was alone, on the run, for so long. And Jason and Cass were together.

He gets jealous, sometimes. Jason and Cass were both his siblings before they were each other’s. But now he’s the outsider. Sometimes it feels like he cares more about keeping the family together than they do. Sometimes he pushes too hard. And sometimes he makes massive mistakes and he doesn’t—he doesn’t know how to fix it. He doesn’t know how to—what to do, anymore, with either of them. He lost them, and they came back as strangers, and he doesn’t know how to fit with them, and he just keeps messing it up.

It was selfish, bringing the kids here. He wanted—

He wanted Tim back.

He can’t have Tim back.

But he thought maybe, if there were more of them—

He feels so alone sometimes, even with Cass and Jay right next to him.

He has no idea how to take care of these kids. And he’s made things worse with Cass than they were before, and he doesn’t—he doesn’t know what to do. He doesn’t know how to fix it.

-

Things get tense sometimes, between Dick and Cass. Usually they’re fine. But a new Tim is definitely going to aggravate all their issues.

They both wish Dick had grabbed Tim when he had the chance. And they both wish Cass had connected with Dick sooner, instead of disappearing when the news broke.

They both messed up, and they’re both sorry, but some days it isn’t enough.

Jason tries to stay in the middle when they’re at odds. But he knows he winds up taking Cass’ side more—sometimes, like this time, because she’s right—you don’t just volunteer your siblings to adopt kids—but sometimes just because they’re closer. It was just the two of them for a long time.

He stopped killing people for Cass.

He’d been alone. Adrift. They’d gotten word that Bruce was dead, and Talia had cut him loose. He’d been wandering around the world, occasionally stopping evil when he saw it, for months. No mask—Batman was dead, and he had nothing to hide anymore.

And then he’d run into this random girl who knew his name, and looked at him like a ghost. She’d recognized him from photos at the manor.

She’d seen how lost and lonely he was, and she’d offered him a deal—“Stop killing, and I be your sister.”

He’d taken it.

It had been hard, at first. Not killing people was hard. Cass’ clear affection for the kid who had replaced Jason then killed Jason’s dad was hard. Communicating was hard.

Cass had, apparently, been much better at English before Bruce sent her to Hong Kong. Between working undercover in a foreign country and being on the run in various other foreign countries, with no one to trust or talk to, she’d lost a lot of the English she had, by the time Jason met her.

But they’d figured things out.

“He didn’t mean it,” Jason says to her, now, not quite sure how to articulate exactly what Dick didn’t mean. To hurt her, probably.

“Tim’s not replaceable.”

Jason decides1q not to point out that Tim had, apparently, found Cass replaceable. That won’t help.

The Tim thing—he was totally willing to break Tim out of Arkham and take him home, because Arkham sucked, and because it would have made Dick and Cass happy. But Tim isn’t Jason’s little brother. He’s some kid he never even met. He has to be careful, talking about him—they both get really touchy about the topic.

“Just—think of him as a different kid, yeah? He’s got the same genetics and name, but that’s all. Probably not any shared life experiences, because it sounds like Owlman was already running Gotham by the time he was born. Just pretend he’s, like, Tim’s long lost identical twin or something. Two completely different people.”

Cass nods. “Okay. But—not yet. Need time.”

-

"I'm sorry," Dick says that night, when the kids are locked in their bedrooms. "I should have talked to you both before offering to take them. I don't—I don't want to send them back. That other Jason was having a hard enough time finding homes for everyone without adding two more. But maybe I could take them somewhere else?"

"Not leaving," Cass says. "We stick together now. Promised."

"Okay," Dick says. "We stick together. So how do you want to do this?"

"Just—need time. You handle kids. I'll help when I'm ready. Or in emergencies."

"That's fair. Jay?"

"You think I'd inflict you as a sole caretaker on these poor kids? I'm in. Just stop forgetting they're assassins, okay? I don't wanna die because you told them how killable we are then let them roam the house all night."

-

The girl isn't around much. But she gave him a toy. A real toy, like real kids have. He keeps waiting for it to turn into a trick, but it hasn't yet.

He keeps waiting for Owlman to come back, but he doesn't. So they don't fight or practice. They sit on the couch—a real couch—and watch stories happen in bright colors on a screen.

That hurt, at first. Then someone—the Jason one—gave him glasses that make things darker. Now it's—it's fun? He thinks this is fun. He's never had it before.

He learned the names. It was easy, because everyone keeps repeating them.

There's so much food. As much food as he wants. And clothes that don't hurt if he sits in certain ways.

Owlman will come back soon. And it'll hurt. But Owlman always hurts, so he should eat as much food and watch as many stories as he can, before he comes.

-

Tim studies Dick, and wonders what Owlman did to his fellow Talons to make them such good actors.
Something bad, probably.

He can turn them into whatever he wants. Sometimes it takes him a few tries, and it always hurts, a lot. But Owlman can do anything he wants with them.

It's a nice game, so far. But that just means it's going to be really, really bad when they learn what the trick is.

Tim remembers the time he and another Talon ran away, got all the way out of Gotham, and lived with a nice old man called Alfred for two months. It turned out to be something called virtual reality.

And Tim remembers that time the cat lady they fought sometimes took him home, and fed him cookies, and promised to keep him safe.

Owlman forced her to do it. To test Tim. Tim was supposed to kill her and come home, but he didn't, and he paid for it for weeks. (He'd have paid either way; Owlman would have been mad if the cat lady was gone forever, too. He liked her, as much as Owlman could like anybody.)

The baby—Damian—is being stupid. He's starting to trust the other Talons, the pretending Talons. Talons can't trust each other. Sometimes they work together, but they all know—any of these Talons would sell Tim out to Owlman in a heartbeat. Which is fair, because Tim would sell them out, too.

Existing is hard. It's a little less hard when Owlman isn't mad at you.

The virtual reality lasted two months. Or at least it felt like it did. Tim has no idea how long this game will last. But he's not gonna screw it up first. He can play along. Just as long as he doesn't let himself believe it.

Damian is going to let himself believe it. And Tim can't help.

You can't help the baby. You can't go easy on the baby. Owlman made that very clear.

-

Dick watches Cass as she watches Tim and Damian, sitting across from each other at the table. Damian is eating his lunch. Tim is sitting there, staring intently at the wall past Damian’s shoulder.

“They shouldn’t be here,” she says quietly, after Jason has herded them out to watch yet another cartoon.

“I know,” Dick says. “You said. I’m sorry.”

“Not because I’m mad. They are—scared. So scared.”

“Of us?”

She frowns. “Not—not exactly? They are scared of—what comes next, maybe? It’s not…not right-now scared. It’s coming-soon scared.”

“Like they don’t trust us to keep treating them well?”

She frowns harder. “Maybe?”

“Okay. We’ll just keep—just keep doing our best, and hope it gets better.”

“I guess.”

Chapter 5

Summary:

Tim didn’t want to forget his name. He didn’t want to forget anything. He wanted to wake up. He wanted to lie down on the dirty floor and cry until Owlman came back, and maybe if he was really pathetic Owlman would change his mind about making Tim a Talon, and he could go be dead with Mom and Dad instead.

Notes:

Sorry for the late update - I'm on vacation. Warning for a lot of violence in this chapter.

“It’s easier than I expected,” Dick says.

“Yeah,” Jason agrees. “I don’t think that’s a good thing.”

“Me neither.”

They’ve both read through the information they’d been sent on Talons—general information that applies in most universes, and specific things other Bruce has noticed with his Dick. Information specific to Owlman’s universe hasn’t come in yet—they were told it would, when they left his world. Probably Red Hood Jason is too busy getting the various Talons settled to handle that yet.

They’ve followed the advice they’ve been given. They’ve tried to word things carefully to avoid triggering anything, they’ve tried giving the kids opportunities to do what they want, tried to make them feel safe.

They just sit wherever they’re put and stare. They answer to their names, so that’s one step ahead of other Bruce’s Talon Dick, but it doesn’t…it doesn’t feel right.

It shouldn’t be easy. Dick should be stressed because it’s hard, not because it’s easy. They should be doing…something. He’s not quite sure what. But there should be something, right? They shouldn’t just be going along with whatever Dick says. They should have questions about the multiverse. About the other Talons, or Owlman, or…something.

He doesn’t know how to make them feel safe. He doesn’t know how to make them act like kids. He doesn’t know what to do.

-

The kids are—hard to read. Dick and Jason have collected anything around the house that seems good for kids—puzzles, board games, video games, movies. They have the coloring books and some toys Cass picked up.

What they really need, Jay thinks, is therapy. Hard to get when you’re in hiding. Hopefully Harley comes back around eventually.

They spend a lot of time, the first week, sitting the kids on the couch in front of cartoons. Neither of them seems willing to do anything or go anywhere in the house without instructions.

Damian is usually more visibly on edge than Tim, but he’s more easily distracted, and more easily tired, too, which means he lets his guard down occasionally. He stares at the TV like he’s never seen one before—which maybe he hasn’t, depending on how long Owlman had him. He eats too much, too fast, like someone who’s not expecting consistent access to food, but he never tries to save anything for later, never hides stashes like Jason did when he first moved into the manor.

He flinches any time someone moves toward him or near him too quickly. He sleeps under his bed, with a pillow, stuffed dog, and fuzzy blanket that he tries to set back up on the bed every morning before someone realizes he’s used them. He’s tiny, and traumatized, and not easy to read, but a lot easier than Tim.

Tim is like a little robot. He seems shockingly calm, which none of them are buying. If put in front of the TV, he watches without apparent interest. If handed a book, he evaluates it with an intensity that quickly resulted in them stopping handing him books, since it seemed stressful. He eats food when it’s offered, warily, but without any of the behaviors Damian displays. He sleeps in his bed, and makes it carefully in the morning. He doesn’t react to their movements unless one of them actually touches him, which has happened, like, twice, in which case he stiffens, but his expression doesn’t change.

Damian’s whole cat-eyed zombie thing is actually cute. Because he actually acts like a little kid, if an incredibly traumatized one. On Tim, it’s just creepy. Jay’s trying to ignore that, because he knows Tim is a traumatized kid, too, it’s just presenting in a way Jason is less prepared to deal with. It’s only been like a week. Things’ll improve.

It’s just so unsettling, when he sits there and stares at you, with that gray, expressionless face and those yellow, slitted eyes that don’t seem to blink as often as they should. Jason just has no idea what he’s thinking. He hates it.

Things’ll get better. They will. They have to. Cass says they’re fine, but she’s still hiding in her room or out in the yard most of the time, and Dick is so stressed, and Jay is too, but Dick is, like, the primary caretaker, so. Worse for him. The kids will settle in, and they’ll all get used to having them around, and it’ll get easier. It’s only been a week.

-

Every month, Tim calls on the twenty third at five pm. He talks to Dick first, and then to Cass. It’s the only time Tim talks to them.

(He talks to Harley more. Which—Dick tries not to let it bother him. Tim only usually texts Harley, anyway, and he video calls them.)

This is the first time Dick doesn’t feel ready to talk to his little brother. Because a week ago, he adopted an undead preteen version of said brother. Cass was mad. Cass is still mad. He has no idea how Tim will react.

“How’re the new kids?” Tim asks as soon as the call connects.

“Settling in, I think. How are you?”

“Fine. We’re working on translating Owlman’s notes—he kept records in a bunch of different super complicated codes. So I’ll send you anything we translate about Tim or Damian. Bruce is letting me take point on the whole Talon, multiverse thing.”

“And why is Bruce doing that?”

“He’s trying to distract me from active crimefighting.” Tim makes a face, half a grimace, half a grin. “And it’s working. This is all so cool. I’m gonna convince them to make me the Justice League’s official multiverse liaison."

“Is that a thing?”

“Not yet.” Tim smiles.

He seems good, today. Some days he’s clearly only calling because he feels obligated, and they don’t get to have much conversation at all. Some days he’s really happy to be talking to Dick, and he’ll stay on for a couple hours. And some days, of course, are in between. This is at least an in between day. Maybe a good one. Dick really doesn’t want to ruin it. But it’s better to ask now than to leave it and let resentment build.

"Do you—um. Are you upset, that I—”

“That you got a new Tim?”

“Yeah.”

Tim shrugs. “I have a new Dick. And a new Bruce. And a new Cass. It’s not—you’re both my family. If I can have two Dicks, you can have two Tims.”

“Okay. That seems fair.”

Tim talks to him for over an hour before he has to give the phone to Cass.

-

“It’s weird,” Cass says. “He’s not you.”

Tim shrugs. “The Cass here isn’t you. But also, she is? I’m glad you have him. He’s been through a lot, and he deserves to have a really cool Cass in his life.”

It doesn’t feel as much like betraying Tim when Tim doesn’t care. But she still doesn’t like it.

-

Tim eats breakfast, careful, slow. It’s his favorite, and he tries not to enjoy it too much, because having favorites isn't allowed. Having anything isn't allowed. The other three people at the table—Dick, Jason, and Damian—don’t seem to be paying any attention. He knows Damian isn't, because Damian is predictable. But the other two—

It isn't safe to have preferences.

He finishes his breakfast. He takes a shower, and gets dressed in the soft, loose pants and sweatshirt that live in the top drawer of his dresser. He wears long sleeves, because the TIM scar is just for him—one of the few things he and Owlman agree on. Owlman hates seeing the reminder of how Tim snuck something past him. Tim likes keeping it hidden because it’s special, precious, the only thing he gets to have.

Tim remembers the night Owlman took him. It’s what he remembers best, probably. Most things before Owlman are hazy and happy. That night and everything around it are awful and very, very clear.

Dad told him, once, that it used to be a great honor, being part of the Court of Owls. They used to keep the city running. But since the new grandmaster came, all they could do was fund his crazy schemes and hope he didn’t kill them.

Tim remembers that, because they couldn’t fund Owlman anymore. The money ran out. They couldn’t pay the annual membership fee for the Court. And the only way out of the Court was death.

It was Owlman’s fault. He didn’t let people leave Gotham, because they didn’t like coming back. But there wasn’t a lot of money to be made in the city. Not anymore. For most of his life, Tim was a hostage for his parents’ return to Gotham. They could leave. He couldn’t. So they had to come back.

Then some other Gotham citizen with clearance to leave didn’t come back. Owlman threatened to kill his daughter, and he didn’t come back. Owlman did kill his daughter, and he still didn’t come back. So Owlman sent a Talon for his head, and he stopped letting everyone else leave.

His parents couldn’t make money without leaving Gotham.

The first year, they’d sold just about everything they owned. Online—no one else in Gotham had money, either. The second year, there just—hadn’t been enough. Owlman had been rebuilding his Talon forces, slowly, after the disastrous battle with the Justice League. He’d told Tim’s parents that he’d waive this year’s fee, in exchange for Tim. For Tim to be a Talon.

Tim had snuck out of bed to eavesdrop. He was at the top of the stairs, just out of sight around the corner, wearing his blue pajamas with the yellow dots.

He heard his parents refuse. Twice. He heard his mom call Owlman a bad word. He heard his dad’s neck snap, and his mom’s cut-off scream as she watched. He leaned around the corner, and watched his mom die.

Owlman did it himself. Right then. Didn’t even send a Talon.

Tim was too scared to scream. Too scared to run. He’d stood there staring at his parents, their twisted necks and open, empty eyes, until Owlman had picked him up and carried him away. He’d taken him to his base, and dropped him on the ground in the Talon room, still barefoot and wearing polka dot pajamas, and he’d gone away.

The Talon room was cement floors and dim lights, with weapons and little zombies all around. He wouldn’t get a better look at it than that for days.

There’d been conversations still, then, when so many of them were young and new, before they’d all killed each other a hundred times. Tim had looked at the weapons, and someone had told him “You’d never kill him. If you’re lucky, the big one will stop you before Owlman does.”

(The first Talon had been big, then, when they were all small. He isn't big anymore.)

Tim hadn’t been thinking of trying to kill Owlman, really. He was still too shocked to think much of anything, too shocked even to be scared that a Talon was talking to him.

“He’ll stop you from killing yourself, too,” someone had said.

“But only until Owlman does the thing,” someone else said. “Then you can kill yourself as much as you want.”

“What thing?” Tim had asked. It was the first time he’d spoken since his mom tucked him in that night, and his voice didn’t sound like his anymore.

“The thing that makes you a Talon.”

Tim had asked the three Talons around him—all kids close to his age—what their names were. It didn’t feel real. He felt far away from himself, like he was watching himself have a dream.

One girl hadn’t answered him at all. The other two looked at each other. The boy shrugged.

“He doesn’t like us to remember,” the second girl said. “You’ll forget, soon.”

“You’ll forget everything soon,” the boy said.

Tim didn’t want to forget his name. He didn’t want to forget anything. He wanted to wake up. He wanted to lie down on the dirty floor and cry until Owlman came back, and maybe if he was really pathetic Owlman would change his mind about making Tim a Talon, and he could go be dead with Mom and Dad instead.

He thought about his mom, saying “Everything is easier if you’re prepared.” And he took a deep breath and kept going.

“Why can you kill yourself once you’re a Talon?”

“Doesn’t stick. Nothing does. Stabs, burns, gunshots, anything. All heals right away.”

“But not scars you already had? You still have those?”

“I think so.”

Tim didn’t want to forget his name.

There were weapons everywhere. He found a knife, and rolled up the sleeve of his pajamas.

The largest of the Talons loomed in front of him.

The others—they all looked like monsters, but the others looked like kids, too. This one just looked like a monster.

Tim stared at his predator eyes for a long moment, grip tight on the handle of his knife.

“Please,” he’d said.

“You can’t die,” the Talon said.

“I won’t,” Tim promised, and made the first cut in his arm.

The Talon turned away, and Tim kept going, through the pain, until TIM was carved into his arm in crooked letters. Things were starting to feel real again. He didn’t like it.

The big Talon left, and came back with a strip of thin fabric that he wrapped carefully around Tim’s arm. He pulled Tim’s sleeve down to hide the wound.

By the next night, Tim was a Talon. But Owlman didn’t notice the injury until after the procedure, and the scar—the name—was his forever.

Notes:

The first chapter of my upcoming book is now available to read at iowriteswords.tumblr.com!

Chapter 6

Summary:

He is a little boy who doesn’t know how to be a little boy.

She understands that. She remembers that.

Well. Not the boy part.

Cass watches Damian. She’s hidden around the corner, and she can tell he hasn’t noticed her, because he’s slightly more relaxed than usual. Dick is trying to coax Tim out of his shell by showing him something out in the garden, and Jason is making a grocery run.

Damian is walking around the room in circles, mumbling to himself. He’s reciting the story from the movie they watched this morning. He’s trying to get it right, word for word, and he pauses and starts at the beginning of a scene every time he messes up.

He’s still wearing the footie pajamas he slept in last night. He has sunglasses pushed up onto his forehead. Tim’s Bruce offered to send them special contacts for Talons, but the kids don’t really trust them enough to try sticking things in their eyes. And Damian is so little for contacts.

Damian is so little.

She takes a step forward, carefully making a sound. Damian spins around, his pupils widening from slits to circles. He starts to take a step back, then stops and holds very still.

“I’ll have this one soon,” he says. “I almost have them all.”

She studies him for a moment. “Damian, do you think you need to memorize the movies?”

He wilts. “I couldn’t think of another reason. I’m sorry.”

Oh. “The reason is fun,” she says. But he won’t understand that—she knows he won’t. Fun isn't something he’s allowed, so there must be a reason he’s allowed it this time, something he’s supposed to learn. And he doesn’t know what.

He is a little boy who doesn’t know how to be a little boy.

She understands that. She remembers that.

Well. Not the boy part.

She sits down on the ground so they are face to face. She looks into his yellow eyes. She takes his hands, and he lets her. He looks confused.

“You have a new purpose,” she says. “A new mission.”

“What is it?” he asks.

“Your new mission is to be a little boy. That means watching movies, and eating junk food, and sleeping whenever you want to. It means doing things just because you want to. It means being allowed to want. Being allowed to have. And having lots of fun.”

He frowns at her. “But…why?” He flinches as he asks, like why is a bad question, a forbidden question. (She is sure why would have been forbidden for her, too, if she had known how to ask it.)

She tries to think how to explain why. How to make him understand. She doesn’t think she can. “Why is for—why is for later. For now, we just practice.”

“Owlman says I’m not ready for undercover work.”

Undercover work? How do zombified little kids with inhuman eyes do undercover work? “Owlman is gone,” she tells him.

He frowns, and doesn’t answer.

“We will work on it. I am very good at having fun. I can show you?”

He nods slowly. Cass stands up, using their still-joined hands to pull him up too. There is so much fun in the world for a little boy to have. She just has to decide where to start.

-

“Have you ever used a camera?” Dick asks.

Tim tries to decide what the right answer is. They are outside, just the two of them—it’s the first time Tim’s been outside since waking up here, and it looks like the pictures the windows show are real. They are surrounded by big trees and green grass and blue skies. They’re nowhere near Gotham anymore.

“Some,” he tells Dick, cautiously. “In—Before.”

“Okay. Did you like it?”

That’s an even harder question to answer. He’s not supposed to talk about Before. And he’s especially not supposed to like things. It’s a trap. It’s a trap. He’s not supposed to have preferences, good or bad. He can’t say yes or no.

He shrugs.

“Okay,” Dick says. “Well, I thought maybe we could try it and see if you like it now. I have a feeling you might.”

Tim lets himself relax a tiny, tiny bit. That’s a hint. He’s supposed to like it. Probably. Unless it’s a bigger trap.

It’s a risk he’s going to take.

“Do you want to try?” Dick asks.

Tim nods, and takes the camera when he offers it. He holds it carefully, and not just because it belongs to Owlman.

He remembers his parents’ camera. Remembers how they developed the film themselves, in the room with the red light, remembers how they showed him pictures from their trips. He remembers his mom helping him hold the camera, to take a picture of a frog that was sitting on their step one morning, how it came out blurry, but Dad said it was the most beautiful photo he’d ever seen.

He remembers how Owlman never stops finding new ways to hurt him, and he wants to throw the camera to the ground and watch it shatter, but he doesn’t dare.

“What do you want me to take a picture of?” he asks.

“Whatever you want.”

It’s another trap, but a frog hops right in front of him, and he makes a choice—he steps right into the trap. He takes the picture.

“Awesome,” Dick says. “I bet that’ll turn out great.”

Tim nods, and smiles, and wonders how he’ll pay for this later. The frog hops away.

-

"I don't like locking them in at night," Dick says.

"I don't either," Jason admits. "Just—I also don't like getting murdered in my sleep."

"Lock us up instead," Cass suggests. "Still locks between us, still safe. No guilt."

"That sounds good," Dick says.

"Okay, but I'm taking all the sharp knives from the kitchen and locking them up every night, too. Not taking any chances here."

-

Tim—their first Tim—texts them records from Owlman as they’re translated. He doesn’t talk to them, much—just sends the files and occasional bonus information, like “This one was translated by Mr. Terrific from the world we sent Talon Stephanie to.”

They get confirmation of the ages they’d already guessed at—six for Damian, twelve for Tim. Tim had been with Owlman for four years, and Damian for three. Owlman killed Jack and Janet Drake. They haven’t figured out what happened to Talia yet.

Owlman’s records indicate that the TIM scar on Tim’s arm was self-inflicted, before he became a Talon, but they don’t explain when or why he did it.

The most horrifying information, Tim shares as casually as everything else: “Owlman turned at least 20 kids into Talons besides the 10 you rescued. All dead. Most died in the Talonization process, 10-15 years ago, when he first started doing it himself. Looks like he made tweaks to the process—some didn’t work.”

Dick texts back, “Why is it always kids?”

It takes Tim three days to answer, which isn't unusual, for Tim. He gets skittish about interacting with them too much, and texting them anything, even something impersonal, in addition to his monthly phone call, is probably overwhelming for him.

“Talon process can’t be done past puberty—fatal. Courts in most worlds take new kid every 10-20 years, and also have several adults on hand from previous generations. One kid at a time, and a lot of them don’t have him do much until he’s older. Owlman’s court used to be like the others. Most of his talons got wiped out in a fight with the Justice League, and he had to rebuild.”

The Talon thing is just—so fucked up. And Dick has no idea how to help the kids the way they need. It’s getting better, he thinks. Cass has convinced Damian to make use of the coloring books, and Tim seemed interested when Dick let him use a camera the other day. Granted, Tim’s been extra anxious ever since, but that’s probably normal—it doesn’t seem like Talons are supposed to enjoy things. It’s probably scary, the first time.

-

Jason hangs Damian’s newest coloring book page on the fridge. His pictures are always so careful, so perfect. He never goes outside the lines. Cass says she’s working on that, but they’re not sure if it’s a Talon thing or a Damian thing—maybe he’s just a naturally careful colorer.

He hangs up Tim’s Polaroid of a frog, next.

It’s—it’s really nice. He tries not to think about the time before he died, mostly. And it’s easy mostly, because Dick is the only reminder, and he didn’t live in the manor at the time, and they’ve both changed so much. But it was—he was so happy, with Bruce and Alfred.

And their lives are pretty good now, but it’s never going to be like that again. He’s never going to be as safe and loved and protected again. He’s never going to have a dad or a grandpa to ask him about his day and make him his favorite foods and hang his report cards on the fridge.

But he can hang things on the fridge for these kids. He can make their favorite foods and ask them about their days. And it’s not the same. But it’s nice. It’s a reminder that almost doesn’t hurt.

Damian wanders in, and sees the fridge, and just barely smiles.

“Do you want a cupcake?” Jason asks him, even though it’s nine am. He’s decided to make Dick be the responsible one in the family, which means he can give the kids dessert for breakfast.

Chapter 7

Summary:

Dick used to be kind. Tim remembers. Tim is good at remembering.

Damian took away Dick's kindness.

Notes:

Bonus chapter!

Dick’s phone rings its special Tim ring, and he looks at the date; it's the 8th. Tim always calls on the 23nd. He only calls on the 23rd.

He answers the phone. "Tim? Are you okay?"

"Have you ever heard of a kid named Bart Allen?"

"No," Dick says. "Bart like Bartholomew? Like the Flash?"

"Could you—we have kind of a situation here. Could you maybe ask the Justice League if he's shown up since you went into hiding?"

"The Justice League."

"The Justice League," Tim repeats, sounding annoyed.

"Tim, there is no Justice League."

There's a long silence on the other end of the line.

"Tim?"

"Is it—is it my fault?"

"No."

"Are you sure?"

"It was—it was a lot of things," Dick says. "Jason died. And Wally died. And Ted Kord died. And Oliver Queen made his identity public."

"I was there for all of that," Tim says, "and we still had a Justice League."

"Right. Well, that's how it started. Then—you remember how Lex Luthor was running for president? Before you were—before you were—"

"Kind of."

"Elections were a couple weeks after Batman and Joker's showdown. And it was exactly what his anti-vigilante campaign needed."

"So it was my fault."

"No. That was—that was part of it, and none of the Batman, Joker thing was your fault, either; it was the Joker's. There was already a lot of anti-vigilante sentiment, with multiple kid sidekicks dying. Lex won in a landslide. He had the whole Justice League declared outlaws and terrorists as soon as he took office. Green Arrow was a fugitive, and his assets were seized. So were Bruce's, and all the money Ted left to the League. Ray Palmer disappeared. Bad things just kept happening. There was no money left to run the Watchtower. It was getting harder and harder, with the laws Lex kept passing, to do anything. Vigilante work was getting more and more dangerous. And then Lex started building Kryptonite into the infrastructure of major cities.

"He found some new kind, that made Superman angry and violent. There were...incidents. One time, he realized he'd been exposed, and went up to the Watchtower to lock himself in so he couldn't hurt anyone. But there were two other heroes there—it wasn't on the schedule. It should have been empty. They both survived, but it was a near thing. And he punched a massive hole in the side of the Watchtower that no one could afford to repair.

"That was the end of the League. Superman took his family to the Fortress of Solitude, and they haven't been seen since. Wonder Woman went back to Themyscira. The Lanterns mostly stay in space. Everyone went their separate ways. Some retired, some died, some just got more subtle about their heroics. There's still a decent superhero community in other countries—some of them, at least. Not where we wound up. But I haven't spoken to anyone in years. I have no idea how to contact Barry, or even anyone else who might be able to."

"Oh," Tim says.

"I'm sorry."

"It's fine. We're talking to other worlds, too. Someone will know what to do with Bart."

"That's good. I—um. There's something you should know." He should have told Tim months ago. It just—never felt like a good time.

"I feel like I've learned enough," Tim mutters.

"I know. Just—like ripping off a bandaid, right?"

"I guess."

"Jason and I did some digging, once we had the resources again. Two weeks before he kidnapped you, the Joker received a large sum of money from a shell corporation that looks like it belonged to Lex Luthor."

There's another long silence.

"Tim?"

"Lex Luthor hired the Joker to torture me?"

"I—I think so."

"That's my boyfriend's dad, Dick! I'm having dinner with him tonight!"

"It's—it's different though, right? Your Lex wouldn't—"

"My Lex wouldn't. It's just—weird."

"Are you okay?"

"I'm fine. Gotta tell Bruce you can't help with Bart. I'll talk to you on the 23rd."

He hangs up.

Maybe—maybe Dick shouldn't have told him. Any of it. But Tim hates having things kept from him. And if he wants to be—what'd he call it—the Justice League's Official Multiverse Liaison—that's the kind of thing he's going to find out, sooner or later. Better to tell him now, and not get yelled at later for hiding things.

-

Jason sits down on the couch, carefully leaving one cushion empty between him and Tim. He watches as Tim tenses, just slightly, when the cushions shift under his weight.

“You haven’t taken any more pictures,” he says.

Tim tenses further. “How—how many do you want?”

He’d set down the camera very carefully on his dresser after his one frog photo, and as far as Jason can tell, he hasn’t touched it since.

“You don’t have to take any if you don’t want to. Just—Dick thought it might be something you’d like.”

“I like it,” he says, too quickly, too desperate to agree, to have the right answer.

“You don’t have to,” Jay repeats. “Maybe we could look for other things you like, instead?”

Tim gives him that deer-in-the-headlights look that’s so unnerving on his zombie face.

“If you’d like to just sit on the couch and do nothing, that’s okay too.”

This, somehow, makes him look even more panicked. “I can—I can do things. I just—” He glances around the room. “Tell me what to do? Please?”

Okay. This is not going to be a day where they’re going to get through to Tim. “Just—just sit here and relax until dinner time, okay? That’s what you need to do right now.”

-

Damian fills a coloring book, carefully. He tried really, really hard, but there were a few mistakes. The first time his marker slipped outside the line, he was so, so afraid, but Jason said “I like this one,” and put it on the fridge, and Dick said “This part here looks really cool in red,” and there was no punishment.

Being a little boy is hard. The rules are not clearly defined.

He thought maybe the movies were research for how to be a little boy. But Tim is not using them as research, so probably not. Tim usually knows better than Damian. And a lot of the movies don’t even have little boys.

Still, he tries to keep track of everything little boys in the movies do, just in case.

Little boys in movies fly and fight pirates and carry stuffed bears. They rescue eagles. They play in the woods with bears and pigs and tigers. Damian doesn’t know how to fly, and he’s been told not to fight. He hasn’t found any eagles or bears or tigers or pigs to make friends with, yet.

He tries carrying around the bear Cass gave him, and that makes all the older Talons smile, so he must be doing it right.

He likes the dog better. But the little boy in the movie had a bear, so he sticks with that.

Cass said he would have a new coloring book, but today she gives him a blank sheet of paper instead.

“It is to color?” he checks, and she nods.

“But—what do I color? There’s no picture.”

“Your mission for today is to make your own picture.”

Damian stares down at the empty paper. Damian panics.

“Okay,” Cass says, putting a hand on his shoulder. “We can come back to that. After lunch, we’ll all draw together—you can see how to do it, and how it doesn’t have to be good.”

Cass has to help Jason with lunch, and Dick offers to take him outside.

Damian agrees. Tim got to see a frog. He wants to see a frog, too. He’s been outside three times, and hasn’t seen one yet. He saw a squirrel, once—he thinks it was a squirrel—but that was far away. Tim got to see a frog up close.

“Have you ever climbed a tree?” Dick asks him.

Damian shakes his head. The trees belong to the plant lady.

“Would you like to try?”

Damian shakes his head again. Owlman says bad things happen if you go into the trees. And if Owlman thinks it’s bad, it must be really, really bad.

“Okay. Do you have any ideas for what you would like to do?”

Damian thinks about his picture on the fridge, with the marker outside the lines. He thinks about the empty paper waiting inside. He decides to be brave.

“I want to see a frog.”

-

Tim watches out the window as Dick and Damian poke around bushes and overturn piles of dead leaves. He watches as Dick catches a frog—watches how carefully he holds it, how gently he passes it to Damian, how happy Damian looks.

Dick used to be kind. Tim remembers. Tim is good at remembering.

Kindness is different, for Talons. When he let Tim carve his name into his arm, and hid the cuts after, that was kind. He used to be kind like that a lot. Things Tim saw, and things he heard about. The older Talons said once he helped a girl kill herself before she got made into a Talon. He knows that sounds bad, for normal people. But for a Talon it was kind.

When they had to fight, Dick always used to kill them in the ways that hurt the least.

Damian took away Dick's kindness.

Most of the Talons that came after Tim were about the age he'd been.

Eight, he thinks. He thinks he remembers being eight. He doesn't know how long ago it was.

Most of the Talon's started at Tim's age. Then Owlman brought them a baby. He didn't explain where it came from, or why he was making it a Talon. And you don't ask Owlman questions unless you really, really need to.

He wasn't a baby-baby. He could walk and talk—not well, but he could—and he was potty trained. But he was so little. And Owlman treated him just like all the rest of them. They didn't know what to do with him.

He used to cry, for hours, for his mom. Dick used to snap his neck every night, in that special way he had that didn't hurt, and let you stay dead for hours and hours. He'd done it for most of them, at least once. He did it for Damian sixteen times. Tim counted.

He told Owlman it was because the baby was annoying, crying all night. Owlman didn't mind that. He didn't want them to like each other. But after a while, he figured out it was kindness. Then he was mad.
It was the second time Tim saw him take Dick to the special screaming room. It was worse than the first time.

Dick screamed and screamed and screamed. For days he screamed, and the rest of them sat in the Talon room with their hands clamped over their ears.

When he came back he had scars that never faded, and he wasn't kind anymore.

Here, in their long, long test, Dick is kind again. Not even Talon kind. Person kind.

He carries Damian to bed and tucks him in when he falls asleep on the couch. He notices Tim's favorite foods, even though Tim tries so hard not to show preferences, and makes them more often. He makes sure they aren't cold, and their eyes and ears don't hurt.

All three of the disguised Talons are like that. Tim doesn't—he doesn't understand. But he knows he can't trust it.

Notes:

So there's eventually, hopefully, going to be a 4th story set back in the main Flightless Birds world. It takes place at the same time as this story, and starts on the day of the first scene from this chapter, with the phone call.

Chapter 8

Summary:

How could any version of Jason’s dad look at a little kid—at a toddler—and think—and think—

He’s not mad at Bruce—at his Bruce—anymore. A lot of that anger evaporated as soon as Jay learned he was dead, and the rest—all Jay’s worst memories of his dad are warm and fuzzy compared to Owlman.

And—and it sucks. It’s so much easier to be mad at dead people. If you’re mad enough, you don’t have to miss them.

The five of them sit together at the table, drawing pictures, because Cass said it would be good for Damian.

“Not good pictures,” she’d told the other adults, beforehand.

So Jason is drawing messy stick figures and blobby trees. Dick and Cass are doing something similar. The kids are sneaking frequent glances at their pages for guidance.

Damian seems to be getting the hang of it, and maybe even enjoying himself. He’s smiling slightly. His drawing looks pretty much like a generic little kid drawing, but there’s a little personality there. He noticed that Dick drew a little cat, and he’s made his own little animal that Jay is guessing he means to be a dog.

(Has Damian ever seen a real live dog? Or even a live action dog? Or is his experience limited to the cartoons they’ve shown him?)

(Gotham must still have dogs, right?)

Tim, on the other hand—Jay looks over at Tim’s drawing again. He’s trying too hard, taking it too seriously, worrying too much. He always does. His drawing is carefully made of little pieces of theirs—he’s mimicking Dick’s trees, Jay’s stick figures, Cass’ sun, as closely as possible. He’s using all the same colors. His sun has the same number of rays as Cassandra’s. He’s trying so damn hard to pass some test that only exists in his head.

Tim isn't adjusting nearly as well as Damian. Which probably makes sense? The younger you are, the more elastic your brain is, and the more easily you adjust, right?

But Tim is still pretty young, too.

Jay gathers up the finished drawings and tapes them to the walls, because the fridge is full with the entire contents of Damian’s coloring book. He’s afraid to take any of Damian’s pictures down, now that he’s put them up, in case Damian perceives it as some sort of failure on his part, rather than just a spacing issue.

He’s so different. Adjusting pretty well, yeah, but nothing like the Damian Jason knew.

Jason was never sure if Damian—version one—was really confident, or just really good at pretending to be confident. But this version of him is neither. He doesn’t—this Damian is so different from the other. So different from Bruce, even though they have almost the same face, minus the skin and eyes. He’s so—

Jason knew Damian when he was six. And that Damian was a little kid, but not—not in the way this Damian is a little kid. This is a baby, trying to figure out how to be a person for the first time, years after he should have been able to. He’s just—he’s so little, and he’s twice as old now as he was when Owlman made him a Talon.

How could any version of Jason’s dad look at a little kid—at a toddler—and think—and think—

He’s not mad at Bruce—at his Bruce—anymore. A lot of that anger evaporated as soon as Jay learned he was dead, and the rest—all Jay’s worst memories of his dad are warm and fuzzy compared to Owlman.

And—and it sucks. It’s so much easier to be mad at dead people. If you’re mad enough, you don’t have to miss them.

He looks at the pictures again, then glances around the kitchen. Dick and Cass are gone, and Damian must have followed them. Tim is still here, standing about a foot away from Jason, staring at his drawing on the wall. He’s probably still stressed about whether he did it right.

“Your drawing looks great,” Jay says, with as much sincerity as he can muster. “You did such a good job.”

The kid relaxes, just slightly. It won’t last. It never does. But slightly more relaxed is the best they can do for him, so far.

-

Dick finds Cass sitting on the roof, watching the sun set. He sits down slowly beside her, leaving more room between them than he wants to. She’s been avoiding him. She’s been more like a roommate than a sister, ever since he brought the kids home.

He gets it. It’s still hard.

They sit in silence for a few minutes.

“Trying not to be mad,” Cass says, without looking over at him. “Because I—I don’t want to lose you. But—I don’t understand.”

“What don’t you understand, Cass?”

She turns to face him. “I was alone. Across the world. Had nothing when I ran. You were close to home. Had the safehouses. Had phone numbers for other heroes. But you didn’t rescue him. And I was trying—trying to understand. But then you replaced him, too. Don’t you—don’t you love him?”

“I love Tim. So much.”

“Which one?”

He thinks about the older Tim, his first Tim, about his too-wide smile and his knack for getting in trouble and his determination to fix every problem he sees. He thinks about the younger, newer Tim, with his anxious eyes and exaggerated caution and the bursts of personality he tries to suppress. “Can’t I love them both?”

“There shouldn’t be a both to love! There should be only our Tim, and he should be here with us.”

“I’m sorry,” Dick says, because there’s nothing else he can say, nothing he can do to fix it. Tim is better where he is. Tim doesn’t want to come home. He barely wants to talk to them. And it’s all Dick’s fault.

“He should be here.”

“I was scared. I was running for my life. I didn’t think I was going to make it, and I thought that if I rescued Tim, I would just get him killed too.”

“If you were just scared, if you didn’t—didn’t not want him anymore—why did you replace him?”

“Because I’d rather have the wrong Tim than no Tim at all.”

“I don’t know how to be a wrong Tim’s sister. Don’t know how to look at him, and not see everything we lost.”

“It’s harder than I thought it would be,” Dick admits.

“I’m trying not to be mad,” she says again.

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“I can’t be his sister yet.”

“That’s okay. We’ll figure it out. You’re really good with Damian.”

“I understand Damian. Thinks he’s a weapon, but really a little boy. I can—I can show him. Doesn’t have to be a weapon. Can be something better instead.”

“Is it—is it the same with Tim? Can you tell?”

“I think Tim knows he is a little boy. And a weapon. He is scared to be a child. Damian doesn’t know being a child is an option.”

“Okay. That makes sense. That’s really helpful, actually.”

Cass shrugs.

“I am sorry,” he says again.

She shrugs again, and scoots over a little to close the gap between them. “Love you,” she says. “Still mad, but love you.”

“Love you too, Cass.”

-

Tim calls at five on the twenty third. A regular call, not a video one.

“My phone camera is broken,” he says when Dick asks about it. Which is a crappy excuse, because there must be dozens of devices in the manor that he could borrow for a video call.

That’s okay—he doesn’t have to be visible if he doesn’t want to. But he could just be honest about it.

"So I have an update on Talon Dick," he says.

"Okay," Dick says. Tim sounds—weirdly anxious today.

"Um. You're not going to like it."

"Okay?"

"You know how they were gonna have J'onn look at him as soon as he got back from his sabbatical? And then plan next steps when he was cleared?"

"Yeah, I remember."

"So they tried having him, like, restrained in comfort in the Watchtower. Like, nice room, good food, but locked in or supervised at all times. He broke out. The first time he injured Supergirl—no one seems sure exactly how. The second time he tricked one of Flash's kids into sneaking him to the zetas—they barely caught him in time, and when they did he tried to use the little girl as a hostage."

"So. Not the pleasantest Dick around."

"Not so far. He's—he's been through a lot. But they're keeping him frozen until J'onn gets back, now."

"Okay." That's not great, but not particularly upsetting to Dick. He's not sure why Tim is so anxious about his reactions to how a highly dangerous alternate version of himself is behaving and being handled.

"But, um. The other thing is, they figured out what to do with him. After J'onn."

"And?"

"His parents are alive."

Oh. That's the part Tim didn't want to tell him. The rest was just stalling. The undead assassin Dick who killed Superman gets to have parents—not even Bruce, but Mom and Dad.

So what? He's been through way more horrible, horrible things than Dick has. He deserves this one good thing, probably.

It still hurts, knowing that he's never going to have any sort of parent ever again, that the closest he can come is Tim's new dad who he's talked to a half dozen times, and a couple of clinically insane supervillains who aren't even speaking to him right now.

"They—Owlman kidnapped Dick from the circus that night. They've been trying to get him back ever since. For—for twenty years. No one would believe them, at first. And they finally convinced the Justice League to look into it. Which is how the Justice League was wiped out in that world. No one else would enter Gotham after that. The Graysons did try to get in, multiple times, but never managed to find Dick, and kept being kicked out of the city. Kind of weird, actually. Owlman did send the Talons out of Gotham to do things for him, including assassinations. At least one girl was sent to kill her own father. You'd think Owlman would send Dick to kill his parents—maybe he figured they weren't a real threat once they couldn't summon the Justice League, and it was more fun to just watch them suffer?"

Dick really, really doesn't want to think about his parents, alive and desperately trying to find of a version of him that could almost certainly be made to kill them any time Owlman felt like it. "Who was the girl?" he asks, to change the subject.

"Oh. You didn't rescue her. She's—she’s dead now. I don't know the name—that file's only, like, half decoded."

"It wasn't—um. Do you know what happened to Barbara? She was the only Bat affiliated person I can think of in our generation who didn't get rescued."

"Barbara is alive. Jim Gordon traded—he, basically he agreed to have the police let Owlman have the run of the city, in exchange for getting his wife and kids out. They’re safe. He got fired as Commissioner, now that Owlman is gone. Not sure if he was arrested or not. I need to talk to Cass now.”

“Okay. Are you—”

“I’m fine. Cass?”

-

Cass doesn’t like talking on the phone. Tim knows that. She needs people’s faces to help her understand what they’re saying.

She used to be better on the phone, when she was more used to it. Before Bruce died. It was one of the things she lost when she had no one to communicate with for over a year, and she never got it back, because she doesn’t have any reason to talk to anyone on the phone. Pam, Harley, and Tim are the only people she talks to who don’t live here, and she only ever talks to Pam and Harley when they visit. And Tim knows phones are hard for her, so he always does video calls.

Except for today, when he talks about—something. A TV show? A book? For five minutes, then says, “Oh, Asia needs something. Bye, Cass!” and hangs up on her.

Not her best conversation with Tim. And now she won’t have another for a month.

Notes:

Talon!Dick's story should go up on Friday.

Chapter 9

Summary:

“Don’t be stupid,” Tim says, and it sounds mean in his ears, but kindness is different for Talons. The only way Tim can help Damian is by discouraging him from saying things Owlman will punish him for, and if it sounds like he’s being nice he’ll get punished too.

They are playing a board game, all five of them, called Snakes and Ladders.

“I like it better when it’s chutes,” Dick says as they set up the board.

“Yeah, well, the store only had snakes,” Jason says.

Tim studies the board, listening carefully to the rules. He tries to decide if he’ll get in more trouble for winning or losing.

Damian keeps playing with his little game piece. He doesn’t listen to the rules. He asks Jason if he’s ever seen a snake. Jason describes various snakes he’s seen. Tim decides that if Damian can get away with all that, he probably won’t get in too much trouble for winning or losing.

Probably.

An awful blaring sound happens, and all three of the older Talons pull out phones.

“Perimeter breach,” Jason says.

They all stand. Tim hurries to his feet, too, and after a moment Damian follows.

“Okay,” Dick says. “Okay, Tim, Damian, you guys stay here. If anyone but the three of us comes in, you can attack them—incapacitate, but don’t kill or maim.”

“Oh,” Jason says, “except for these two.” He holds out his phone to show a photo of two women—the plant lady, and a blonde he doesn’t recognize.

“Got it?” Jason asks.

“Got it,” Tim says, and Damian nods.

“Okay,” Dick says, “we’ll be back soon.”

The three of them go to the room that locks, then out the front door. Damian sits back down on the ground between the couch and the game board. After a minute Tim does the same. It’s the first time they’ve been alone together since they got here.

“Do you think Owlman is watching?” Damian asks quietly.

“He’s always watching.”

After a few minutes, Damian picks up a few pieces off the board and starts playing with them. Tim winces. That’s going to make it hard to finish the game. It might get them both in trouble.

“They’re nice here,” Damian says.

“Don’t be stupid,” Tim says, and it sounds mean in his ears, but kindness is different for Talons. The only way Tim can help Damian is by discouraging him from saying things Owlman will punish him for, and if it sounds like he’s being nice he’ll get punished too.

He knows Damian is—is—well, he’s being stupid. He’s carrying that toy bear around now, like he's attached to it. Talons don’t get attached to things. They get in trouble for getting too attached to specific knives—how much more trouble is a teddy bear going to be?

“What if—what if it’s real?”

Tim doesn’t answer. It’s not. It can’t be.

“Cass talks now.”

Tim’s never heard her. Not besides the handful of words in her usual range.

“I want to stay,” Damian says. “Don’t you want to stay?”

“No. I want to go home. I miss Owlman. I hate it here.” He stares into Damian’s eyes, tries to burn the hint into his head with his pupils.

"Yeah," Damian says after a minute. “Me too. I didn’t mean it.”

He starts trying to put the pieces back on the board, but he's remembering the places wrong. Tim fixes it.

It’s fine. This doesn’t count as helping the baby. He’s helping himself, so he doesn’t get in trouble for letting Damian mess up the board in the first place.

They sit on the floor and wait. Tim thinks about the plant lady.

If the plant lady might come, and they aren’t supposed to attack her, that means she’s on Owlman’s side now. Like the cat lady.

Unless—unless it’s true. Unless the plant lady stole them from Owlman, and they’re free.

The plant lady could make them stop looking like Talons, if anyone could.

No. No. Tim’s not falling for it again. He’s not stupid. He’s not gullible like Damian. He’s not falling for it again.

Besides, the plant lady would only take them instead of killing them if she wanted to use them against Owlman. Belonging to the plant lady probably wouldn’t be much better than belonging to Owlman.

The others return soon, looking much calmer than when they left. Jason is muttering about damn tourists being lucky they wandered through here before something ate them.

“Okay,” Dick says. “Are you ready to finish the game? Which piece was mine?”

It might be a trick question. Tim is still considering when Damian points to the right piece.

The game continues. No one notices the board was moved while they were gone. They’re good, for now. There’s probably cameras, and they’ll probably be in trouble later, but for now they’re fine.

-

Dick is on the couch, checking over the security feeds on his laptop, when he hears a very small sound.

He turns; Damian is standing at the arm of the couch, staring at him intently, holding that teddy bear. He made that noise on purpose, probably; the kids are absolutely silent, most of the time.

“Hey, buddy. What’s up?”

Damian doesn’t answer.

“Do you want to come sit on the couch with me?”

He nods, barely, and Dick slides over to make room, setting his laptop aside.

“Everything okay?”

Damian doesn’t answer. They sit together quietly for a few minutes; Dick doesn’t want to push him.

“D-Dick?” It’s the first time Damian’s actually used his name.

“Yeah?”

“Is the—is the plant lady coming here?”

“The plant lady? Do you mean Pam?” No, he’s being dumb—if Damian knew her name he’d have used it. He pulls out his phone and finds a picture. “Is this the plant lady?”

Damian stares at him for a long moment before nodding.

“How do you know her?” Dick asks.

“She lives in the trees. In all the trees.”

“Okay. Um, is she is good guy? Or a bad guy?”

Damian stares at him, and doesn’t answer. Maybe that’s too hard a question. Good guy as in on his side—Owlman’s side—or good as in morally right? Does he know what morally right is? He’s six, and he’s spent half his life as an assassin.

They can worry about morals later.

“Never mind, you don’t have to answer that. The plant lady might come, some time. But she’s nice, here; she won’t hurt us.”

Damian doesn’t answer. He sits quietly next to Dick until lunchtime. But he used Dick’s name. He sought him out to ask a question. That’s progress, right?

That night Dick texts Tim, “Do you know anything about Poison Ivy in Owlman’s world?” Tim never texts back.

-
`
Cass watches Tim and Damian eat their breakfast. Damian is just eating breakfast. Everything about Tim’s body language says he’s terrified. It almost always does.

Her desire to make the scared kid less scared suddenly overwhelms her discomfort with the whole situation. But she has no idea how to make him less scared. She doesn’t even understand what he’s scared of.

She’s watched Dick and Jason with him. How gentle and careful and kind they are, how it’s never enough to make him feel safe.

She just—she’ll try. She’ll let Dick and Jason take Damian this morning, and she will try with Tim.

-

“Tim,” Cass says, and he looks up at her. “Come outside with me?”

“Okay,” he says.

“Bring your camera.”

“O—okay,” he repeats.

That doesn’t make sense. That doesn’t make sense.

Cass has less than one hundred words. It makes Owlman so mad, how he can never get her to learn more. He’s sent her to the screaming room over it more than once—the regular screaming room, not the special screaming room that Dick goes to sometimes.

Cass can say less than one hundred words. Outside and camera and Tim are not on that list.

Damian told him “Cass talks now.” Tim ignored him, because Damian is not a reliable source of information. But Cass spends a lot more time around Damian than around Tim. He’s had a lot more chances to hear her talk.

Cass needs coaching to communicate in full sentences. Someone has to tell her the words to repeat, in the right tone so she can mimic that too. Tim doesn’t see an earpiece in her ear, but maybe it’s just hidden better than usual.

But what’s the point? Tim still doesn’t know what Owlman wants this time, what game he’s playing, what test Tim has to pass. Is the game just to confuse Tim as much as possible, and see how he reacts?

He gets his camera and follows Cass outside.

It’s not virtual reality this time. He knows how that feels now, knows the staticky, not-quite-real feeling to everything you touch. It’s not robots, because Owlman can never make robots that his Talons can’t hear the mechanical sounds of, if they really listen close. And they’re definitely not in Gotham anymore. How can Owlman spare half of them for so long? How does he have time to monitor them?

He’d thought maybe Owlman wasn’t paying a ton of attention, just letting things play out for a while, tuning in at the times they were most likely to screw something up. But he’s paying enough attention to feed Cass lines to say to him for no apparent reason.

Owlman wants to expand his reach beyond Gotham. He talks about it a lot. He complains about how Talons are great for intimidation, but not for infiltration, how they need to blend in if he’s going to send them far from home more often.

He’s tested a bunch of different camouflage devices on them.

Maybe this is the latest version. Maybe he’s finally made his breakthrough, and that’s why the older Talons seem so un-Talon-like.

He’s testing their ability to convince Tim they’re not Talons—their ability to successfully infiltrate somewhere out of Gotham. And he’s testing Tim’s ability to stay loyal to him when faced with someone much nicer.

If Tim fails that test, he’ll go to the screaming room. He does not want to go to the screaming room again.

Cass—maybe the screaming room finally taught her how to talk. Maybe he took her to the special screaming room. Or maybe he’s got Dick or Jason feeding her lines instead.

Tim considers, briefly, the possibility that this is real. Being rescued by people who happen to look like Talons is a lot less complicated than any explanation he can come up with.

But he’s not—he can’t—he fell for that before. Twice. Almost three times, with the robots. He’s not falling for it again. He’s not stupid, and he's not going to the screaming room.

-

This isn't working. Tim is following her mechanically, clutching his camera, and his body language is way, way more terrified than at breakfast.

“Do you want to go back?” she asks him.

He nods. That’s something, at least. He’s being honest about what he wants.

Cass takes him back to the house. He puts the camera back on his dresser, then sits on the couch, very still, very stiff. He will stay there until someone gives him something to do. Cass turns on the TV. A movie pops up, half finished from last night. Maybe he’ll like that better than doing nothing, but she can’t really tell.

Chapter 10

Summary:

“Jay. You being alive is the best thing that’s happened to me in years. I wouldn’t trade that for anything.”

“What if you could have Bruce back? Alfred? Tim?” It’s not a fair question to ask. He knows that. He’s still asking it.

Dick finds Jay in the kitchen. Jay spends a lot of time in the kitchen, because making cookies for the kids is easier and more effective than trying to talk to them.

(All kids like cookies. Even murderous zombie kids. They pretend not to like them, but they keep eating more, so. When Jay talks to them, they mostly just look anxious. When he bakes for them, they eat.)

“So,” Dick says, “I was thinking. Should we call Talia?”

“What? No. Why would we do that?”

“Well, she’s technically Damian’s mom, right? And as far as we know his version of her wasn’t evil. So maybe—”

“No,” Jason says again. This is the worst idea Dick’s had since offering to take the kids in the first place.

“I thought you liked her.”

“I do.” She just didn’t really like him.

“So why—”

“She already has a Damian.”

“Yeah, so? Maybe she’d like to meet another one. She’s running Lex Corp now—maybe she would have some resources to help.”

“Do you know why Talia is running Lex Corp?” Jason asks.

“Not really.”

“Ra’s had…plans. For Damian. Bad plans. Talia took over Lex Corp because it’s an extremely public job. She’s a public figure now. So is Damian. Which means that if Ra’s tries to grab him, it’ll be a big, messy, public thing. And I’m sure she’s made some deal with Lex for him to go up against Ra’s for Damian, too. As president and supervillain.”

“And what does that have to do with our Damian?”

“Talia loves Damian. Her Damian. More than anything. And she’s terrified of losing him. If throwing some other Damian—some genetically identical kid she’s never met—to the wolves was what it took to protect hers, she wouldn’t hesitate. She can never know about our Damian.”

“Okay. No Talia. Got it.”

Jason sits down at the table, giving up on the baking for now. Dick joins him.

“Did something happen? Is there a reason you’re thinking about Talia now?”

Dick shrugs. “I just—Tim is pretty much the same, you know? But Damian is…getting more comfortable. Which is great! I’m just worried that soon he’s going to get comfortable enough to really freak out. And I don’t really know how to deal with that.”

“Carefully. You know I fought him in the other world, right?”

“No. He was dead! You killed a six year old?”

“Other Jason told us to!”

“You weren’t supposed to listen!”

“It was—” It was awful. He felt awful as soon as he did it. He just couldn’t get the kid to hold still long enough to inject him with that stuff, and they were fighting Owlman, like, right there, and he just wanted to get out of there before he had to look any more at an evil version of his dead dad.

“It wasn’t a big deal. He’s fine. And it was a huge battle—I’m obviously not going to do it again now.”

“We’re not done talking about this,” Dick says. “But let’s worry about Damian first.”

“You were going to kidnap a doctor for your Tim. We can still do that.”

“I was hoping we could convince one without resorting to kidnapping.”

“Yeah, well. You know that was a long shot.”

“We’re not kidnapping someone. Two Talons are terrifying enough to deal with voluntarily.”

They’re not, really. But Jay can see how they would seem that way, especially to someone who’d been kidnapped and held hostage.

“Then you’ll have to convince Harley to come back, I guess.”

Dick sighs. “She was just so mad.”

“Yeah, well. We all were.”

“She still is, or she’d have turned back up by now. Cass still is too, I think.”

“You know she’s trying, Dick.”

“I know. I just—I miss how it was.”

“Then maybe you shouldn’t have brought home the murder babies.”

“Before that. I miss—I miss how it was before Bruce died.”

“When it was you and Bruce and Cass and Tim? When I was dead?”

“Not—not the you being dead part. Obviously.”

“Obviously,” Jason echoes. It doesn’t—it doesn’t—he knows life was great for everyone, while he was gone. He knows that. And he knows it wasn’t about him, wasn’t better because he was gone. It just—

“Jay. You being alive is the best thing that’s happened to me in years. I wouldn’t trade that for anything.”

“What if you could have Bruce back? Alfred? Tim?” It’s not a fair question to ask. He knows that. He’s still asking it.

“Not for anything, Jay.”

“Okay,” he says. “Okay.”

They sit together for a few minutes before Dick asks, “Do you think I shouldn’t have brought them home?”

Jason gives himself a minute to think about it. “No. I think—I think we should have talked about it first, obviously. But I’m glad they’re here. It’s nice to have people around besides the three of us. It’s nice to feel like we have, like, a purpose, I guess? Someone to take care of. Something to do besides hide out. I like them. I hardly know them, because they’re terrified to have personalities, but I like them. I’m excited to see who they are when they’re less scared.”

Dick nods. “What are you making—cookies? Can I help?”

-

“Hey, Cass, are you still mad at Dick?”

She looks up at Jason, frowning. “About the pancakes this morning?” She wasn’t even really mad; she was just teasing.

“About the kids.”

“Oh.” She shifts over to make room for him on the couch. “No. Not mad. Not now.”

“He thinks you are.”

“No,” she says.

“You are still kind of avoiding him, though. Me too, actually.”

“Not—not you. It’s—” She tries to think how to explain it to someone who doesn’t see the world the way she does. “It’s like they’re always screaming. I stay as much as I can, but my ears hurt, and I have to hide.”

Jay nods. “Are they—um. Are they screaming any less, since they got here?”

“Damian, a little.”

“Okay. That’s—that’s not good, Cass.”

“Yeah.”

“I’ll tell Dick.”

She nods. “Didn’t mean to avoid you. Forget sometimes—you can’t see it.”

All the pain and terror and confusion Damian gives off, she can power through, for a few hours, especially as he gets more comfortable with her, and the terror-pain-confusion recedes a little. She can handle things like movies and mealtimes with both of them—things where she doesn’t have to actually look at them much.

But Tim. Tim hurts to look at in so many ways. Maybe when the terror-pain-confusion get better, she can work through all the other things that hurt.

“We need to make more time away from the kids,” Jay says. “How about I take charge of them tomorrow afternoon, and you and Dick can have some time to hang out, just the two of you?”

“Yeah. Sounds nice. You and me, next day?”

“Sure.”

Cass knows she should volunteer to take the kids the day after, so Dick and Jason can have time together, but she just—

Well. Maybe if she puts on a movie. It’ll be a little less time than Jay and Dick can give her. But it’s what she can handle right now.

-

The three older Talons sit down on one couch. Tim and Damian sit on the other. It feels, Tim thinks, like they're about to be assigned a mission. That would be nice. Normal. He doesn't—doesn't like missions. But at least he knows where he stands.

"We were just wondering," Dick says, "if there's anything we can do to make you guys feel safer here."

Well. Tim's not stupid enough to answer that question. He doesn't think Damian is, either. The five of them sit there silently for a while.

"Is there anything in particular that stresses you out?" Dick asks.

"I'm not stressed," Tim says.

"Not stressed," Damian echoes.

The three adults exchange glances.

"No one here is going to hurt you," Jason says. "We just want you to be safe and comfortable. But that's hard to do when we don't know what's scaring you."

"I'm not scared," Tim says. "Everything is good."

"Cass?" Dick asks.

She shakes her head.

"Okay," Dick says. "Just—you guys can talk to us, whenever. About anything that might be bothering you."

"Can we go?" Damian asks.

"Yeah," Jason says, "you can go."

-

“So Damian said—”

“No,” Cass says. “No kids. Just us.”

“Okay, sorry. Are you driving, or am I?”

“You. Better at it.”

Dick nods, sliding into the driver’s seat. They’re going into town—something Dick hardly ever gets to do.

(It’s hard. He’s more of a people person than Cass and Jay, and he gets so lonely, sometimes. And then he gets clingy and annoying, and they avoid him, and he gets lonelier.)

It’s nice, being in town, just being around people, even if he can’t really talk to them.

“Festival this week,” Cass tells him as he drives. “Jay said. Lots of people. Lots of excitement. No one should notice us."

it is so good to be in town again. There’s a parade on, and music. Dick buys them some food, and they sit on a bench to eat. It’s the first time he’s been more than a couple hundred yards from the kids since they got them. It’s great.

“Oh, hey, I asked Tim what happened to Babs in the kids’ world.” He’d meant to tell her weeks ago—they just haven’t really talked much. She’s been hiding out in her room a lot lately—hiding from the constant distress of the kids, apparently. Which he feels guilty about.

“Okay?” she asks. “Talon?”

“Not a Talon. Safely away from Gotham—the commissioner cut a deal with Owlman, apparently.”

“Good.”

They finish their food. Dick finds a place to throw away their garbage, then sits back down.

“I miss her,” Cass says when he’s back.

“Yeah.” They all miss Barbara. But for Cass—it was such a shitshow.

Barbara had faked her death while Cassandra was in Hong Kong. Said there was too much heat on Oracle. She’d gone on vacation. Gone radio silent. The plan was to come back in a few weeks, reassess, start over in secret. And then Tim—and Bruce—Dick had never spoken to her again.

The problem was that she never told Cass she was faking her death. Cass had no idea Barbara was still alive until she and Dick joined back up. She’d spent so much time mourning, and it was—it was all just—

Dick doesn’t even know what happened to Barbara. If anyone in the hero community knows where they’re holed up it’s her, but she hasn’t reached out.

“I thought—thought she loved me,” Cass says.

“She did. She does.”

Dick doesn’t bother to try to defend her further, to explain her reasoning. They’ve had this conversation before. Babs had said something about the knowledge of Oracle being a burden, but it hadn’t been a good enough reason to lie to Cass, of all people. Dick hadn’t known much about what Cass was actually doing in Hong Kong—he still doesn’t. She won’t talk about it. He’d figured she was in the middle of something sensitive, and Barbara would explain and apologize when it was over. But within a month, Bruce was dead, Cass was in the wind, and Dick was running for his life. He just wishes he had a better explanation, or, better yet, Barbara here to make her own explanation.

Cass shrugs. “Part of me—feel guilty. But part of me is glad. Just us now. I mean—not Tim. Wish it was us and Tim now. But—Barbara lied. About the biggest thing. And Bruce didn’t tell us Tim was in danger. Didn’t give us a chance to help. And I—I miss them. So much. But I don’t—I don’t—if they were here I’d be so mad at them.”

“Yeah,” Dick says. He can’t—it’s just all so hard.

“I’m sorry I hid. From you. After.”

He shrugs. “You weren’t hiding from me, specifically. You were just hiding. Really well.”

“Do you think—do you think Alfred knew? That Bruce didn’t tell us Tim was missing?”

“I don’t know.”

“Do you think Alfred is alive?”

“I don’t know,” he says again. This conversation has gotten really depressing. He stands up. “Okay. There is city wide party going on, and I probably won’t be out in public again for months, and I am not going to spend this time moping. Let’s find something fun to do.”

Notes:

Barbara does fake her death and choose not to tell Cass she's faking in the comics, although it's a little different because they're dealing with a different timeline.

Chapter 11

Summary:

“You cost me my brother,” Cass says. “Twice.”

She knows it isn't fair. She knows she’ll regret it later. But right now—

The twenty third comes. Five o’clock comes. A phone call doesn’t.

Six o’clock comes. No phone call.

Dick checks with Cass, in case Tim called her first this month.

He didn’t.

“Do you think he’s okay?” she asks, when he still hasn’t called at eight.

He always calls. He doesn’t always want to talk to them, but he always calls.

“Bruce would have told us if something happened.”

“Are you sure?” Cass asks.

No. If there was an emergency, Bruce wouldn’t call them. He’d have bigger things to worry about.

“We’ll give it the rest of the night,” he says. “If we haven’t heard from him by morning, I’ll call Bruce.”

He wouldn’t call Tim. That’s not how their relationship works. Tim calls. They don’t.

Morning comes. The phone call doesn’t. Dick gives it a few more hours, because Batman isn't known for being an early riser. Then he calls.

“Hey, is everything okay with Tim? He didn’t call us yesterday.”

“Tim spent most of yesterday with his therapist, dealing with the mental breakdown you caused. He’ll call you next month.”

“He—what? Bruce—”

He sighs. “I’m sorry. That wasn’t—it’s been a long couple days. Tim’s not doing great.”

“You said I caused…”

“Six weeks ago? He called you about a boy named Bart?”

That was—Dick’s talked to Tim since then. He was—okay, he wasn’t great. But not enough different from usual that he—

No. He wouldn't use a camera. He didn't want Cass to see him—to see that something was wrong.

“I had to tell him, Bruce. Once he found out the Justice League was gone—you know how he is. He was going to figure out for himself what happened, if I didn’t tell him. I said it wasn’t his fault.”

“He didn’t believe you.”

“Yeah. I—I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—it would have sounded worse, on the cross-dimensional internet.”

“I know,” Bruce says. “I’m sorry I—he just—he needs some space right now. He might call you before next month, but I wouldn’t count on it. He likes the routine.”

“Yeah.”

“I shouldn’t have pushed him to call you about Bart. I was—there was a kid’s life on the line. But I should have just handled it myself.”

“Is—is the kid okay, at least?”

“Bart is fine. So there’s that. Tim’ll be fine, too. He’ll call you later.”

Bruce hangs up. And now Dick has to explain what happened to Cass.

-

“Bruce said he’ll call back next month.”

“Bruce isn't Tim. Bruce doesn’t know.”

“Cass…”

“You cost me my brother,” she says. “Twice.”

She knows it isn't fair. She knows she’ll regret it later. But right now—

“I need space. Be back by grocery day.”

She takes their car and leaves. She doesn’t pack anything, just grabs her phone and wallet. She doesn’t talk to Jason or the kids. Dick calls three times as she drives into town, then Jason twice, and she lets the phone ring. She just—she just—

What if Tim never calls again? What if she loses the tiny bit of her brother she got back, because Dick upset him?

Grocery day. The next grocery day is in eight days. She can have a week. They will have to give her a week, because she took the only car. And then she’ll go home, to the brothers she still has, and she’ll be fine.

Just a week. She just needs a week.

-

“She left?”

Dick nods. “Took the car. Isn't answering her phone. Said she’d be back.”

“Fuck, Dickie. Pushed away two siblings in one fell swoop, huh?”

“Jay—”

“I’m sorry. That was mean. Sorry. I just—”

“Where are the kids?”

“In the living room, watching Cinderella. They’re gonna—what are they gonna think about their sister disappearing for a week with no warning? How are we going to explain it?”

“I don’t know. I don’t—this is bad, Jay.”

“Yeah, well. Let me try her.”

She doesn’t answer.

“Are Pam and Harley picking up your calls?” Dick asks.

“Haven’t tried since they stormed off.”

“Maybe we could ask them to get her? Or at least check on her? If they answer you.”

“She’s a grown up, Dick. She’s not gonna be any less upset if we send in a couple supervillains for a welfare check.”

“Fuck.”

“Yeah.”

-

“Cass had to go away for a while,” Dick explains over dinner. “She should be back next week.”

Tim watches him, and he watches Jason, and he tries to decide what’s really going on. Did Owlman recall her? Is she in trouble, or does she have a real mission to do?

“Did she—is she going to the screaming room?” Damian asks, because Damian is even worse at being discreet and staying out of trouble than he was when this thing started.

Dick and Jason look at each other. They both frown.

“Damian,” Dick says, “can you tell me what the screaming room is?”

“It’s where we go to get punished. Extra punished.”

“No,” Jason says, very firmly. “We don’t have a screaming room here. Cass didn’t go to the screaming room, and neither of you is ever going to the screaming room again, either.”

Damian glances over at Tim, who very carefully doesn’t react. “No more screaming room” is the kind of promise Owlman would make right before introducing something much worse than the screaming room.

“Did the plant lady take her?” Damian asks next, because somehow Damian still hasn’t learned that questions are dangerous. Or maybe he just forgot. Damian is getting reckless, here. He’s forgetting it’s a trick, and Tim doesn’t know how to remind him without getting in trouble, too. He’s still carrying that teddy bear.

“The plant lady didn’t take her,” Dick says. “But she might visit the plant lady while she’s gone. The plant lady is nice here. She’s our friend. She’s kind of mad at us right now, but she’ll come and meet you guys when we make up.”

The plant lady is mad? The plant lady is always mad. She calls them abominations (which, Tim thinks, is probably true), and her trees ate two Talons that Owlman sent too close to the park.

“Her name is Pam,” Jason says. “And she has a friend named Harley who’ll come with her.”

“Can you guys tell us what the plant lady you know is like?” Dick asks. And that’s definitely a trap. Maybe Owlman teamed up with her, and now saying something bad about her is wrong. Or maybe they’ll get in trouble for admitting that she’s a threat to them. There are a hundred ways answering that question could get them in trouble.

“She’s scary,” Damian says.

“But we’re scarier,” Tim offers, hoping to mitigate some of the damage from that statement. Don’t help the baby, the scared part of his brain—the biggest part of his brain—whispers. But it’s only a little help. It’s fine. It’s fine.

Or maybe not, because Dick and Jason are both frowning.

“I don’t think you’re scary,” Dick says, and Tim tries to prepare himself to be punished for being an insufficiently scary undead assassin.

“Pam won’t be scary, either, when you meet her. And the four of us are going to have a good week. Just us guys, until Cass comes back.”

“She’ll come back?” Damian asks.

“I promise,” Jason says. And Damian might believe him, because Damian is gullible, but Tim knows Talons can’t trust promises. Talons can’t trust anything.

-

Dick needs a distraction. Damian’s plant lady is as good as any. Tim never answered his text about that—well, now he knows why.

He texts Red Hood Jason, who led the mission. He should probably be taking questions about Talons and their universe to him, anyway, instead of to his semi-estranged traumatized teenage brother who wasn’t even involved in the whole thing.

Just—he was taking any chance he could find to talk to Tim.

"Do you know anything about Poison Ivy in Owlman's world?"

It takes Hood a few hours to text back, "Not on Owlman's side, but not exactly on the other side, either. Everyone is scared of her. She and the talons are the only metas in gotham. Hardly ever leaves Robinson Park, but sometimes grabs people who come too close, and they're never seen again."

A minute later he texts "Why?"

"Kids saw a photo. Damian's scared of her."

Jason doesn't text back this time. Not much of a distraction. Hopefully it'll go okay when she and Harley are back. Hopefully they will come back.

Oh.

He texts Jason again. "What about Harley?"

"Dead. Owlman got her 15, 20 years ago. What motivated Jokester to really start fighting him."

So. He doesn't have to worry about that meeting scaring the kids, at least.

-

Cass calls Pam, because she's afraid Harley won't answer.

She doesn't have anyone else to call. Her entire support system outside her family is two serial killers who are only semi-reformed. Five years ago, she wouldn't have wanted anything to do with them.

Loneliness changes things.

She's so tired of being lonely.

(She lied to Jason, when she found him. She would have been his sister even if he hadn't stopped killing.)

"Harley's still mad at you," Pam says, instead of "Hello."

"Not me, Dick. Me too."

"Did something happen, Cassandra?"

"Video?"

"Sure. Let me grab Harley."

She tells them everything.

"You all need therapy," Harley says.

"You left."

"I'm a psychiatrist, not a therapist. And I'm biased. And I got my license revoked."

"All we've got. In hiding. Zombie babies."

"Try one of those groups that does it by phone," Pam suggests. "No one has to see any of you."

"You can do that?"

"You can do that," Harley confirms. "Do you want us to come get you? You don't have to go back if you're mad."

"No. Have only car."

"We could drop the car back off. Pick up more of your stuff. Go on an adventure."

"No. Brothers. Want to stay. Just need time."

"Okay. Let us know if you need anything else."

"Uh huh. Thanks."

Chapter 12

Summary:

Damian sits too close to Tim on the couch, and looks at him with big, anxious eyes, and Tim worries, because it's not safe to trust each other. Damian shouldn't be trusting the other Talons like he has, but he definitely shouldn't be trusting Tim instead.

"Are we in trouble?" Damian asks.

"I don't know," Tim admits.

Notes:

Bonus chapter!

Dick gets a text from Bruce, a few days later.

“I’m sorry. Nothing that happened was your fault. I know telling him the truth was the best option. I was worried about Tim; I shouldn’t have taken it out on you. He’s feeling a little better now.”

There’s a photo attached, of Tim asleep on a couch Dick recognizes from his own long gone version of the manor, his pet chicken tucked under one arm, a small gray leg just visible in the corner of the image, which must belong to little Talon Dick.

“It’s okay. Tell him we love him.”

He forwards the picture to Cass. She sends back a heart emoji.

-

The kids aren’t doing well, with Cass gone. They’re even more anxious than usual. Damian, who’d finally started sleeping in his actual bed, is back to sleeping on the floor beneath.

Tim is getting more tense by the day. Jay hadn't realized he'd relaxed so much, until it all goes away again. The handful of things they've found that actually seem to make the kids happy aren't working anymore. He doesn't get little smiles when he gives them cookies. Damian's attempts at coloring are being taken more seriously than they've been in weeks. Neither kid wants to go outside, possibly because they're not totally convinced the plant lady didn't take Cass.

Damian, especially, is having a hard time—he's much closer to Cass than Tim is.

It's not—they haven't made much progress, with the kids. But it feels like they're losing it all in the few days since Cass left.

Never before has Jason been so excited for grocery day.

"Cass comes home today?" Damian asks at breakfast.

"That's the plan," Jay tells him.

Damian doesn't look convinced, and Jason can't really blame him. It's been over a week, and they haven’t heard a single word from Cass. Just one emoji, and only because it was about her Tim.

She has to come back, right? She wouldn't abandon Jason just because she's mad at Dick.

It's Damian who spots her first, not long after lunch. He's been sitting at the window, staring out, since he left the table.

"A car is coming," he reports.

Jason meets her at the door. She's carrying four bags of groceries. She drops them, hugs him, then bends down to hug Damian—which he endures, looking puzzled—then walks past Dick to lock herself in her room. Dick looks crushed. Tim, watching from the safe distance of one room over, looks just slightly relieved.

"She came home," Jason tells Dick. "She'll come around. There's probably more bags in the car—help me unload?"

-

Cass stays in her room until the kids are in bed, and then a little longer, until they're probably sleeping. She finds Dick and Jay on the couch—Jay spots her first.

"Need some space?" he asks.

She nods. Jay picks up his book and slips out of the room. She takes his place on the couch.

"I'm sorry I messed up with Tim," Dick says. "I can't lose you too."

"Sorry I yelled. Sorry I ran."

Dick shrugs it off, like he always does when she apologizes, because Dick always thinks it's his fault.

Got that from Bruce.

She scoots closer. “Sorry,” she says again.

"Are we okay?" Dick asks.

"I am."

"Me too." He wraps an arm around her shoulders, and she leans in. Things are hard. But they will be okay.

"Talked to Pam and Harley," she tells him, later, as they're getting ready for bed. "Said to try phone call therapy for the kids."

-

Cass came back. And she's still the same, still the new version of Cass, who talks and has a name and is nice to him. And she hugged him!

He has a fuzzy half memory of being hugged, once. It must have been a long time ago. Owlman wouldn't hug him. The other Talons wouldn't hug him. He isn't sure if he had a time before Owlman. But maybe he must have, if there was a hug once.

"Where did you go?" he asks her, the morning after she comes back, when she comes to get him for breakfast, and gives him a toy squirrel, soft and fluffy and much bigger than a real squirrel. He sets it on the bed between the dog and the bear. He is still tired, and excited about the squirrel, or he wouldn't be brave enough to ask.

"Just into town," she says. "Needed some time alone."

She can just take time alone? Just because she wants it? Owlman doesn't stop her?

Damian never had time alone before they gave him a bedroom, here. It still makes him nervous. Tim too, he thinks, because neither of them goes into their bedrooms unless it's time to sleep. The others go into their bedrooms whenever they feel like it.

Maybe sometime Damian can stay in his room and play with his toys and not worry about Owlman.
Probably not. But maybe.

-

Tim watches Cass. She was gone for a week. Now she's been back for a week. And he still has no idea why Owlman recalled her or why Owlman put them all here in the first place. Nothing makes sense.
The only difference from before she left is that she spends more time with him now. Which means she talks to him more. Which makes him nervous.

It's—it's also nice, though? She gives him another toy. It's a shark, and he doesn't think sharks are supposed to be purple, or fuzzy, but he doesn't mind. The five of them play more games together, and Tim doesn't get in trouble for winning or for losing, for any of them.

And he still doesn't trust this, doesn't believe it, but it's nice, for now, and maybe he can just enjoy it while it lasts?

Then he and Damian are summoned to the kitchen table, where a phone is sitting, waiting for them, and told to talk to the man in the phone so he can help them.

Everything about this screams trap.

Owlman wants to know everything they enjoy so he can take it away. Owlman wants to know everything that hurts them so he can do it more. No one helps Talons. And Talons trust nobody. Especially people they can't even see.

It's probably Owlman on the other side of the phone.

The phone man has a soft, gentle voice, and he tells them his name is Greg, and he asks them for their names.

Tim catches Damian's eyes, and tries to find a way to signal him not to tell—the other Talons gave him his name, which means it's not really his name, not his to keep, and trying to claim it could be really, really bad.

Damian opens his mouth. He closes his mouth. He doesn't answer. Tim doesn't answer either, even though his name really is his; he knows how much Owlman hates that he has a name.

There's a long, long pause.

"Their names are Tim and Damian," Dick says, finally.

"Okay," the phone man says. "And Tim, you're the oldest, right?"

That seems like a pretty safe question. A big, obvious trap that he won't fall for. "No." Dick is the oldest. "I'm the fourth oldest here right now."

"I mean, you're older than Damian, correct?"

"Correct."

"Okay. And how are you boys liking your new home?"

Tim doesn't even have to try to think of a way to warn Damian, this time. Neither of them is stupid enough to answer that question.

The phone man keeps trying. He asks more questions, more obvious trap questions, like "Do you feel safe with your new family?" and "Are you having any bad dreams?" and "Is there anything you'd like to talk about?"

Tim doesn't answer. Damian doesn't answer. Finally Dick says, "Okay, you guys can go wait for us on the couch. I'll put in a movie in a minute."

They flee, leaving the older Talons to talk to Greg the phone man.

Damian sits too close to Tim on the couch, and looks at him with big, anxious eyes, and Tim worries, because it's not safe to trust each other. Damian shouldn't be trusting the other Talons like he has, but he definitely shouldn't be trusting Tim instead.

"Are we in trouble?" Damian asks.

"I don't know," Tim admits.

The other Talons come and sit down. Jason puts in a movie about foxes that talk and wear clothes. None of them say anything about the phone man. Days pass. They never say anything about the phone man. Tim doesn't know what the test was. He doesn't know if he passed. But he knows he can't let his guard down. He can't enjoy it while it lasts. They're still setting traps, and he has to pay attention. He has to be careful. He has to get it right.

-

They run background checks. They choose a therapist. They make the call. And immediately hit a wall. Because neither of the kids will talk to a disembodied voice on the phone about their problems. They're both too scared to admit they have problems, even to Dick and Cass and Jason, who they've been living with for months. On the phone, they're too scared to admit they even have names.

Therapy requires some very basic trust in the therapist.

Dick gives the guy they picked a heavily edited story about how they rescued two kids from a cult, and their therapy options are limited because they're currently in hiding from said cult. The guy gives them the sort of generic advice he can without actually talking to the kids, and suggests they reach out again when the kids seem ready.

It's all he can do, and Dick isn't sure it was worth it, because ever since their attempt at a phone consult, the kids are extra jumpy again. Like they were when Cass left. Tim, especially. Have they destroyed what little, fragile trust they had by trying to get them more qualified help?

He wishes he could get the kids to talk to them, at all, about anything of substance, so he could have some vague idea how to help them.

Chapter 13

Summary:

There has to be a rule. There has to be a trick.

Damian picks up a blank piece of paper. He chooses a handful of crayons without noticing the color, and scribbles all over the paper.

He sets down the crayons. He takes a deep breath, and waits for someone to notice what he’s done, how he’s ruined the paper.

Tim calls the next month, exactly on schedule. A video call, exactly like always.

“I’m sorry,” Dick says as soon as the call connects. “I didn’t—”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Tim…”

“I don’t want to talk about it with you.”

“Okay. That’s fair.”

Tim smiles. It doesn’t look sincere. “On the bright side, Kon made this Lex promise to never hurt me. So. Not that I was really concerned. But that’s nice. Hey, you want an update on Talon-you?”

Not really. “Sure.”

“J’onn got back. Can’t get into his head. Tried a few times. No luck, and the longer he was awake the more erratic and violent he got, so they refroze him. Trying to figure out what to do next. J’onn said he’d read through everything we’ve decoded from that world, then try again, but it doesn’t sound like he was super optimistic.”

“How’re his parents holding up?”

“They want him back now. But Superman went over and explained the very real possibility that he could murder them, and then have to deal with the guilt whenever we do figure out how to, like—de-brainwash him, or re-sanify him, or whatever. So they’re waiting. This is closer than they’ve gotten in the last twenty years. It’s something.”

“Yeah. Something.”

“Dick,” Tim says.

“I’m glad he’ll have them.”

“Uh huh. Hey, is Harley talking to you yet?”

“Not yet.”

“I’ll work on her. You guys really need a therapist on site.”

“Yeah, first try on that was…not great.” Tim—little Tim—has been shooting him these suspicious looks ever since that utterly useless phone call. He shakes his head. “Are you really okay, Tim?”

“I’m fine now,” he says.

He’s not in the mood to talk much more than that, and Dick hands him over to Cass a few minutes later.

-

She gets over an hour with Tim, today. It’s the best she’s gotten in a long time.

“I’m sorry,” he says finally. “I have a thing—I’ll text you later, okay? Spend some time with little Tim for me.”

She doesn’t want to. She wants to keep talking to her Tim. But “I’ll text you later” is more than she’s gotten from Tim since they re-established contact. She’ll spend some time with little Tim. She needs to get better at that, anyway.

-

“What would you like to do?” Cass asks him.

This is definitely a trap. Tim doesn’t answer.

Cass frowns. “Okay. Narrow it down. Do you want to be inside or outside?”

He considers this. Whichever choice he makes will definitely be followed with many more options. If he chooses outside, there will be fewer options. But they don’t go outside often, so it’s more likely to be the wrong answer.

“Inside,” he says.

Cass nods. “Inside. We could play a game, or watch a movie, or we could—no. Narrow. Movie, game, or something else?”

Something else will give him more options. So it’s probably the right answer. The hard one usually is.

He doesn’t want to pick the hard answer.

Talons don’t get to want things.

“Movie,” he says, anyway.

“Okay,” Cass says, like it really is. “You pick, or me?”

“You.”

She smiles at him. “Okay. Come with me to look?”

Cass puts in the movie. She sits down on one end of the couch, and Tim sits on the other end, because sitting on the other couch seems too far.

It's a movie they've watched before. That makes it a little easier. He doesn't have to pay as much attention—if they ask him questions later he'll remember from last time he saw it.

They don't usually ask questions.

He's so tired of this. It sounds nice, but it's hard. He's tired of being safe and knowing it's a lie. Tired of fighting so hard to resist the temptation to let down his guard. Tired of pretending.

He adjusts his movie watching glasses. He tunes out the movie for a minute, listening to the sounds of the house around him. Damian, in the kitchen, coloring, the sound of crayon on paper. Cass laughing quietly at something in the movie. The front door opening, two sets of footsteps—Dick and Jason coming inside.

There's nothing helpful. There's no clues. It's been over three months, and he still doesn't know what the test is.

The approaching footsteps split up, one set to the kitchen, one set coming closer.

"Oh, I love this movie," Dick says. "Tim, can I sit next to you?"

"Sure," Tim says. He holds very still as Dick sits, their arms brushing together for a second before Dick settles about a foot away, closer to Cass than to him. Tim renews his efforts to look very interested in the movie.

He's just so tired.

-

Damian looks down at his options, spread across the table. Two coloring books, a stack of blank papers, markers, and crayons. He looks up at the kitchen walls, where Jason hangs every picture he finishes.

There don’t seem to be any rules. Not any he’s found yet. He likes the coloring books, with their built-in rules, but even those don’t seem to matter.

There has to be a rule. There has to be a trick.

When other people draw with him, he tries to mimic them. When they don’t, he tries to mimic other pictures he’s seen. But nobody cares if he doesn’t do a good job of it.

Yesterday he was feeling very brave, or maybe just very desperate to know exactly what he could and couldn’t do. He picked a page from his coloring book, and made the tree purple, and the person’s skin dark blue, and the grass red.

“Super cool, Damian,” Jason had said, and he taped it to the wall.

Damian looks at his purple tree on the wall. He picks up a blank piece of paper. He chooses a handful of crayons without noticing the color, and scribbles all over the paper.

He sets down the crayons. He takes a deep breath, and waits for someone to notice what he’s done, how he’s ruined the paper.

It’s a few minutes before Jason comes into the room.

“You done with that one?” he asks.

Damian takes another breath. He nods. Jason picks up the paper.

“Oh, abstract. I like it.”

Something has to be wrong. There has to be a rule. There has to be a trick.

Maybe he really can do whatever he wants to blank paper. But the coloring books have built in rules. Damian opens one of the books to a random page. He grabs a green marker, stabs it into the paper, and makes big, angry lines all over the page, completely ignoring the existing picture.

Jason finishes hanging up his scribbles, and sees what he’s doing now. Jason frowns. Damian braces himself.

“Are you feeling okay, bud?”

“I’m fine.”

“Okay. Are you ready to hang that one up, or are you still working on it?”

“I’m finished.”

“Okay,” Jason says again. He sits down in the chair next to Damian. “You looked a little freaked out. You wanna tell me what’s wrong?”

He starts crying, which is absolutely, definitely against the rules, even if coloring outside the lines isn't, but he can’t stop.

Jason pulls Damian into his lap, and he doesn’t try to make him stop crying, and Owlman doesn’t come out to punish Damian for crying, or Jason for letting him, and Damian cries until he can’t cry anymore, and then he falls asleep, and when he wakes up he’s in his bed, and nothing bad has happened.

-

“I don’t know. He was just scribbling, and then he was crying.”

“Happy scribbling?” Cass asks.

“No. Like, terrified scribbling.”

“Testing boundaries?” Dick suggests.

Cass nods. “Not finding them. Scary.”

Jay frowns. “So, what, we make rules on coloring to lower his stress levels? That’s just gonna make more trouble in the long run.”

“Bad plan,” Cass agrees.

“Well, if he broke down and cried himself to sleep in your lap, that must mean he trusts you, right?” Dick says.

“Maybe.”

“Wait. Does this make me the only one who hasn’t hugged Damian?”

“Yeah. That’s weird, Dick.”

“I’m trying to respect their boundaries!”

“Good job,” Cass says, patting him on the shoulder. “We’ll make sure you get next hug.”

“Okay. But what are we going to do about the whole coloring breakdown?”

“We’ll have a conversation with him,” Jay says. “A very careful conversation.”

"You'd better talk to him, Jay. We don't want to overwhelm him with all of us. And you're the one he broke down for."

"Do I have to?"

"You don't have to. I can—"

"No, I will. Just—yeah. I got this."

-

He stays in bed until his door opens. He should—he should probably be up and ready and dressed by the time the door opens, like Tim. He tries, most days. But his eyes and his throat are sore, and he just—he doesn't want to.

Jason comes into the room. "Hey, Damian. How are you feeling?"

"I'm fine."

He sits down on the edge of the bed, leaving Damian trapped beneath the covers. "Do you want to talk about yesterday?"

"I'm sorry."

"You have nothing to be sorry for, Damian. You didn't do anything wrong. Those are your pictures to color, and you can color them however you want."

"I don't know what the rules are," he admits, even though he knows how dangerous it can be.

"The rules are don't hurt people or break things on purpose, and listen if the grown-ups tell you something. And don't leave the house without telling us."

"But I don't know the other rules. The secret rules."

"There are no secret rules. There might— there might be rules we forgot to make, that we'll have to add later. But that's—that's our mistake, not yours. You won't be punished for breaking a rule we forgot to make. We'll just ask you not to do it again."

"No secret rules."

"No secret rules," Jason repeats.

"But what about—what about Owlman's secret rules?"

"Owlman is dead and gone, Damian. He can't hurt you again, and none of his rules matter anymore."

"Are you sure?"

"I'm sure."

It's been a long time. Maybe—maybe it's true. Maybe he's gone.

"Are you ready for breakfast?" Jason asks.

Damian nods. He brings his dog along with him, instead of the bear. There are no secret rules. Maybe. He will be brave.

They eat, and he looks up at all his pictures on the wall. He looks at the coloring book page he scribbled on yesterday. It makes his insides feel squirmy. It feels like a punishment.

If there are no secret rules, he shouldn't be punished for breaking them.

"Can we take down that picture?"

"Which one?" Dick asks.

"The—the bad one?"

Dick and Jason look at each other. They look at Cass. Tim makes his warning face, but it's too late—Damian already said it.

"I don't think any of them look bad," Dick says in his careful voice.

"It—it does. It's wrong."

"How about you show me which one you mean," Dick says. "Can I pick you up?"

Damian nods. Dick lifts him, and it doesn't feel like when he gets picked up, usually. It feels like when Cass hugged him, when Jason pulled him into his lap.

Damian reaches out and presses a hand to the bad picture. "This one."

"All right. Pull it down."

He does.

"What do you want to do with it?" Dick asks.

Damian thinks about it. No secret rules. No punishments for rules they haven't made yet. He rips the paper in half.

Tim gasps, so quiet Damian can barely hear it over the sound of the paper tearing. No one else reacts.

"Good job," Dick says, after a while. "Do you want to keep the pieces?"

Damian shakes his head.

"Do you want to throw them away?"

He nods.

Dick carries him to the garbage can, opens it with his foot, and bends over so Damian can drop the pieces in. He straightens, still holding Damian.

"Okay. Are you done with breakfast? Or do you want another pancake?"

"Pancake."

Chapter 14

Summary:

Finding out you weren't really rescued hurts worse than most murders. He bets getting murdered by someone you believed was rescuing you hurts even worse. And it's going to happen to Damian, eventually. And Tim can't stop it.

Tim watches as Dick sets Damian down, how reluctantly Damian lets go of him. He watches, later, as Damian drags his stuffed dog by the ear, and sits on the couch next to Cass, and curls into her side.

He watches Damian color in a coloring page with three people and a horse on it all in shades of blue. He listens to Damian ask Jason, "Do I have to eat the peas?"

Jason says no, not this time.

These kinds of things keep happening. Tim's pretty sure he's lost Damian.

It's been over three months. That's actually a really long time for a little kid to hold out on believing something he really wants to be true. Damian didn't have the virtual reality and the cat lady for practice. Damian didn't even really get the robots—he was so little he didn't understand what was happening, and he doesn't know enough about real people to tell them apart from robots, anyway; he's only ever been around Owlman and other Talons since he was a baby.

Tim tried really hard. He tried to help Damian not fall for this. And it worked for so long. But Damian is acting like he believes them.

Damian's not a good actor. If he's acting like he believes them, he believes them.

Finding out you weren't really rescued hurts worse than most murders. He bets getting murdered by someone you believed was rescuing you hurts even worse. And it's going to happen to Damian, eventually. And Tim can't stop it.

-

The whole scribble breakdown seems like it was good for Damian, overall. He's gotten braver and more opinionated, over the last couple weeks. It's all little things, but for him they probably feel huge.

He's asking for things. Do I have to eat the peas? Can I have another brownie? Can I take down that picture?
He's experimenting with his artwork. He's making use of all his toys, instead of just the bear, actually playing with them sometimes instead of just carrying them around. He's sitting right next to people on the couch, sometimes even touching them. He's doing really well.

Tim isn't.

Dick looks at him, sitting stiffly on the couch with his hands in his lap. Which is usually what Tim does when left to his own devices. At least they've had Damian coloring, even before things got better these last few weeks. Tim doesn't do anything unless one of them is actively engaging with him, and even then, he does everything sort of mechanically.

"Like a little robot," Jason said, once.

Cass had nodded. "Standby mode."

They've tried guessing at things he should enjoy, based on knowledge of their Tim. They've tried introducing him to new things. Nothing works.

He took one picture with the camera. When Cass bought him one of those little finger skateboard toys, in case he liked skateboarding like their Tim, he played with it with no apparently interest, and stopped apparently as soon as they stopped watching him. It's the same with board games, movies, card games, puzzles, books. Dick has never encountered a person so determined to avoid any display of personality.

Or so good at it.

-

Damian has, for the past few days, been picking one of them to follow around the house. Today it's Jason's turn.

They've just spent an hour or two on the couch, Jason reading while Damian flipped through a picture book, studying all the illustrations carefully. (Jay doesn't think he knows how to read—something they'll need to work on eventually.)

Now Damian is at the kitchen table, coloring, while Jason gets lunch ready. Cass was helping him with lunch, but her phone started dinging, and she abandoned him to sit at the table with Damian. He thinks Tim—her Tim—is texting her.

"Hi," Damian says, suddenly right behind him.

Jason jumps, nicking his finger with the knife he's holding, and narrowly resisting the urge to swear. "Hi, Damian. What's up?"

Damian is staring at his finger, transfixed. "You don't have Talon blood."

"Nope. Unenhanced human blood, here."

Damian continues to stare at his finger. Dick comes in and starts setting the table. Cass sets Damian's art supplies aside, attention still mostly on her phone.

"Is it time to eat?" Damian asks.

"Just about. Can you go tell your brother?"

"My brother?" Damian repeats.

Jason glances over at him; he looks like he was no idea who Jason means.

"Can you go tell Tim, please?" he asks.

"Okay."

-

“They don’t know they’re brothers,” Jason says, when the kids are in bed.

Dick frowns. “Okay, so we suck at explaining things.”

“They don’t know they’re brothers—do they—do they know we’re their brothers? What do they think we are to them?”

“I am not a mom,” Cass says.

“Exactly! I want to be clear on our relationships, here.”

“Does it matter?” Dick asks. “We’re the ones raising them—what’s the difference between being parents and siblings?"

"It feels different."

Cass nods.

“Okay. We’ll talk to them about it. Tomorrow, if there’s time.”

“Tim day tomorrow,” Cass says.

“Yeah,” Jay says, “and we need to do a grocery run.”

“If there’s time,” Dick repeats. “I have that security thing to update, too.”

They sit together for a few minutes—they should go to bed, soon. They try to get up pretty early, since neither of the kids will actually leave their bedrooms in the morning until someone comes to collect them.

A door clicks open, and they all turn to see a shadow cast in the hall. After a moment, the small figure of Damian appears.

Cass gets up to meet him in the hallway. “Dami? Everything okay?”

He looks up at her, squinting in the lights. “I need…I need…the bathroom?”

“Okay. That’s okay.”

He wanders down the hall to the bathroom, and then back to his bedroom. It’s the first time either kid has left his bedroom on his own.

“Bed,” Cass says, when Damian’s back in his room. “It’s late.” Her brothers follow her to bed—they’ll figure out the sibling thing later.

-

She wakes to the sound of footsteps, and gets up to investigate. She knows it’s one of the boys—no danger. But if they’re up at—she checks the clock—four in the morning, something must be wrong.

She finds Dick sitting on the floor in the entryway, looking out the glass doors at the rising sun shining through the trees. She sits down next to him.

“You’re upset,” she says.

“Sorry.”

“Okay. Why?” It’s the middle of the night—she’s too tired to find all the words.

Dick shrugs. They sit in silence for a while.

“Tim’s calling tomorrow,” he says, finally.

“You love talking to Tim.”

“But he doesn’t love talking to me.”

“Sorry,” Cass says, because she doesn’t know what else to say.

“He’s been texting you. For weeks now. He’s gonna talk to me for, like, fifteen minutes, and half of it will probably be about multiverse crap with people neither of us have ever even met.”

“Sorry,” she says again. Tim doesn’t text her about anything important, about anything that matters. They barely even talk. Mostly he sends her pictures of his new family (everyone except other-Cass and Bruce) and their pets, and she sends back pictures of Dick and Jay and the kids. Sometimes they exchange long strings of meaningless emojis. But it’s more than she had a month ago. It’s more than Dick gets.

“I just—I don’t know how to fix things. I don’t know if I can.”

“It’s not—it’s not fair,” Cass says. She’s been thinking about it. For a long time. Since her talk with Harley and Ivy. More, since Tim started texting her. “None of us rescued him. Not you, or me, or Babs, or Kate, or Alfred, or the Justice League. But you’re—you’re the one everyone expected to, so you’re the one who gets blamed.”

“You couldn’t have rescued him, Cass. You didn’t have access to the resources I did. And we don’t even know what happened to the others.”

“Your resources were mostly Justice League phone numbers. They could have rescued him without you. They didn’t. I—it’s easier to be mad. But it’s not fair. You could—you could have rescued him, maybe. But you couldn’t have kept him safe, after. You made—you made a hard choice. When all the options were bad. Not your fault. Not fair.”

“It feels like my fault.”

“It’s Bruce’s fault,” Jason says from behind them.

He comes to sit on Dick’s other side. Cass wonders how long he’s been listening—she didn’t notice. Focused on Dick.

“Bruce should have looped you guys in as soon as Tim went missing. He should have had you both back in Gotham, searching. The Joker should never have had Tim long enough to do what he did. Bruce should never have gone against the Joker alone. You guys should never have been so unprepared for what happened. But Tim can’t be mad at Bruce, because Tim killed Bruce. So he picked you to be mad at, instead.”

“Because he loves you,” Cass adds.

“He loves you too,” Dick says.

“You’re both older than him,” Jay says, “but Cass was living at home until Bruce sent her to Hong Kong, and you were already living on your own when he met you. You probably registered in his head as a grown-up, in a way Cass didn’t. You probably register in Cass’ head as a grown-up, in a way she isn't.”

“Yeah,” Cass agrees.

“So he blames me because I’m the most grown up person he loves that he hasn’t killed?”

“I don’t know, something like that. But it’s not your fault, and Cass knows that, and Tim probably does too, really, and if he doesn’t he’ll figure it out, and it’s the middle of the night. Can we go back to bed?”

“Yeah,” Dick says. “Let’s go to bed.”

-

Damian lies in his bed, clutching his stuffed squirrel. Jason bleeds red. Talons don’t bleed red. He knows he is little and sometimes stupid and wrong, but he knows Talons don’t bleed red.

And he thinks Tim must not have seen Jason bleed, yet.

Damian thinks this is real. But he isn't sure. Because Tim thinks it isn't real, and Tim is usually righter than him.

He should tell Tim about the blood. He should tell Tim, and then Tim can figure out what’s going on, and Damian can watch what happens and decide what to do next.

But he is almost never alone with Tim. He was when he told him about eating, today, but he didn’t think about it then.

Everyone sleeps, at night. And Damian’s door doesn’t lock anymore. He could sneak out, and into Tim’s room, and hope Tim doesn’t murder him when he sneaks in, and tell him about the blood, and go back to bed, and maybe—maybe no one else would know.

But what if they catch him out of bed?

He has not been punished for anything yet.

He gets out of bed, very slowly, very quietly. He opens his door, and it makes a creaking sound, like it does sometimes, but he’s never worried about it before. He takes a few careful steps into the hallway, and realizes everyone is still awake, sitting on the couches. He panics.

Cass comes down the hall to meet him. He tries frantically to think of a reason for being out of bed, other than the real reason, to have a secret conversation with Tim.

The bathroom.

It’s better to get out of bed and use the bathroom than to make a mess in the bed. Probably.

Cass doesn’t get mad, or send him right back to bed. He goes to the bathroom, even though he doesn’t need to. He goes back to bed. He sits in his bed clutching all his animals together until he stops being so scared, which takes a very long time.

He will have to tell Tim about the blood later.

In the morning, Jason leaves for the Grocery Store, and Dick locks himself in the locked room that Tim and Damian aren’t allowed to go in. Cass stays with Tim and Damian in the rest of the house. She plays a card game with them, and makes lunch, and they all go for a walk outside, but she is never far enough away that he can tell Tim about the blood.

They both keep giving him funny looks, and he’s scared.

Finally, finally, Jason comes back, and they all help him carry bags into the house, and after, Tim and Cass must forget to look at him funny.

“Go take a break,” Jason says. “I’ll watch the kids until you guys are done on the phone. Dick finish his thing yet?”

“Not yet,” Cass says, and she goes away into her bedroom, and Jason shows Tim and Damian some books he bought. For them, he says, and Damian sits on the floor and looks through the books, and forgets to worry about Jason’s blood.

Notes:

Reminder that I have a book coming out next week! More I for at iowriteswords.tumblr.com

Chapter 15

Summary:

“Hey, Tim,” the older Tim says again. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“You’re—you’re real?”

“I’m real.”

“You’re—me.”

“Kind of. It’s complicated.”

Notes:

Today I am 30, and my book is out, and this is almost, almost the chapter I've been waiting for. Next week, but this gets us one step closer.

Tim calls just as Dick is finishing up with the new security system. He switches the call over to his tablet, so he can see Tim’s face on a larger screen, locks up the weapons/server room, and heads back to his own room as Tim tells him about the date he went on last Friday.

He pauses in the kitchen to grab a snack—he worked through lunch.

Little Tim is standing there when he turns away from the fridge, staring intently at Dick and his tablet.

“Hi, Tim,” older Tim says, and waves at him.

Little Tim flinches. “That’s—that’s me.”

“Um, kind of,” Dick agrees. “Would you like to say hi?”

Tim takes a few cautious steps closer. He reaches out as if he’s going to touch the screen, pulling back at the last second.

“It’s okay,” Dick says. “You can touch it.”

He does.

“Hey, Tim,” the older Tim says again. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“You’re—you’re real?”

“I’m real.”

“You’re—me.”

“Kind of. It’s complicated.”

“But—but you’re older. And you’re not a Talon.”

“Tim used to live here with us,” Dick explains. “He’s from this world originally, but now he lives in another world. Like you.”

“But that’s not—that’s not real? How did you—why is he—are you real?” he asks Tim again.

“I am. I’m just as real as you and Dick—I’m just far away right now.”

“But you’re not a Talon. And you’re older.”

“The world we’re in now is a little farther along than the world we brought you from,” Dick explains.

Little Tim shakes his head. “That doesn’t—that doesn’t—you aren’t a Talon!”

“I never got turned into a Talon. Just like—just like Dick isn't a Talon, even though the one you used to know was.” Tim says. “A different bad thing happened to me instead.”

“I’m not stupid. You don’t stop being a Talon.”

“I didn’t stop,” Dick says. “I never was a Talon.”

“You were! You are! I saw you.”

“Tim—”

“I don’t—I don’t—it doesn’t make sense. It’s wrong!”

The Tim in the kitchen stares at the tablet, hyperventilating. The Tim on the tablet narrows his eyes. He bites his lip. He sighs.

“Talon!” he snaps in a harsh voice Dick’s never heard from him. “Current situation. Report.”

The little Tim stiffens, then snaps to attention. “Sim-simulation,” he says. “Escape simulation, variation, world without Owlman. Talons one, twenty, and twenty three acting as rescuers and caretakers. Acting skills improved. Talons thirty and forty one subjects of simulation. Perceived duration four months. Training purpose—purp—purpose unknown.” He flinches as he says the last bit.

“Shit,” the older Tim says.

Dick sets the tablet down, leaving him to stare at the ceiling, and crouches down to look the smaller Tim in the eyes.

“Tim,” he says. “Do you think this is all something Owlman set up?”

“I’m not stupid.”

“I know you’re not. But—I’m not a Talon, Tim. This is—this is a different world. All the same people live in it, but we’ve all had different lives. We brought you to this world so you could be safe and taken care of. And Owlman is dead. He can never hurt you again.”

Tim does not look like he believes him.

“Look, I can—I can prove it. I—Tim? Is Talon me still frozen at the Watchtower?”

“Yeah,” he calls back from the countertop.

“Great. Great. Okay. Tim. If you could see this me, and the me who’s a Talon, the me you know from before—together—not on a screen like Tim, but both right in front of you, in person, would you believe me?”

“You’re not the first Talon?”

“I’m not.”

“But you can take me to him?”

“I can.”

“You won’t—you won’t leave me there?”

“I won’t.”

He takes Tim to find Jason, and leaves them together with instructions—“Jay, explain the multiverse more.” Then he goes back for the tablet.

“Wasn’t sure you were coming back,” Tim says when he picks it up.

“Sorry. Had to get little Tim settled.”

“That’s fine. I—um. Sorry I yelled at your kid and, like, triggered his brainwashing.”

“Yeah, well. It was effective.”

Tim shrugs, looking uncomfortable. “They, um. They usually listen if you call them Talon. I—about six months ago. One of the cats got out, ran into traffic, and Dickie went after him, and I was—I was too far away to grab him, and I was telling him to stop but he wasn’t listening, and I—it wasn’t a theory I was ever gonna test, you know? But I couldn’t think of anything else to do. I yelled “Talon, stop!” and he did, and a car went over the cat but he was between the wheels, he didn’t get hit, and I—no one’s called him Talon in years, and it felt gross and wrong, and he was weird with me for a couple weeks after, but he didn’t get hit by a car, so.”

“I’m glad he’s okay. I can’t believe Tim’s spent the last four months thinking we were—what? Testing him? Playing an elaborate trick?”

“Yeah. You should go call Red Hood Jason. Set up a meeting.”

“Are you sure? I don’t want to—”

“Yeah, it’s fine. Give me to Cass. We can talk more after.”

-

Jason looks at Tim. Tim looks at Jason. Kid’s shaking.

What happened? Why is explaining the multiverse to the kid his job?

“Okay, so. Um. There are—there are lots of different worlds, which are all—um, mostly?—similar, but they deviate from each other in various ways. So, like, there are—potentially infinite Tim Drakes, I guess? And you’re all Tim Drake. You’re all technically the same person. But you all exist in different realities, and you’ve all had different experiences that keep you from being exactly the same.”

Tim continues to stare at him. He seems less freaked out than when Dick brought him, but Jason can’t tell what he's feeling instead.

“So, like. You became a Talon. There’s other worlds where you became a superhero. And some of them are still superheroes. But the Tim who used to live in this world, he got hurt real bad, so now he doesn’t do that anymore. And the Tim who was born in the world he’s in now, he never became a superhero or a Talon, so he's just some guy. But you’re all Tim. Does that—does that make sense?”

“Yes,” Tim says.

Jason absolutely does not believe him.

-

Dick calls Red Hood Jason and explains the situation.

“Okay, I’m gonna have my Dick meet you and show you around—three alternate selves is better than two, right?”

“Maybe.”

“Plus I’m in Uzbekistan. On a stakeout, and that’s my guy—gotta go. I’ll have Dick call you.”

If Jason’s in the middle of a mission, it’ll be hours before Dick hears back. He goes to join Jay and Tim in the other room.

Tim looks slightly calmer, but no less confused.

“We’re going to go to another world for a while,” he says, “and visit two other Dicks. The Talon one you know, and another Dick, too. We’ll go soon, but I don’t know when, exactly. Should we bring Damian along, too?”

“No! No, just you and me.”

“Okay. You and me. Did Jay explain things? Do you have any other questions?”

“Can I—can I go to my room?”

“Sure.”

“Okay,” Jason says as soon as he’s gone. “What was that all about?”

“So. I think we really messed up.”

-

"I ditched Tim,” Dick tells Jason, after he’s finished explaining their current disaster. "I've never—I've never ended the call first. I was just talking about how he never wants to talk to me, and I—he would have talked to me more, I think. He was talking about things that actually mattered—about him, and his life, not stories and updates about other people. And I—I gave the phone to Cass."

"Tim is—what, nineteen? Twenty?"

"Yeah."

"He's technically an adult. And he has a strong local support system. Our Tim is a little kid, and you're his guardian, and he was panicking. I'm sure your Tim understands why you had to put him first."

"Yeah. I just—I wish I could have kept talking to him while he was actually willing to talk."

-

Tim sits in his room and thinks.

It doesn’t—it doesn’t—the Tim on the screen might have been fake.

He doesn’t think he was. He thinks—he thinks he knows himself better than Owlman does. That was him.

If that was him, there is no trap and Dick and Cass and Jason have told the truth about everything.

Or the trap is much, much more complicated than he thought.

Jason gave him his last name. Tim Drake, he said, like it was nothing. He didn’t—he didn’t remember his last name. But when Jason said it, he knew. It felt right. it felt familiar. Jason gave the rest of his name back to him.

If this is real—if this is real—

He’s not ready to think about if this is real. It’s too big. He sits on his bed and pets his fuzzy purple shark, and tries to decide if he can believe in anything, ever. A long time passes, the light outside his little window fading. There’s a knock on his door.

“Come in,” he says.

Damian comes in. “It’s time for supper.”

“Okay.”

“Jason has red blood.”

Tim sits up straighter. “You—you saw it?”

Damian nods.

“Thank you, Damian,” Tim says. He follows him to the kitchen.

Damian isn't a good liar. If Damian says Jason’s blood is red, he believes it, at least. And Tim doesn’t know how a Talon could fake that. Talons have blood like oil. Like hot tar. It would be very hard to mistake that for red.

They sit down at the table, and no one gets mad at Tim for hiding away in his bedroom during the day, or for having a meltdown in the kitchen over seeing himself inside a tablet, and Dick says, “We can go on our trip tomorrow, Tim. First thing in the morning. It should just take a few hours.”

“Okay.”

“Are you sure you just want it to be the two of us?” He glances over at Damian as he asks.

“Yes,” Tim says. He doesn’t—he still doesn’t trust Dick. If Dick and the first Talon really are separate people, he definitely, definitely doesn’t trust the first Talon, either. He doesn’t know what’s going to happen. He doesn’t know what to believe. He doesn’t need Damian there making everything more complicated.

What if Dick is telling the truth, but the first Talon has a trap set, and he’ll kill Dick and take Tim back to Owlman?

He definitely can’t have Damian there.

“Okay,” Dick says. “Just so you know, there’s going to be another guy there who looks like me, too, besides me and Talon me.”

“Okay,” Tim says. “I’m ready.”

Chapter 16

Summary:

Tim steps forward carefully. He approaches the other Talon slowly, and reaches out to take his wrist and check his pulse while still standing as far away as possible. He drops the arm, and takes a few more steps.

He pushes the body over onto its side and lifts the shirt to reveal an area of scarring at the base of the spine, which he digs his fingers into, hard. A weak spot, Dick assumes, and a test to be sure the Talon isn’t faking. When there’s no reaction, Tim stares for another few seconds, then abruptly sits down and starts crying.

Notes:

I know a few of you were looking forward to some interactions that unfortunately aren't happening since Talon is not currently awake/alive. Hopefully we will have those interactions in the future.

Btw, the scene where they visit Talon Dick is the first scene I wrote for this story, ages ago.

It’s a long drive with a silent, terrified kid to get to the place they can transport from. Dick tries a few times to engage Tim in conversation, without success, so he turns on the radio instead. Tim sits in the back, because he’s too small for the airbags.

Four months. Four months Tim’s spent thinking—spent waiting—

This is such a mess.

How much longer would it have drawn out, if he hadn’t been talking to his Tim in common areas yesterday?

At least things with his—with the older Tim—he texted Dick this morning, a selfie with at least a dozen cats in the background.

"Send help. I'm drowning in cats."

"How many cats does Bruce let her keep?" Dick had texted back.

"No one lets Selina do anything. and idk. we've lost count."

"How's Alfie coping with that?"

"He helped clean litterboxes while she was pregnant, but now she's responsible for all cat cleaning. or all cat vomit, excrement, and damage, i guess. alfred still sweeps and vacuums."

"Well, at least he's not doing everything himself. I gotta get little Tim going for our meeting. Talk to you later?"

"Yeah."

So. He didn't completely ruin things with Tim yesterday. He's apparently been upgraded to occasional personal texts. Which leaves him with only one Tim crisis to field.

They reach the transport spot. Dick texts other Dick, who pulls them through, and then he and Tim are standing in the Watchtower with Nightwing and the Flash, both unmasked.

Flash—Flash is Wally. Dick feels like he’s been punched in the stomach.

The other Dick—the Dick in the Nightwing suit—crouches down in front of Tim. “Hey, Tim. My name is Dick. Like your brother. Would you like to see the Talon version of us?”

Tim nods slowly.

“Okay. Just so you know, he’s not—not awake right now.”

“He’s frozen,” Tim says.

“That’s right. He’s this way—you guys can follow me and the Flash.”

Wally—this Dick—this Dick gets to have Tim, and Bruce, and Wally—probably Clark, too. Probably the rest of the Titans. All of—all of—

It isn't fair.

It doesn’t matter. They’re not here for him. Wally is probably here for security. In case—in case Tim does anything. The only experience anyone here would have with Talons would be the initial fight and Talon Dick’s subsequent—violent—escape attempts.

Tim doesn’t do anything. He follows Nightwing and Flash down the hall, and Dick follows him.

They’re keeping him in a cell downstairs—probably one designed for if they ever had to hold someone like Mr. Freeze in the Watchtower.

Bruce would never let Mr. Freeze be held in the Watchtower.

His Bruce is gone. So is his Watchtower.

The room is ice cold, empty except for a twin sized bed with a bright green fitted sheet. The bed probably isn’t actually necessary, since he’s dead and therefore won’t register the comfort but it—storing a dead guy in a freezer in the basement is—giving him a bed probably makes them feel a little less weird about the situation, or something.

Tim steps forward carefully. He approaches the other Talon slowly, and reaches out to take his wrist and check his pulse while still standing as far away as possible. He drops the arm, and takes a few more steps.

He pushes the body over onto its side and lifts the shirt to reveal an area of scarring at the base of the spine, which he digs his fingers into, hard. A weak spot, Dick assumes, and a test to be sure the Talon isn’t faking. When there’s no reaction, Tim stares for another few seconds, then abruptly sits down and starts crying.

Dick doesn’t know what to do. He’s pretty sure Tim isn’t crying out of sadness that the other Talon is (temporarily) dead, but he’s not sure these are entirely tears of relief, either, and it occurs to him that Tim, who clearly still does not trust them at all, might think he’s going to be killed next.

The first thing to do, probably, is get Tim out of the freezer and away from the body. Dick says his name a few times without getting a response before he bends down to touch his shoulder.

“Don’t touch me!” Tim screams, and Dick backs up hastily.

He knows Tim doesn’t like to be touched, because he tenses up whenever he is, but he’s never said anything about it, or even tried to shy away. (Dick tries not to touch people who don’t want it, but he’s a naturally physical person, and there are so many things he catches himself doing without thinking about it—gentle, absent-minded touches to get someone’s attention or move them out of the way, which he’s tried so hard to stop, but also just accidentally bumping into Tim, or once, last week, catching him when he lost his balance.)

He decides that Tim objecting to being touched is probably a good thing. Probably he’s been trying to tolerate it because he’s scared, which means that probably seeing Talon Dick dead has made him slightly less scared of this Dick.

Progress. Sort of.

“Tim,” he says. “Tim, come on, let’s get out of the freezer.”

Again, Tim shows no sign of even hearing him. And touching him isn’t an option. Other Dick and Wal—the Flash are still standing in the open doorway, but they don’t look like they have any more idea than him what to do with a sobbing zombie Tim.

It takes another ten minutes for Tim to calm down enough that it seems worth trying to talk to him again, and this time when Dick says his name, he stands up immediately and comes toward him, clearly trying to look like he hasn’t just had a breakdown.

“I’m ready now,” he says, and Dick doesn’t ask what he’s ready for, just leads him out of the room so Flash can lock the door.

“Do you want to go home now?” Dick asks.

“Okay.”

Tim follows them back down the hallway, weaving a little. He nearly bumps into other Dick, once, and steps away quickly, closer to the more familiar version. He’s holding himself very stiffly. His face is unreadable.

Dick thanks other Dick and Wally. He doesn’t try to speak to Tim again until they’re back in their world, back in the car, Tim buckled into the back seat.

“Are you all right?” he asks.

“Fine.”

“Do you believe now that I’m not him?”

“Yes.”

“And Jay and Cass?”

“Sure.”

“Tim…”

“I’m fine.”

Dick doesn’t believe him, at all, but he doesn’t know what to do about it. The drive continues in silence for several minutes.

"You're not a Talon," Tim says, finally.

"I'm not."

"I'm stronger than you."

"You are," Dick agrees, suddenly and uneasily reminded of Jay's early insistence on locking the doors at night.

"There's no plant lady here."

He's still trying to decide what to make of the sudden subject change when Tim unbuckles his seatbelt, opens the door, and throws himself out of the moving car.

Dick slams the breaks and gets out of the car, but Tim is faster than him as well as stronger, and he's already disappeared into the trees.

Fuck.

He has absolutely no chance at catching Tim if Tim doesn’t want to be caught. He’s faster and stronger, with enhanced vision and hearing. He’ll know Dick is getting close, and be off again, long before Dick spots him.

It’s not a small forest.

He’ll probably need Jay and Cass to help him—Damian, too, if they can count on him not to also run off. But he’s got the only car; he would have to drive home and pick them up, leaving Tim completely alone in the woods until they get back.

What if Tim hears or sees him leave, and thinks Dick’s just abandoned him?

They’re much closer to the transport spot than to home. Maybe he could call someone from some other world to come help him look?

He’ll give it some time, first. Tim’s a smart kid. He must know—he’ll realize—where does he think he’ll even go? How does he, an undead twelve year old, think he’s going to make it on his own? He’ll think about it, and he’ll come back.

He’s already made it a little ways into the woods. He finds a fallen tree, and sits on the trunk, and waits.

It takes about half an hour.

Tim emerges from the forest, looking small and sad and lost.

“I think I still need to eat food,” he says. “I don’t know how to find it, here.”

“We have plenty of food at home,” Dick tells him. “Any kind you want.”

“I’m stronger than Owlman, too. But he still won, every time.”

“Yeah. But we don’t want to win anything. We don’t want to hurt you.”

“I’m ready to go back to the house, now.”

Tim follows Dick back to the car, and gets into the back seat, and buckles his seat belt.

“Tim—”

“I don’t—I don’t want to talk more.”

“Okay.”

They don’t speak again until they’re back in the house. Jason is in the kitchen, washing dishes—he doesn’t see Cass or Damian.

“What happened to Owlman?” Tim asks.

“He’s dead,” Dick says.

“So am I. I come back.”

Dick hesitates, because he thinks the whole situation is pretty disturbing, but probably Tim would be more comforted than disturbed. Jason turns off the sink and comes to join them before Dick can think of a way to phrase things.

“We killed him,” Jason says, though there was really no “we” about it; other Jason handled all that after they’d gone home. “We decapitated him. We left the body in your world, took the head to another, and cremated both parts. He won’t come back.”

“Okay,” Tim says. He wanders out of the room, and neither of them follows. Today has been a lot. He probably just needs some space.

-

Tim looks around the house. He thinks about the fourteen different kinds of cookies Jason's made, and the books he leaves lying around, and the drawings he tapes to the walls. He thinks about how Dick smiles at them, and asks careful questions, and gets excited to watch movies and play board games. He thinks about the words Cass says and the soft clothes she gave them and the way she hugged Damian after she was gone for a week. He thinks about how the three of them like spending time together, how they shout at each other but never hit or stab, how the sky is blue and the food is good and nothing really bad has happened in months.

It's real. It's all real.

It makes more sense for it to be real than for it to be an elaborate game, except that Owlman never loses.

But Tim saw two of himself. He saw three of Dick. He went to a different world. It's real. Owlman lost. It's real.

It’s been four months, and they haven’t been tortured or murdered or made to torture or murder anyone else—not even each other.

It might—it might actually be safe.

Tim knows he was safe once, before. He doesn’t really remember how it feels.

But maybe—the first Talon is dead and frozen. Maybe he just hasn’t been punished because he hasn’t been bad enough yet.

How bad is bad enough to be punished?

Why are they even keeping him frozen? If they want him to stay dead, they can just chop off his head and save on the energy bill.

He thinks about the first Talon, turning around when he picked up the knife, wrapping his arm after. Killing them quick and painless, so they could rest for a while. Picking them up and carrying them when their legs were broken for a few minutes or a few hours. Shaking his head and making faces and gestures over Owlman’s shoulder, when they were all young and stupid and unprepared for the screaming rooms. Taking care of them any way he could. Saving them from messing up, giving them a way out, again and again and again, until Owlman dragged all the kindness out of him in screams, and he couldn’t help them anymore.

It isn't fair. It isn't fair.

He goes back to the kitchen.

“Why is the first Talon dead? Why is he frozen? What is he being punished for?”

Dick and Jason look at each other.

“He’s not being punished for anything,” Dick says. “He’s—he’s sick, and they’re trying to figure out why, so they have to keep him like—like that, until they know how to help him.”

“Talons don’t get sick. It’s not allowed.”

“His head is sick,” Jason says. “They can’t—all the other Talons are adjusting, or at least not hurting people. But they can’t make him understand, and he just keeps attacking them, so they had to make him stop. But it’s not forever. It’s just until they can figure out how to help him safely.”

“He’s—he’s the Talon. We’re all Talons, but he's the Talon.”

“Can you explain what that means to us?” Dick asks.

“How old am I?”

“You’re twelve.”

Tim remembers as far back as he can, and he does the math. “He’s been Talon for over twenty years. He’s been head Talon for—for—since I was a baby, if I was born at all. He’s been in the special screaming room at least twice. He doesn’t—he can’t—he can only be a Talon. He screamed the rest away.”

“Tim,” Dick says, “can you tell me what the special screaming room is?”

“The screaming room is where you go if you’re extra bad. It only hurts, more than everything else—more than getting stabbed through the heart, or your eyes gouged out, or your spine broken. But in the special screaming room, it hurts more, and it changes you. It’s where Owlman takes you to drag who you are out of you.”

“Have you—have you ever been to the special screaming room?”

“No. Only the first Talon, twice, and the Cass Talon, once. And three who died. I mean, really died, and stayed dead. One was—one was one Owlman got back from the plant lady. He tried to undo what she did, but the plant lady is even stronger than the screaming room.”

“Okay. I need—I need to make some calls. Talk to someone about—all of that, see if we can find and translate anything relevant. Jay?”

“Yeah, go. I’ve got the kid.”

Dick leaves the room. Tim stays in the doorway. He feels like he might be swaying, a little. He feels very, very tired, even though it’s not even lunch time, probably.

“Why don’t you come sit down?” Jason says. “Do you want some hot chocolate?”

“Okay.”

“Thank you for telling us about the screaming rooms. I think knowing that will make it easier to help the other Talon.”

“Am I—will I be dead and froze, too? If I’m very bad?”

“No,” Jason says. “We have no freezing rooms, and no screaming rooms, here. We won’t ever do anything to hurt you or Damian, unless it’s on accident, like stepping on your foot, or to help you, too, like—like resetting a broken bone, or vaccines or something.”

“What is a vaccine?”

“A vaccine is—um. Probably something Talons don’t need, actually. But you should have had them before, when you—never mind. A vaccine is when someone pokes you with a needle and sends stuff into your body that keeps you from getting sick. It doesn’t hurt much. Just a little poke when the needle goes in.”

“I don’t want more things sent into my body.”

“Yeah, that’s fair. I wouldn’t worry about vaccines, for now. Drink your hot chocolate, and then it’ll be lunchtime. And then maybe you’ll want a nap?”

“I can sleep? In the day?”

“Sure.”

“Okay. That sounds nice.”

Chapter 17

Summary:

"Hey, Tim. I was going to make some cookies. Do you want chocolate chip or snickerdoodle?"

Jason knows he likes both, so there's no wrong answer. Still, Tim gives the question more attention than it deserves. Jay's starting to figure out how his mind works, now. He's deciding what kind of cookie he wants— the easy part. Then he's deciding whether he trusts Jason enough to tell him the real answer, or whether he needs to say the opposite of what he wants, in case Jason's secret, evil goal is, for some reason, to make Tim's second favorite cookie instead of his favorite.

His name is Tim Drake, and he's twelve years old. He repeats these facts to himself, again and again and again, until they're as much a part of him as the scar on his arm, until nothing but the screaming room, which doesn't exist here, probably, could ever take them away from him. His name is Tim Drake, and he's twelve years old.

-

Things are strange.

The day before yesterday, Jason bled red. Yesterday, Tim was sitting in his bedroom in the middle of the day. Today, Tim and Dick were gone all morning, and then Tim wasn’t at lunch, and Jason said he was in his room again, taking a nap.

Damian is worried.

Tim comes out of his room later in the afternoon, and eats a sandwich, and then sits on the couch, but not stiff and straight like usual—he’s curled in a ball in the corner by the armrest.

He wants to ask what’s wrong with Tim, but if the others haven’t noticed something is wrong with Tim, he doesn’t want to make them notice and get Tim in trouble. So he sits on the next cushion over from Tim, and they watch a movie. He hands his dog to Tim, after a few minutes—Tim takes it and hugs it, and holds on to it until the movie is over and it’s time for supper.

Something is definitely wrong.

Damian tucks the dog into the corner of the couch to wait for them until supper is over, and follows Tim and Cass to the kitchen.

“Are you feeling better, Tim?” Dick asks.

Damian winces. They definitely noticed something was wrong, then. He knew they probably would. But he hoped they wouldn’t.

“I’m fine,” Tim says. “Um. Damian.”

“Yes?”

“Dick isn't the first Talon. I saw the first Talon this morning. Dick’s just a guy. You were—you were right.”

“Jason doesn’t have Talon blood,” Damian says. If Tim thinks they can talk about things in front of the others, it must be okay.

“Yeah. They’re all new people. They aren’t Talons, and Owlman is really gone.”

“We’re safe?”

“We’re safe,” Tim says.

“Owlman isn't coming back?”

“He’s never coming back.”

“Good.”

-

"I'm not mad at you," Tim texts Dick, a couple days after their last phone call. "Cass said you think I'm mad at you."

"For not getting you from Arkham?"

"I killed Bruce. I belonged in Arkham."

Okay. Dick was pretty sure Tim was past blaming himself for what happened with Bruce and the Joker. Just how big a setback did finding out about the Justice League cause?

He wishes he could actually talk to Tim. Out loud. Preferably with video. But if Tim was comfortable calling, he would have called. He's just started texting, and Dick doesn't want to push him.

"You never belonged in Arkham," he texts back.

"I belonged somewhere."

With your family, Dick thinks.

"Wouldve got you killed," Tim adds before he can answer.

"I would have gotten you killed," Dick counters. "Are you okay? When are you seeing your therapist again?"

"Tomorrow. When are you seeing a therapist?"

He'll let Harley help the kids, because they need help. He's not doing the full blown therapy thing with a woman who used to routinely try to kill him, even if she's become a pretty good friend, since.

Telehealth might work for him, even if it didn't for the kids.

But it's fine. He's fine. And he didn't miss the way Tim avoided asking his first question.

"Does B know you're blaming yourself?" he asks.

"I'm fine. Gotta go."

Crap. Okay. He failed at not pushing. He'll try to keep things more casual when Tim texts again.

If Tim texts again.

-

Tim is finally settling in. Making himself comfortable. For Tim, being comfortable means being as far from them as possible, as often as possible, but it’s a start. Dick says his first reaction, when he was convinced they weren’t working for Owlman, was to run off into the woods, so Jay figures they should just be grateful he’s staying with them at all. Bonding will come with time.

Tim spends long hours hidden in his room. In the common areas, he sits as far from everyone else as possible. He eats quickly, then flees the table. He refuses to participate in any group activities.

They pretty much leave him to it. Jason has no idea what to do with a traumatized, deadly twelve year old who's only willing to be in their presence at all because he thought fending for himself in the jungle would be a hassle. He doesn't think Dick and Cass do, either.

But they should—they should probably try to engage, right? Just, he doesn't want to push too hard. Tim knows, or thinks, they can't make him do anything—he's faster and stronger—and he's made it clear that he's only staying here because he wants to—something he could easily change his mind about.

(Could they force him to stay? Yes. Could they do it without threats, without violence, without physically restraining him? Without destroying any small amount of trust they've built? Probably not.)

So. Engagement without pressure. How does he do that?

Start with something he knows the kid will agree with. Start with offers of cookies.

Jay finds him in his room with the door open—as soon as Tim sees him he shoves something under his pillow. A book, it looks like.

He knows he's allowed to read anything he finds, because they've told him three times. So why is he hiding it?

Because he's still, on some level, terrified of them. He believes he could take them in a fight, but he doesn't believe they actually want him to be happy.

"Hey, Tim. I was going to make some cookies. Do you want chocolate chip or snickerdoodle?"

Jason knows he likes both, so there's no wrong answer. Still, Tim gives the question more attention than it deserves. Jay's starting to figure out how his mind works, now. He's deciding what kind of cookie he wants— the easy part. Then he's deciding whether he trusts Jason enough to tell him the real answer, or whether he needs to say the opposite of what he wants, in case Jason's secret, evil goal is, for some reason, to make Tim's second favorite cookie instead of his favorite.

"Chocolate chip," he says, eventually.

"Okay. Do you want to help me make them?"

Tim makes the face he always makes when someone asks a question. Jay thinks of it as his I-know-this-is-a-trick-question-somehow face.

"You can have cookies either way. But if you help me make them, you can have cookie dough, too."

Tim stares at him for a long moment. "Cookie dough is bad for you. It has—it has—" He frowns. "It has—fish in it? Salmon?"

How many years has it been— how many traumas has it been—since a parent or babysitter warned him about salmonella?

"Cookie dough has raw eggs in it. And raw eggs can have salmonella, which can make you sick. But that's not very likely, especially if you don't eat too much of it. And you have that super healing."

"Okay," Tim says, after another long pause. "I will make cookies and eat dough."

-

"What do you want to do today?" Cass asks.

"I want to touch an animal."

Damian was already relaxing and opening up a lot, in the weeks before Dick took Tim to see his other self. But since Tim told him at the table that they were safe, he's opened up even more. He's less scared of messing up. He's more willing to admit he wants things. Usually what he wants is something to do with animals.

"Then let's go find an animal," she says.

They catch a snake. She doesn't know what kind, but small, and not poisonous. When Damian started playing with bugs and animals in the woods, Jason printed out pictures of all the poisonous things in this region, for them to avoid.

"He has a healing factor. We don't. And anyway, not getting poisoned at all is much better than healing from getting poisoned."

She holds the snake carefully while Damian strokes its head, and studies its eyes, and holds his finger just outside its mouth to feel its flicking tongue. She loosens her grip so the snake can move from her hands to Damian's, twining its little tail around his finger. He strokes its head again.

They need to find him a mammal. There's been bugs and snakes and lizards and frogs, but nothing furry. He should get to touch something furry.

Furry things are just so much harder to catch.

-

It’s Dick’s turn to do the laundry. He gathers everything and starts going through pockets—Cass is always leaving weird things in hers.

The bite doesn’t hurt. It startles him, enough that he drops Damian’s hoodie, but it doesn’t hurt.

He picks it up, and sticks his hand in the pocket again, more carefully this time.

Okay. Well. That’s interesting. That’s—

They told Damian they might make new rules in the future—well, Jason told him, but they all agreed about it beforehand—but they haven’t actually had to do that yet, because Damian doesn’t usually try anything new without prompting by one of them.

It’s time to make a new rule.

Hopefully that doesn’t absolutely terrify him.

The kids are with Cass and Jason, watching a movie before bed. Dick goes out to join them, carefully carrying the problem along. He really doesn’t want to do this—things are going so well. They’re all getting along, and the kids are both settling in, and Tim is texting him, sporadically, about random things, and everything is so good. He doesn’t want to do anything to upset the balance. He also doesn’t want any other animals—potentially dangerous animals—being smuggled into the house.

“Hey, Damian?”

Cass pauses the movie, and everyone turns around to look at him. Tim looks wary, but Tim always looks wary. Damian doesn’t seem upset. Yet.

“Oh,” he says. “A snake!”

“Yeah. Um. You’re not in trouble, Damian. Okay? But from now on, please don’t leave snakes in your pocket.”

“I’m not—I’m not in trouble?”

“You’re not in trouble,” Cass says.

“Is the snake in trouble?”

“No, Dami,” Dick says. “No one is in trouble. Just don’t do it again, okay?”

“What kind of trouble will I be in if I do it again?”

“If you do it again, we’ll just remind again to not do it, and let the snake go outside,” Jason says.

“Okay,” Damian says. He looks like he probably believes them. Tim is harder to read. Tim is always harder to read.

“Do you want to come with me to let the snake go?” Dick asks.

Damian nods.

Dick hands the snake back to him; Damian takes it carefully, and follows Dick back outside.

“The snake has a home and a family, too,” Dick tells him. “We can’t keep animals we catch outside for too long, or they’ll miss their families, and their families will miss him.”

“I didn’t mean to take the snake from his family,” Damian says.

“I know you didn’t. And it’s okay now, because he’s going to go home and tell his family all about the adventure he had today. Just don’t keep them for too long next time, okay?”

“Okay. I’m—I’m really not in trouble?”

“”You’re really not in trouble.”

Damian crouches down to set the snake on the ground, where it slithers away immediately. “Bye, snake,” he says.

“Good job. Let’s go finish the movie, okay?”

-

“That went well,” Jason says, when the kids are in bed. “No panic.”

“How’d Tim seem once Damian and I went outside?”

“Tense,” Cass says. “But not—if he thought it was dangerous for Damian, he would have followed you?”

“So Tim is bonding with Damian, even if he's not with us?” Jason asks. Tim never showed any interest in Damian, when they first got here.

“We probably don’t leave them alone together enough for actual bonding,” Dick says.

“Then let’s try that, maybe? Tim, at least, would probably feel more comfortable if we weren’t always hovering.”

“Yes,” Cass says. “Good alone. And—and they’re better. Than at the beginning. Less wary of each other. Tim especially. Since the other world. He was different about Damian as soon as you got back.”

“Okay,” Jay says. “Tomorrow. Alone time for the kids.”

Chapter 18

Summary:

“Cass, did you lose our baby brother in the woods?”

She lifts her head. “Only a little.”

Tim and Damian are being given time to themselves today, which means that the adults are all going to another room and leaving them together on the couch.

"Come get us if you need anything," Dick says, and Tim isn't sure if it's a trap or not.

Tim sits on one end of the bigger couch, and Damian sits on the other. Neither of them says anything. Tim listens to the clock, ticking, ticking, ticking. Jason changed the batteries three days ago. Usually, since then, there are people talking, or movie noises, or sounds from fans, or computers, or kitchen stuff, or something. There's always something. But they went into the room that locks, and no sounds come from the room that locks, and they didn't leave anything running, and all he can hear is the clock, and it's driving him insane.

"Do you think they're watching us?" Damian asks quietly.

"No."

Tim checked, in the middle of the night, a few days after seeing the first Talon. He snuck out of bed and looked everywhere—everywhere—for cameras. There's one inside that points at the front door, and at least three outside that can probably catch things through the windows, maybe in the kitchen, but mostly in the entryway. He didn't go outside to check closely, because technically he's allowed to get out of bed, but he's definitely not allowed to go outside. But he's sure that no cameras can see inside this room, or his bedroom.

Damian nods like he believes him. Which is good, he guesses, because he's telling the truth, and Damian—Damian doesn't need to be on guard anymore. Maybe Tim doesn't, either. But he doesn't know how to stop.

"I think we should stop the clock," Damian says.

Tim thinks about it. Jason replaced the battery three days ago. But the clock didn't stop ticking three days ago. The clock stopped days before that. Maybe weeks. Tim doesn't know, exactly, because usually when they're close enough to the clock to hear, there's other noise to drown it out. But he didn't hear it when he checked for cameras. He tries to remember the last time he heard it, and can't. He was used to not hearing it. It's been a long time. Much longer than since he checked for cameras.

If it took them this long to notice the clock wasn't running, maybe they won't notice if it stops again.

Yesterday Dick told Damian not to carry snakes in his pocket.

"They haven't done anything to you about the snake?" Tim checks.

"I got to hold him again before we let him go."

"Okay. Okay. Let's stop the clock."

Neither of them is tall enough to reach it. Tim considers carrying over a chair to stand on, but he doesn't want to get caught, and he can move himself faster than he can move a chair.

"Get on my shoulders and take it down," he tells Damian.

Damian gets the clock, hands it to Tim, and stands balancing on his shoulders while Tim removes the batteries. He hands the clock back, Damian rehangs it, and they're back on the couch seconds later.

Tim slips the batteries into his pocket. He'll find a place to hide them later.

If the others notice the clock is stopped, Tim—Tim will say it was his idea. He can—he can handle it. They're free and safe, maybe, probably, and Tim—he doesn't know how to do that. But Damian is figuring it out. So Tim can take the bad things, and Damian can be safe.

"It's better," Damian says.

"Yeah." The clock was—Tim's been through much worse things than a constantly ticking clock. But things are better without it.

He's so tired of bad things. Little bad things, big bad things, things that aren't supposed to be bad but are. He just wants all the bad things to stop. He'll stand between Damian and the bad things, because he can, because the bad things aren't so bad here, and because—because the first Talon is gone and frozen and dead, and he would do it if he could, but he can't, and Tim—Tim is the first Talon here, now, in this house. So he'll take the bad things. But he doesn't want to. He wants there to not be bad things. He wants to not have to worry that fixing one bad thing now will make more bad things later.

"Do you want to color with me?" Damian asks.

"Okay."

Damian gets two coloring books and a pack of markers from the box in the cupboard, and spreads them out on the coffee table. One book is Winnie the Pooh, and the other is Sea Creatures.

"You can pick," Damian tells him.

Tim picks Sea Creatures, and finds a shark, and colors it purple to match the one in his room.

“It’s okay if you miss the lines,” Damian says. “They don’t even mind.”

-

Damian finds Jason on the couch, reading a book. He stands there for a while, waiting for Jason to notice him.

Jason doesn’t.

Damian waits a very long time, because he doesn’t want to interrupt when Jason is busy. At least forty seconds.
He shuffles his feet on the carpet to make noise, and Jason finally looks over at him.

“Hey, Damian. What’s up?”

“Tim got to make cookies and eat dough.”

“Do you also want to make cookies and eat dough?”

“Yes.”

“Okay.” Jason closes his book and stands up. “Do you want peanut butter cookies, or oatmeal raisin?”

“What kind did Tim make?”

“Chocolate chip.”

Damian thinks about it. Why can’t he make chocolate chip cookies? He’s too scared to ask.

“You can make chocolate chip cookies too, if you want,” Jason says. “But Tim made them because they’re his favorite—they aren’t your favorite, are they?”

“I like peanut butter.”

“Okay. So let’s make those.”

“And I get to eat the dough?” Damian asks.

“You get to eat the dough.”

-

“Hey, Dick, what time is it?”

“Dunno—I left my phone in my room.”

“There’s a clock, like, right there.”

“It’s not running.”

Jay comes around the corner, frowning. “I just changed the batteries. Like, Tuesday. Maybe Monday?”

“Maybe the new batteries were bad?”

Jay pulls the clock off the wall. “Nope. They’re gone.”

“Kids?”

“Kids.”

“Okay,” Dick says, “so either they didn’t like the clock, or they’re hoarding batteries. Is it worth stressing them out to ask?”

“Definitely not.”

“Should we get new batteries?”

Jason grabs the remote, clicking the TV on and off, before he answers. “Nah. If they were collecting batteries, they’d go for the easy ones first, right? They probably don’t like the clock.”

“I guess the noise might be annoying, if you have super hearing.”

“Yeah. Okay, your turn to cook. I’m going outside with Cass and the kids.”

-

Tim calls. Takes a moment to say hello to his smaller self before talking to Dick and Cass for over an hour each. He's in a happy, rambly mood, excited to share the recent details of his life and learn the recent details of theirs.

It's getting better. Every time they talk to him it gets better. And they have the texts now, too.

-

Cass studies Tim, sitting on the couch, picking at bits of fuzz stuck to his fuzzy pajama pants. (Jay was so annoyed when she brought those home. “Everything sticks to them,” he said. “Laundry is a nightmare.” But they are soft and comfortable and good, so she doesn’t care about laundry.)

It is better than before, but Tim is always sad and stressed, still.

“We need to find something fun for you to do,” she says.

Tim looks up at her, wary. “Like what?”

“I don’t know. Need something you think is fun, not something I think is fun.”

Tim frowns. “I don’t know what is fun.”

“Damian draws and colors and finds animals for fun,” Cass says.

“I’m too big for coloring.”

“You’re never too big for things you like. What did you do for fun before you were a Talon?”

Tim goes stiff and still, and all she can see in him is fear, fear, fear.

“Never mind,” she says. “We just—want you to be happy. Not sure where to start, though.”

They sit in silence for a few minutes, while Tim calms down, and then while he thinks.

“I’m happy not to die every day. And to sleep in a bed. And to eat food that tastes good.”

Cass remembers when safety and comfort were a novelty. She remembers what Barbara told her, then. She tells it to Tim, now, in Barbara’s words, the only thing she has left of her.

“Food and shelter and safety are the bare minimum. You deserve more.”

Tim shrugs. He doesn’t understand. Cass didn’t understand, either, when Barbara used to tell her things like that. She just wanted to be Batgirl. She just wanted to—to atone. For that man, when she was little.

(She doesn’t see any guilt, in Tim. That might come with time. She hopes it doesn’t.)

“We will think about it,” she tells him.

-

Dick finds his sister lying face down on her bed in the middle of the afternoon.

“Okay, Cassie?”

She mumbles something unintelligible. Dick steps into the room, crouching down at the head of the bed so they’ll be at eye level if she decided to extract her head from the pillow.

“Cass?”

She turns slightly to face him. “Just tired. How did Bruce and Alfred do it?”

She’s been alone with the kids most of the day—it was Dick and Jason’s turn to spend some time together without the kids, and normally they take a couple hours, but this morning, she was insistent that she could handle it, and she didn’t want them home until midafternoon.

“It probably helped that they pretty much did us one at a time. And never had anyone as young as Damian. What’d you guys do today?”

He and Jay left shortly after breakfast, and came back about an hour ago—Cass was alone with the kids for several hours.

“Dami sat in the kitchen and colored. Tried to talk to Tim about fun. Went outside. Tim left after a while—back to his room. Damian tried to catch—something. A lemur? So fast.” She turns her face back into the pillow.

“Damian, or the lemur?”

“Both,” she says, voice muffled.

“Cass, did you lose our baby brother in the woods?”

She lifts her head. “Only a little.”

“Did you talk to him about not running off?”

“No. Your job. Too many words.”

“Yeah, okay. You know you could have called us. We’d have come home, if you needed help looking for him. Or if you were just overwhelmed.”

“He came back soon. And I can handle things.”

“I know you can.” Cass is, of the three of them, definitely the best qualified to handle the kids. Her skillsets and her life experiences put her in a unique position that he’s constantly trying not to take advantage of. “You don’t have to, though. We’re a team.”

Cass nods. “Napping now. You go babysit.”

“Do you want me to wake you for supper?”

“No, I’ll eat later.”

Chapter 19

Summary:

"Do you wanna see a cool trick?" Harley asks.

"Okay," Damian says. Tim just frowns.

(He frowns so much. Her Timmy never frowned. Which was because of all the crap Joker did to him, actually, all sorts of weird chemical things, so. Yay for the freedom to express negative emotions? You frown, baby Tim. Frown as much as you want.)

Dick is woken, much too early, by a text notification.

Harley: “ETA 2 hr. bringing hyenas. Hope you didn’t give the kids our room—staying a while”

He calls her. “Harley? You’re coming? Now?”

“Oh, you’re up. I didn’t think you would be.”

“I wasn’t.”

“Oh,” she says again.

“Now’s really not—”

“The Americas are a little hot for us right now. Europe, too.”

“What did you do?”

“Nothing.”

“Harl—”

“Lou killed a man and ate his arm,” Pam says—they must be on speaker.

“And you’re bringing him here?”

“It was a pedophile!” Harley says. “I’ll make allowances for your overactive morality, but I refuse to apologize for killing pedophiles.”

“Did Lou know he was eating a pedophile?”

“I knew—that’s why I sicced Lou on him.”

“The attack was Harley’s idea. The arm-eating was Lou’s,” Pam adds. “In his defense, the man was eating a rather messy sandwich at the time, and his hand was barbeque flavored.”

“Okay. Okay. How did you even get the hyenas into the country?”

“Used the old Joker plane,” Harley says.

“Do either of you have pilot licenses?”

“No,” Pam says.

“Neither did Mr. J,” Harley adds, as if that somehow makes it better.

“Fine. Just—don’t pull up to the house until I tell you, okay? The kids are scared of Pam. Bad experiences in their home world. I need to talk to them before you show up. And if they say no, you can’t come.”

-

Tim is woken early and summoned to breakfast, which is weird and suspicious, because since he saw the first Talon, he’s been staying in his room as late as he wants, instead of getting up as soon as he hears noises, and no one has come to collect him, except that one time he wanted to see exactly how long he could get away with staying there, and at one pm Jason knocked and asked if he was okay and if he wanted lunch.

They sit at the table and eat French toast. The adults look stressed. Damian looks engrossed in his French toast. Tim wants to ask if they’re in trouble, but doesn’t quite dare—if they aren’t, he doesn’t want to give anyone ideas.

“We need to talk about the plant lady,” Dick says.

Damian drops his fork. “Is she coming here?” he asks.

“Only if you’re okay with it,” Jason says.

Why would they be okay with that?

“What is she going to do to us?” Tim asks.

“Nothing,” Dick says. “She—she’s not like the plant lady in your world. She’s our friend, and she would never hurt you. She and another friend and their pets need a place to stay for a while.”

“Pets?” Damian asks.

“Hyenas,” Cass says.

“What is hyenas?”

“Big and furry, kind of like dogs, kind of like cats.”

“Can we have just hyenas, and no plant lady?”

“No,” Jason tells them. “They’re a package deal.”

“Okay. I want hyenas.”

“Tim?” Dick asks.

He doesn’t answer. He knows what the right answer is—he just doesn’t want it to be.

“It’s up to you,” Dick says. “They don’t come unless everyone is okay with it. If you don’t want her here, we’ll tell them to find somewhere else to stay.”

Tim studies Dick’s face carefully, then Jason’s, then Cass’. He thinks he means it. He thinks they all mean it. He thinks—he thinks he can trust them.

“If she touches me, I’m leaving,” he says.

“That seems fair,” Jason says.

“Yeah, okay, but what if she accidentally bumps into you or something?”

“If she threatens or tries to hurt me, I leave,” Tim amends. Dick is right. it’s good to be specific.

“Deal. They’ll be here in about an hour.”

-

Is it weird that Jay is this excited to see supervillains he grew up fighting, one of whom kidnapped the little brother he never met? Probably. But Pam and Harley are their only reliable connections to the outside world, and the closest thing they have to more experienced adults to rely on. It’s been almost five months since they’ve come now—much too long.

He’s so glad they’re coming back.

He’s worried about the kids, though. It’s still weird, having little, vulnerable people he’s responsible for. Usually the only people he had to worry about, before, were Dick and Cass, and sometimes Pam and Harley—all competent adults he knows can take care of themselves. Tim and Damian may be physically strong, and basically indestructible, but they’re also profoundly traumatized little kids.

What if they’re not as prepared as they think they are for Pam?

What if the hyenas aren’t nice to them? What if Harley is Too Much, or still mad about them replacing her Tim? What if Pam bumps into Tim or something, and he disappears into the jungle, never to be seen again? What if Lou eats Dami’s arm?

Everything is so much harder when you’re responsible for kids.

-

Harley goes in first. They’re going to ease the kids into meeting Pam.

She knows coming here was the only real option. Anywhere else they had roots was just too dangerous, after the last few incidents. Here, she can keep her hyenas safe. And she can—the kids need help. It’s partially her fault their dad and brother are gone, and providing unlicensed therapy for their new zombie brothers is the only thing she can do to make up for it.

The little one is almost bouncing with excitement, peering around her, probably trying to get a glimpse of Bud and Lou. The other—he looks just like her Tim, colored in wrong.

She misses him so much.

She should never have had him. It was the worst time in her life—she had never been as unstable, as out-of-control, as in those months after the Joker died, leaving her confused and untethered, and responsible for his final, unfinished project. She had no business at any time, but especially at that time, being in charge of a traumatized, largely insane teenager. She still misses him.

Her Tim is fine. She cared for him as well as she could, which wasn’t very, as unwell as she was, and now he’s happy and healthy and far away. He texted her three days ago. He asked her, not for the first time, to look out for his little self.

She promised that she would.

She takes a deep breath. She can do this. She's fantastic with kids. It's the clown in her. Probably. "Hi! You must be Tim and Damian. My name is Harley, and I have some friends I'd like you to meet."

She brings in Bud first, because Bud hasn't recently mauled anyone. (A totally justified mauling, but superheroes can be so unreasonable about that kind of thing. And the Bat kids may be mostly retired, but they're still heroes at heart.)

"Can I—can I touch him?" Damian asks.

"Hold out your hand for him to sniff, first."

Damian does. The older kids are all tense, clearly ready to rush forward and snatch him away at the first sign of trouble. But Bud is a total sweetheart. Great with kids. One time, when she and Mr. J were on the outs, and she was feeling all altruistic, she snuck Bud into the Gotham General Children's Ward in the middle of the night to cheer up the kids. None of the staff caught her, but the security cameras did, and the next time she got arrested they charged her with child endangerment, even though Bud was a perfect angel, and the kids all had a great time.

Bud sniffs Damian's hand.

"Okay," Harley says. "Now you can touch him."

He reaches out very carefully, and touches Bud's nose. Bud pushes his head forward, into Damian's hand.

"Try his neck," Harley suggests. "He's really soft there."

Damian pets his neck. Bud purrs. Damian laughs, and pets him more.

"Tim, would you like to pet the hyena, too?" Dick asks.

"Where is the plant lady?"

"She's still outside with the other hyena," Dick says.

Tim frowns.

"Bud is real sweet," Harley tells him. "And I know he's gonna like you, because you're gonna remind him of another friend of mine. His name is Tim, too."

Tim nods. "I met him." He steps forward slowly, offers his hand to Bud, and then touches the top of his head. "Okay," he says. "Damian, come with me."

Damian withdraws his hand from Bud's ruff reluctantly, and follows Tim, who positions them both behind the older kids, and himself in front of Damian.

Protecting him from Pam. It's cute. And kind of sad.

"Okay," Jason says. "Are the hyenas gonna be okay inside the house?"

"They're trained," Harley says. It's mostly true.

"Okay," Dick says. "Go ahead and bring them in, and then we'll try Pam."

"You're sure Lou's safe?" Jason checks.

"He only attacks if I tell him to. Or if there's danger."

She calls Lou in. Damian takes a small step forward when he sees, and Tim pulls him back. "Later," she hears him say quietly.

"Go on," she tells the hyenas. They wander out of the entryway and into the rest of the house, sniffing around, probably looking for comfortable places to sleep.

"Okay," Dick says, "Pam, you can come in now. Slow, okay?"

Pam comes through the door. Harley watches how Tim goes stiff, and Damian goes shaky. Cass is watching, too. She frowns. Then she smiles, and walks past Harley to hug Pam. Showing the kids it's safe.

Harley's not sure it's working.

Maybe they shouldn't have come. She didn't think— how could anyone be scared of Pam? She's the coolest.

"Let's sit down," Cass says, and drops abruptly to the floor, pulling Pam down with her. Harley sits, too. After a few seconds, so do Dick and Jason. The little boys stay standing, which is fine—the point is to get Pam below them, so she's not as scary.

"Hi," she says, in her talking-to-roses voice. "My name's Pam. I hear you met a not-so-nice version of me. I promise I'm not like her."

Damian peeks out from behind Tim.

"Do you wanna see a cool trick?" Harley asks.

"Okay," Damian says. Tim just frowns.

(He frowns so much. Her Timmy never frowned. Which was because of all the crap Joker did to him, actually, all sorts of weird chemical things, so. Yay for the freedom to express negative emotions? You frown, baby Tim. Frown as much as you want.)

Harley hands Pam the fallen leaf she grabbed, out in the woods, in anticipation of this moment. Under Pam's magic hands, it comes alive, growing into a full plant, with a beautiful red hibiscus flower blooming at the center.

"Will it— will it bite us?" Damian asks.

"No," Pam says. "It's just a flower."

She passes the plant to Cass, who makes a show of touching and smelling it before handing it to Dick and Jason, who do the same.

"Tim, would you like to see?" Jason asks.

Tim reaches out slowly to touch a petal, then snatches his hand back like he's been burned.

"Okay, bud?" Dick asks.

Tim nods, and touches the flower again.

"I don't want to hold it."

"That's okay. You don't have to."

"My turn?" Damian asks.

“Sure,” Dick says. “Tim? Can you let Damian touch the flower?”

Tim steps aside slowly, watching closely as Damian touches the nearest petal.

“I can hold it?” he asks.

“Sure. In fact, why don’t you and Tim keep an eye on the flower and the hyenas, and the rest of us will help Pam and Harley unpack.”

“Why are we keeping an eye on it?” Tim asks. “What’s it going to do?”

“Nothing,” Dick tells him. “But we need to make sure no one steps on it while we’re unpacking.”

“And make sure the hyenas don’t eat it,” Harley adds.

“So we protect it?” Damian asks.

“Yeah. You protect it.”

“Okay,” Tim says.

-

Cass knows Pam and Harley are planning to stick around for a while when she sees their car. It is—not nice. They didn’t steal something flashy, because they didn’t want to call attention to themselves.

“Didn’t steal it at all,” Harley says. “We bought it.”

“With stolen money?” Dick asks.

“Well, how else were we going to get money?”

“We bought the car, and stripped the plane of all identifying features before we abandoned it,” Pam says. “No one should be able to track us here.”

“We have plenty more stolen money,” Harley offers. “If your mystery funds are running low.”

“Hey, Jay, are our mystery funds running low?” Dick asks.

“Nope.”

Jason won’t tell any of them where all the money comes from. He had it already when Cass found him. She figures he must have done something bad to get it. But he’s not doing anything bad now, except Dick says maybe not paying taxes on the interest it’s generating in the bank? But Cass is not worried about tax fraud, and she knows Dick isn't, really, either. Who would Jay even pay taxes to? He doesn’t legally exist, so he must not be a citizen of anywhere. So it’s fine.

Pam and Harley brought a lot of stuff. There’s no way they could see out the back window on the drive here, and the hyenas must have been really, really uncomfortable.

Some of the stuff is Joker-themed plane parts. Those go in the garage. Dick says they’re a problem for later.

There are a lot of problems for later in Pam and Harley’s car. A lot of things that have to be unloaded and dumped in the garage before they get to the actual luggage.

Cass picks up a very heavy duffle bag.

“Oh, careful,” Pam says. “That’s diamonds.”

“You stole a duffle’s worth of diamonds?” Jay asks, impressed.

“And you brought them here?” Dick asks, aghast.

“We stole them from a pedophile.”

“How many pedophiles do you know, Harley?”

“None, now.”

“That one wasn’t technically a pedophile,” Pam says.

“He was pedophile-adjacent. He was in a trafficking ring.”

“No, we got the duffle of cash from the trafficker. We got the diamonds from the—”

“Right. That’s right. Still. They’re, like, blood diamonds.”

Pam and Harley have cut way back on crime to maintain a good relationship with Cass’ family. They’re still committing a whole lot of crime. They’re only stealing from billionaires, billion dollar corporations, and criminals. And they’re only killing rapists, serial killers, and traffickers. It’s still so much crime. And Cass still gets in fights with them about the killing part.

“Loneliness makes strange bedfellows,” Jason told her once. She thinks this is what he meant. (She’s never shared a bed with Pam or Harley, but they fell asleep on the couch together once.)

“I just don’t think in a duffle bag, in our house, is a practical place to store millions of dollars’ worth of diamonds,” Dick says, now.

“We can start selling them in a few months. Maybe a year. Too much attention, now.”

They get everything into either the garage or Pam and Harley’s room, and Cass goes to check on the kids.

The flower is sitting in the center of the coffee table. Both hyenas are asleep. Damian is, too, on the floor, face buried in Bud’s flank. Tim is sitting next to Lou on one of the couches, running a hand slowly down his back.

“I’m protecting the flower,” he says without looking over at her. “We’re—we’re watching it together, so it’s okay he's sleeping. It’s my turn now. It doesn’t take two people to watch a flower.”

“That’s okay,” she says, circling around the couch so she can see his face. “Are the hyenas good?”

He nods. “Soft. And—and rumbly? It’s nice.”

“Good. I will watch the flower now. You don’t worry about it.”

“Kay,” he says, and pets Lou again.

Chapter 20

Summary:

He opens the door. Two pairs of yellow eyes look out at him from under the bed.

They're having a sleepover. It would be adorable if it wasn't clearly because they're terrified of Pam.

Notes:

Bonus chapter!

Damian has just gotten into bed when he sees his doorknob move. He tries to prepare for a fight, even though he knows he can’t fight the plant lady, especially after so much time not fighting anybody. It must be the plant lady—Dick and Cass and Jason always knock first.

Owlman never said exactly what the plant lady would do to them. Will she turn him into a flower, like the one she made this morning? Will it hurt? Will Cass plant him behind the house, like she did with that flower?

The door opens. Damian lunges. Tim ducks, then reaches back to grab Damian’s shirt before his momentum carries him into the hallway.

“Oh,” Damian says, when they’re both lying on the floor. He wasn’t expecting Tim. Tim’s never come into his room in the night before.

Tim pushes the door closed with his foot. “I’m sleeping in here tonight,” he says.

This is a good plan. Two Talons is better than one.

“You can have the bed. I’m sleeping under.”

“Too exposed. We’ll both sleep under.”

“Okay.”

-

It’s a late night for the adults in the house, catching up with Pam and Harley, finding places to store the most dangerous things they’ve brought along (so many bombs), and trying to decide how to ease the kids into both the Pam situation and the therapy situation. Hopefully it’ll work better with Harley than that phone guy, but the kids are never fans of talking about their feelings.

Then they have a fight about the hyenas, because there’s really not room to keep them in Pam and Harley’s room overnight, and Jason really doesn’t want them just roaming around the house unattended.

These are all things they could have figured out earlier. But they haven’t seen Pam and Harley in months, and Pam and Harley are…Pam and Harley. Tension was inevitable, and they didn’t want to further stress out the already-freaked kids.

During the day, they kept things chill, and kept Pam and Harley out of the house—or at least out of the common areas—as much as possible.

Jason spent a lot of time in the garage, helping Harley sort through Joker-themed crap, and decide what could just have the paint stripped, and what needed to be melted or crushed or buried. Dick was against Jay being involved in that project—worried it would bring up bad memories. But destroying the Joker’s stuff was actually super cathartic.

So. It was a late night, pushing all the conversations until after the kids were in bed. And since Damian isn't comfortable leaving his room in the morning without being collected, it is way past time to be collecting him.

He knocks on Damian's door, then opens it. The knock is more an announcement of intention than a request for permission, since the kids haven't really grasped "come in" yet. Eventually he'll explain that they have the right to not let people into their rooms, but maybe when they're older and everyone worries about them less. He doesn't want to say "I won't come into your room without permission," and then have to break his promise a week later if something happens.

He opens the door. Two pairs of yellow eyes look out at him from under the bed.

They're having a sleepover. It would be adorable if it wasn't clearly because they're terrified of Pam.

"Hey, guys. Ready for breakfast?"

-

Damian knows Tim will protect him, even though Owlman would never have let him, even though Tim's killed him more times than he can count, even though Damian's broken Tim's leg and his spine and crushed his windpipe. He knows because Tim stood between him and the plant lady yesterday, and slept under the bed with him last night.

Tim will protect him, so he tries to stay close to Tim. But the hyenas are distracting.

They are so big. And so soft. He's never touched a furry animal before. Not a real one—only the toy ones Cass gives him. He tried to touch a real lemur, but he couldn't catch it. It was much better than him at climbing trees.

The hyenas don't run away when he wants to pet them. They make big, happy, rumbly sounds, and they lean close, and they lick him with their scratchy tongues, which hurts a little, but he doesn't mind, because he thinks it means they like him.

He keeps forgetting to stay close to Tim, and forgetting to look out for the plant lady. Because Bud wants to be petted and petted and petted, and Damian wants to pet and pet and pet him. Then Lou comes to him with a big red rubber ball in his mouth, and drops it in Damian's lap, and Dick says he wants Damian to throw it, so he does. Then Bud noses over another ball, one that makes jingly noises, and Damian throws that too. He is Very Busy doing Very Important Work, and he does not have time to worry about other things.

Until he's chasing Lou across the room, and runs right into the plant lady.

He almost falls over, and she catches him by the shoulders to steady him. "I am so sorry, Damian," she says. She picks up the hyena toy and hands it to him, then walks away quickly.

Damian retreats to the safety of the couch, to sit with Tim. But soon the hyenas distract him again.

-

Cass sits down in the dirt next to Pam, looking out at the jungle. "It...bothers you," she says. "That the kids don't like you."

"A little," Pam admits.

"But you are—" Cass considers her vocab options, rejecting "evil," and "a bad guy."

"A criminal," she settles on. "Aren't lots of kids scared of you?"

"They're not. Adults, yes. Especially men. But kids think I'm cool, usually."

"They will get less scared," Cass says. "Were terrified of us, too. For a long time. Still, sometimes. Mostly Tim."

"They're cute. Creepy, but cute."

"The creepy gets less, when you're used to them. The cute gets more."

"Do we know exactly what Owlman did to them?"

Cass shrugs. Pam is probably looking for fancy, technical, scientist information. Cass is not good at that. "Lots of bad things. But—not exactly, because more things than most Owls do. We think. All the notes are in code, and people translate slowly."

Pam nods. "I was just wondering. If something could be done. Or undone, rather. I am a biologist, you know. Human biology isn't my specialty, but Harley's not a pediatric therapist, either."

"Too scared to let you try."

"For now."

"Dick can find out." Cass could, too. But Dick will be better at finding and sharing the specific information she wants.

"All right. Maybe I'll ask him. When they're less scared."

-

Tim sits on the couch and watches. He watches the plant lady come in the side door with her hair tied up and a streak of dirt on her forehead. He watches her scratch one of the hyenas behind his ear as she walks past. He watches her and the other lady stand on either side of Jason in the kitchen, bickering over him like an angel and a devil on someone's shoulders in a cartoon, until Jason says "Okay, this is your problem now," gives the plant lady a yellow pepper and the other lady a knife, and walks away.

He watches her across the table at lunch, and pokes suspiciously at the salad he watched her make, and listens to her talk to the other adults like they really are friends and she really is okay.

He watches as Damian eats his salad and runs off to play with the hyenas again. He watches her talk to Dick about The Situation in Gotham, and to Jason about Cooking with More Vegetables, and to Cass about Local Flora and Why That Flower is Hard to Grow Here.

He watches as Damian runs into her, and she apologizes, even though it was definitely Damian's fault, and puts distance between them so he won't be so scared.

She's just a lady.

Dick keeps coming by to check on him. Tim watches how his hands hover close like he wants to touch him, the way he touches Cass and Jason and sometimes Damian, but he never does. He asks Tim if he’s okay, and Tim says yes, and he leaves, then comes and checks again thirty or forty minutes later.

Cass comes and sits with him on the couch, in the afternoon.

“You are scared,” she says.

He doesn’t answer, because that wasn’t technically a question, but if it was it would be a trick question.

“But only a little?”

He shrugs. He doesn’t want to admit he’s scared at all, but Cass always seems to know.

“If either of them does anything bad, we send them away imm—imm—right away.”

“I know,” Tim says.

She stares at him for a minute, then nods, stands up, and walks away. Tim turns his attention back to Pam—standing in the kitchen, talking to Dick, then back to Damian—on the floor with the hyenas, making a sound Tim thinks might be a laugh. He’s never heard Damian laugh before. He’s not sure Damian ever has laughed before.

Damian is happy. Damian is safe. He gets to protect the baby. The way the first Talon tried to protect them both, protect them all, the way he never quite could.

Dick and Cass and Jason have always told him the truth. He hasn't always believed them, but they always have. He can—he can trust them. And if he can trust them, he can trust the plant lady—Pam. And Harley. He can trust—he can trust everyone in this house right now. As much as he can ever trust anyone.

Chapter 21

Summary:

Pam ignores the sad garden—something Cass knows is hard for Pam to do—to focus on the kids.

“Would you boys like to have plants of your own?” she asks. “They would be little friends who lived in your rooms.”

They all come together for dinner, slightly crammed at the table—it’s not too bad, Cass thinks. Not bad enough they need to get a new table. The kids aren’t as stressed as they were at lunch. At lunch they were both careful to sit as far from Pam as possible. They aren’t right next to her now, but Cass is next to Pam, and Tim is next to her, instead of putting Dick or Jason between them, too. Dami sits next to Tim, chair pushed even closer than it needs to be at the crowded table.

Pam asks to pass the salt. Tim hands it to her, their fingers barely touching for the briefest moment. Cass watches Tim tense, then force himself to relax. She watches Damian, who definitely also saw the contact, scoot somehow even closer to his brother.

"I think she's okay," Cass hears Tim whisper to Damian. She's not sure when or how Pam earned Tim's hesitant trust, but it's a good thing. Tim doesn't trust any of them completely. But he's starting to. They can build on that.

-

The hyenas are…weird. Jay’s glad the kids are so happy with them. And it’s not like he has any real traumatic hyena experiences. They weren’t there when he died or anything. Never took a real chunk out of him when he was a kid.

But he remembers being thirteen, fourteen, dancing between traps and bombs and two massive, snarling animals. Trying to make it look like he was really dancing, trying to be graceful like Nightwing, and failing. Being so, so aware that if one of them caught him, he might die, or lose an arm or leg, or he might have weird scars that Bruce could never explain away if any social worker asked questions. If they caught him, it would ruin everything.

He remembers the hyenas as monsters, only slightly worse in nightmares than reality.

(How old are they now, he wonders briefly, if they were already full grown when he was a teenager? How old were they when the Joker got them? How long do hyenas live?)

Here, now, they’re quiet and slow, sometimes playful, mostly lazy, always pliable. They listen easily to anything Pam and Harley say, respond to quick touches and gestures as well as words—soft words, not the shouting he remembers from before. Maybe they were just like that because the Joker treated them so badly?

But he still remembers them being like that. And it makes him nervous, with the kids. The others don’t seem worried, but probably the others never saw the hyenas at their worst. The longer Harley was around, the better they got, which means they probably weren’t nearly as scary by the time Cass came around, long after he was dead. And Dick was spending a lot more time in Bludhaven than in Gotham, back when Jay was a kid fighting hyenas.

Damian is at least half asleep right now, using one of the hyenas, fully asleep, as a couch, playing idly with the fur of his tail. The other one is sitting on Tim’s feet—Jay can’t see his face from here, but assumes from the steady way his sides rise and fall that he's sleeping, too. Tim is awake, sitting in that stiff, robotic way of his, the effect altered by the presence of the animal at his feet. He looks cute.

He looks in imminent danger.

Jason knows Harley wouldn’t say the hyenas were safe if she didn’t believe it. But Harley’s not exactly known for her sanity or good judgement.

They’ve been fine so far. And the kids have accelerated healing. So if anything did go wrong—he still feels weird about it.

The whole thing is weird, with Pam and Harley. He likes them. He’s glad they come around sometimes, and he's missed them, since they got the kids. But when he died they were sworn enemies, and when he and Cass caught back up with Dick, he was suddenly good friends with them.

He figures it was weirder for Cass, since Harley kidnapped (and maybe tortured? He's sketchy on the details) her little brother. But she got over it pretty quick, probably because of her body language thing.

Everything just got so weird after he died.

Jason doesn't like the hyenas roaming the house unattended all night. Pam doesn't like two large hyenas crammed into a small bedroom she's already sharing with Harley all night. Harley doesn't like the hyenas locked in a room alone all night.

Jason has decided the best solution to this problem is to knock out a wall, expanding Pam and Harley's room so Pam won't be crowded and the hyenas won't be alone. Dick seems skeptical, but Harley is enthusiastic. Cass and Pam haven't expressed any feelings on the matter, except Pam's earlier indication that sharing with the hyenas would be fine if there was just more space to share.

"We've knocked out walls before," Jay points out.

"Not on rooms that are currently in use. Not with kids and pets around."

"It'll be fine."

"It'll be fun," Harley adds. "Breaking things is cathartic."

Jay and Harley win. Cass and Pam take the kids and the hyenas outside, where the construction sounds won't bother their sensitive ears.

Dick and Jay drape plastic over the contents of both rooms. Harley unpacks her giant mallet.

"Are you sure this is a one day project?" Dick asks.

"It doesn't hafta be pretty," Harley says. "Just big."

She swings her hammer at the wall. Jason takes a respirator, and gives another to Dick—he'll try to talk Harley into one when she stops swinging. And ear plugs. Where did he put the ear plugs?

This is going to be such a mess. But at the end of it, the hyenas will be contained, and everyone will be happy.

And Harley's right. Breaking stuff is fun.

-

Cass and Pam go to the little garden area behind the house, the hyenas running ahead, the kids following cautiously. Pam has her seed box, a big container she brought on the Joker plane, that she says has most kinds of seeds in it. Cass has a stack of flowerpots.

Pam’s already inspected the garden, seen how bad they are at it. (They were better, Cass thinks, before the kids. There are so many things to do. They fell behind on gardening.) So today is not for scolding. Today is for fixing.

The hyenas flop down in the dirt, and Damian flops down with them. Tim sits very carefully, close to Dami.

Pam ignores the sad garden—something Cass knows is hard for Pam to do—to focus on the kids.

“Would you boys like to have plants of your own?” she asks. “They would be little friends who lived in your rooms.”

“Like—like my bear and dog and squirrel?” Damian asks, sitting up a little.

“Not as cuddly,” Cass says.

“And they’re alive, like you, so you have to take care of them, and ask us for help when you don’t know how.”

Bud licks Damian, and he stops paying attention to them.

“What kind of plant can we have?” Tim asks, in that careful way he has for questions, like any word might be the wrong one that finally makes them start acting like Owlman.

“Any kind you want,” Pam says.

Cass looks over at the seed box, and hopes Pam can keep that promise. It’s a big box, but there’s lots of plants in the world, and she never knows what to expect from Tim.

“I don’t know plant names,” Tim says, with that almost flinch that means he half expects to be in trouble for it.

“Maybe you could describe it to me?” Pam suggests.

Tim runs into the house. Pam half stands, and Cass shakes her head. They don't need to go after him. he didn't leave because he's scared or upset; he left with a purpose. He will do what he needs to do and come back.

It only takes a few minutes. He returns with a sheet of paper. He's drawn a brown square that must be a flowerpot, with long green lines coming out of it and trailing down.

Pam studies it.

"It has babies," Tim tells her.

"A spider plant?" she suggests.

He lights up. "Yes. That."

"All right. Let's get you a spider plant."

This is a good day for Tim. A big day. He is interacting with Pam. He is asking for things that he wants. And he must have been brave enough to get into the art supplies without permission—he never touches things in common areas without permission—because the others are doing construction, so he wouldn't have been able to ask them.

Pam opens her seed box. Cass thought the seeds would be organized, in bags or envelopes or something, but they're all loose, thousands of them, filling the box.

She runs her fingers through until she finds the seed she wants, which only takes a minute or two—Cass isn't sure if that's magic or superpowers or just familiarity with the seeds. It would take an awful lot of familiarity, though.

“All right,” she says. “Why don’t you pick one of Cass’ flowerpots, Tim, and fill it with dirt, and then we’ll plant the seed.”

Tim picks a plain terracotta pot, a lot like the brown square in his drawing. Pam lets him put in the seed, telling him how far in to push it, and then uses her powers to get it started, just barely, tiny bits of green breaking the surface.

Damian seems mostly happy to roll around in the dirt with the hyenas, but looks over at them occasionally—Cass thinks more to make sure Tim is safe with the plant lady than because he’s very interested in what’s going on.

“Damian,” she says, when Tim is sitting on the ground a few feet away, poking cautiously at the start of his spider plant, “would you like a plant, too?”

“Okay.” He stands and comes closer, and Cass can see how filthy he's gotten in the dirt. Good thing it’s not her turn to do laundry.

“What kind of plant would you like?” Pam asks.

Damian shoots an anxious glance at Cass. He probably knows less about plants than Tim does. And both of them are so scared of having wrong answers.

She pulls out her phone. “Let’s look at some options,” she says.

Tim sets aside his pot and scoots closer. The three of them, Cass and her baby brothers, huddle around the phone, looking at pictures of plants. Occasionally, Pam makes a suggestion Cass types in the search bar.

Damian ends up with a purple-leafed plant called a false shamrock, in a pot with orange and blue stripes. Pam helps both kids find the best places in their rooms to put the plants, for sunlight. They let her into their rooms only a little nervously, and they both seem happy, mostly.

Chapter 22

Summary:

“I remember hugs.”

“I could—we could have a hug, now. If you wanted.”

Tim looks at Damian’s little gray face. He’s biting his lip, a clear sign of anxiety that could easily get him killed, if they were still with Owlman. “Oh,” he says. “Okay.”

Both of the kids have stopped flinching every time Pam looks at them, speaks, or enters a room. Tim has sat next to her at the table twice. Yesterday they all played Uno together, and the kids were fine. Normal, for them. Pam's displayed her plant powers a few more times, always on little things, party tricks, nothing to make the kids feel threatened. The other day she set them each up with a potted plant of their own.

They're not scared of Pam anymore, or at least not significantly more scared of her than they are of everything. Which means it's time to switch gears, from getting them used to Pam's presence to getting them ready for Harley's job.

"Harley is a doctor," Dick explains.

The kids exchange wary glances. Dick tries to decide if they're likely to even know what a doctor is. Talons heal themselves of injuries, and Tim claimed they don't get sick. It sounds like Gotham was a dystopia long before Tim became a Talon, so it's unlikely he had routine medical care before Owlman kidnapped him, and Damian was too young when taken by Owlman to have much memory of pre-Talon life. Have they watched any movies with doctors? Dick can't remember.

"A doctor is someone who helps when you're sick or hurt," Jason explains.

"Not like the screaming room," Tim says, and it only sounds slightly like a question.

What did Owlman define as help, for that to be a question that occurred to him?

"No," Cass says. "Real help."

"Okay," Tim says. It can be hard to tell with Tim, but he sounds like he believes them.

Damian looks to Tim before nodding. And that's probably as good as things are going to get. For both of them.

"Harley is a feelings doctor. Her job is to help you with things that are scary or hard or confusing or painful. You can talk to us about any of those things, any time, but Harley knows how to help in ways the rest of us don't, and she's someone you can talk to, alone, about things you might not want to talk to us about, and she won't tell us what you talk to her about without permission, unless it's a safety issue."

“We have to tell her things?” Tim asks.

“You don’t have to. But I think it would be good for you if you did. We’re going to set aside some time each week for you to hang out with her. It’s called Therapy.”

Tim nods, looking thoughtful if not cooperative. Damian ignores them to play with Lou.

-

She's not a child psychologist. She's a disgraced former criminal psychiatrist, which is a very different job, even if it was still her job. But she's what they've got, and she's going to make it work.

The kids have already picked out a room to be her office, but the set-up still needs to be done. They don't want to make any unnecessary public appearances right now, and home decor is an unnecessary expense when you're in hiding. Fortunately there are multiple unused rooms and long-forgotten storage areas in the building, full of things to repurpose.

She enlists Cass to help her, because Cass needs more time around other women.

Exam chairs and tables are a no-go. They need comfortable, welcoming furniture.

The current kitchen/dining room used to be a kitchen/breakroom for the clinic staff. And the living room used to be a lobby. A lot of furniture was shuffled to reach the current arrangement, and a lot of extras are in storage. Harley picks out three mismatched arm chairs—one for her, one for a patient, and a spare. A coffee table. An ugly lamp that she repaints. Two posters, one of a sunset and one of a tiger, both with a likely inspirational message in a language she doesn't know. The words don't matter; Damian will like the tiger.

The sink and cupboard area the rooms come with is mostly unnecessary, though she does use some of the cupboards for storage. Cass helps her to paint them bright colors, and they find doilies and vases and jars to decorate. Jason replaces the harsh florescent lights with something soft and warm he ordered online. Dick finds a mystery object in the garage that vaguely resembles a large flower pot, and Pam arranges for a small tree to plant in it.

She has the kids get a second set of art supplies for the room—she foresees a lot of art therapy in Damian's future. A few throw pillows and fidget toys, also ordered online, round things out.

Now she just has to worry about the patients.

She can do this. It's just kids.

Actually, she's probably better suited to dealing with kids than criminals. Or at least she was, before—everything. Her temperament is just—she wouldn't have had to spend so much time faking, masking, trying so hard to be what she thought she had to be. A lot more eccentricity is welcome dealing with children than with serial killers. Maybe she wouldn't have had the mental break in the first place.

It doesn't matter; she's on the other side of that, now. But she can do kids. You don't have to be as serious. You don't have to be—you still have to be careful, but not at all the same kind of careful.

Her first appointment is with Damian—they’re all thinking he’ll be easier to talk to.

Easier. Not easy.

He sits in the chair across from her, stiff and anxious and quiet.

Harley slides out of her chair to sit cross-legged on the floor. "You wanna color with me?" she asks.

Damian stares at her for a long moment. "Okay," he says, and joins her on the floor, on the other side of their coffee table.

"You're a really good artist," she tells him. "I like to look at your pictures in the kitchen."

Damian, focused on selecting the perfect marker color, doesn't answer. That's okay.

"I noticed you have a lot of landscapes, and a lot of scenes from movies, and a lot of animals. I really like your hyena drawings, by the way. I can always tell which one is Bud and which is Lou when you draw them. Most people can't tell them apart at all."

Damian looks up at her. "I like the hyenas."

"That's good. They like you, too."

He smiles at her for the first time since coming into the room.

"I was wondering, though. Is there a reason you never draw pictures of yourself or your family?"

"I don't have a family," Damian says, without looking up from his drawing.

Harley suppresses a sigh. Communication. Not a Bat-skill. "I think Dick and Cass and Jason would say you do."

He looks up at her again. "One time—one time Jason called Tim my brother, I think. Is—is Tim my family?"

"Yeah, Tim is your family. But Dick and Cass and Jay are you family, too."

"Oh," he says. "What—what kind of family?"

"Brothers and sister."

"Oh," he says again. "Are the—are the other Talons my brothers and sisters, too?"

"Only if you want them to be."

“Do I have to decide right now?”

“No,” she says. “You can decide whenever you want.”

Damian nods. He goes back to his picture, and she lets him work uninterrupted for a while—she doesn’t want to throw too much at him.

His picture, when he finishes it, features the family they’ve just discussed—him, Tim, Dick, Jason, and Cass. Plus the hyenas. Harley isn't bothered that she and Pam haven’t made the cut—Damian is definitely the kind of kid who bonds faster with animals than people.

"Do you want me to hang this picture on the wall?” she asks him. “Or do you want it to be a private picture?"

"What is a private picture?"

"If you want to have a private picture, I can put it in a folder where no one else will see it, or you can take it to your room, and not show it to anyone unless you want to. If I thought it would be a good idea to show the picture to someone else, I would ask you for permission first, and you would be allowed to say no."

"How many private pictures do I get?"

"As many as you want."

"Can I change my mind later?"

"Sure. You can make any picture you've made private, unless you've given it to someone else as a gift, or you can stop keeping private pictures private, any time you want. That applies to all of your pictures, not just the ones you make in here."

"If I give it to someone, it's not mine anymore, so I can't change it."

"Right."

"Are the pictures in the kitchen mine?"

"Yes. Do you want them to be private?"

"No. I just wanted to know."

She checks her watch. They’ve made it through about a standard appointment time, and she’s tackled concepts of family and ownership with a six year old, so it’s probably time to call it a day.

“Do you know what you want to do with this picture?” she asks him again.

“Can I—can I have it in my room?”

“Sure. Let’s tape it up, then you can go play with the hyenas.”

-

“Was it bad?” Tim asks, when Damian is released from the Therapy, and they have a minute alone.

“It was okay,” Damian says. “She drew with me, and we talked about family, and owning things.”

“Owning things?” Tim asks.

“Pictures I make.”

“And families?”

“About how we are one—you and me and Dick and Cass and Jason. And the other Talons, if we want.”

“Not—not about Before?”

“Before?” Damian asks.

It was a dumb question, Tim realizes. Damian was too little to remember any Before, even if Owlman didn’t try so hard to make all of them forget their Befores.

Damian can be his brother, he decides. Maybe, maybe the first Talon, too. He isn't sure about anyone else. His family is his parents. They’re dead, but they’re still his family.

“Tim,” Damian says. “Before what?”

“Before Owlman.”

Damian frowns. “I think—I think I had a hug. Before.”

“I remember hugs.”

“I could—we could have a hug, now. If you wanted.”

Tim looks at Damian’s little gray face. He’s biting his lip, a clear sign of anxiety that could easily get him killed, if they were still with Owlman. “Oh,” he says. “Okay.”

Damian hugs him. Tim tries to hug him back, tries to position his hands in a way that means Affection, not Murder. It doesn’t feel anything like being hugged by Mom. It’s still nice.

Chapter 23

Summary:

“I want a photo of my parents. I’ll talk to you about anything you want, but only once I have a photo. To keep. Forever.”

Harley sits in her chair. Tim sits in his, very stiff, very straight, hands folded in his lap. He looks so like her Tim, in his quiet moments. His sane moments. His scared moments.

How do you provide therapy to someone whose existence makes you feel like you need therapy?

(She does need therapy, probably, badly, for plenty of reasons other than the smaller Tim. But she’s not getting it today, and she has work to do.)

“So, Tim,” she says. “I was thi—”

“I want a photo.”

Harley pauses. She was not expecting this ball of anxiety to interrupt her. “Okay. What kind of photo?”

“I want a photo of my parents. I’ll talk to you about anything you want, but only once I have a photo. To keep. Forever.”

His willingness to participate in therapy is the only bargaining chip he thinks he has. He doesn’t know yet that he can ask for things.

They’ll need to work on that.

“I’m sure that can be arranged. Do you need me to get the photo myself, or can I talk to someone else, like Dick, to help me?”

She can text her Tim and ask him to send one—maybe not his own, maybe one from his new world’s Tim—but tomorrow is Dick and Cass’ phone call with Tim. She knows they sometimes struggle with what to talk about, and asking for the photo would give them something. And finding it will be a project for Tim, will make him feel useful, which will put him in a good mood for talking to them.

“I don’t care where it comes from, as long as it’s them. I remember what they looked like. I’ll know if it’s someone else.”

“We’ll get you a real photo,” she promises. “In the meantime, would you like to hang out with me? We don’t have to talk.”

He frowns. “What—what would we do instead?”

“I have toys, and art supplies. Why don’t you see if anything looks interesting?”

Tim goes through her things with an air of deep suspicion, and spends a few minutes fiddling with various toys, apparently more to humor her than anything else.

“Okay,” she says, then pauses. Is she going to risk completely sabotaging herself, throwing away what might be her only chance to get him to talk to her?

Yeah. She is.

“We’ll get you a photo. But you don’t have to talk to me for it. You can have the photo, just because you want it, and we want you to be happy. You don’t have to bargain for your happiness.”

Tim stares at her, and doesn’t answer.

“I gotta get to work on that. You can go do—whatever you do.”

Tim flees the room without another word. Harley considers the mess he's made on her coffee table, decides she doesn’t care, and goes in search of Dick.

-

Tim calls at 5:06. It's an agonizing six minutes.

He texted Cass yesterday, and Dick and Harley both earlier in the week. Things are fine. He's going to call.

"Sorry," Tim says, when Dick answers halfway through the first ring at 5:06. "There was a Riddler-related traffic jam, and I was driving, so I couldn't call. Should've been home like half an hour ago—supervillain tantrums really stop traffic."

"Is everyone okay?"

"Yeah, it was just Eddie. Bruce'll be in a mood when he gets home, I guess—this is gonna put a dent in his rehab plans."

"It worries me, how casual you are about supervillains."

"Poison Ivy and Harley Quinn are living in your house, Dick."

"True."

"How's that going?"

"Pretty good. Tim's refusing to talk to Harley about anything until he gets a photo of his parents. We were wondering if you could maybe help with that."

"Yeah, sure. He was eight when he got taken, right?"

"Right."

"So I'll find something with the three of us, when I'm under eight. Well, not me, really—other Tim has all the family photos. Give me a couple days—I'll have to find a good time to talk to him. Preferably when our parents aren't around. I think two Tims is plenty; they don't need to know there's a third who's even more traumatized than me."

"Okay. Thanks, Tim."

“Yeah. So, update on Talon-you. I mean, grown up Talon-you, not my baby brother Talon-you.”

“Okay?”

“He went home.”

“Just like that?”

“Just like that.”

“What happened to him being so dangerous they had to keep him frozen? What happened to too-messed-up-for-Martian-help?”

“I guess they found some woman from his home world who knew him before? She worked some kind of miracle. I’ll tell you the details when I get them—I’m grounded, so B locked me out of the computer.”

“Why are you grounded?”

“Lex Luthor figured out Batman’s identity, and I handled it myself instead of telling Bruce and letting him handle it.”

“Tim—”

“It’s fine. I mean, I get why I’m grounded. It was a warranted grounding. But I’m safe. He’s not like our—your—Lex. He’s my boyfriend’s dad. We went out to eat after. It was fine.”

“If you say so.”

“I say so.”

“Okay. What about Talon-me’s parents?

"Apparently he and his girlfriend went back to Owlman's world, and he's gonna see his parents there when he feels better."

"I have—so many questions."

"And I don't have answers. I'll give you the details when I get them. But I thought little Tim would want to know. You said he was worried."

"I'll tell him he's awake and free. Might leave out the part about the mystery woman. Kid doesn't need anything else to worry about."

"Just don't lie about it. Tims hate being lied to."

"I won't. I'll just keep it vague. Until we know more."

-

Tim is alone in the living room, which hardly ever happens. Well, mostly alone. Bud is sitting on the floor in front of the couch, and Tim is petting him with his feet while he reads.

The book is less boring than the ones he’s usually offered, and he’s paying too much attention to it. Not enough attention to his surroundings. He doesn’t even realize Dick is there until he talks.

“Hey, Tim? Can I talk to you for a minute?”

Tim nods slowly, closing the book, withdrawing his feet from Bud’s back. He sits up straighter, trying to look attentive.

“I got an update about Talon me,” Dick says.

Tim leans forward, expressing too much interest despite his best efforts. “Is he—is he okay?”

“Yeah. He’s not frozen anymore. He's left the Watchtower. He’s safe.”

“He’s not with Owlman?”

“Owlman is dead,” Dick says. And Tim—Tim knows that now, but that doesn’t mean—dead is the safest place for a Talon to be.

“He’s not with Owlman?” he repeats.

“No. He’s safe and alive. He's with friends.”

Talons don’t have friends. But maybe Dick means Dick’s friends, not Talon friends. He nods.

“I’ll see if you can talk to him, once he’s settled in a little. If you want.”

“Okay. I can go now?”

“You can go,” Dick says.

Tim retreats to the safety of his room, where he can think without feeling Dick’s eyes on him.

All of the other Talons are safe from Owlman. And Tim is safe from all of them. And all of them are safe from Tim. But maybe—maybe if they unfroze the first Talon, that means he's kind again. Maybe Tim could be safe with him, instead of just safe from him.

He doesn’t think he wants to see the other Talons again. He knows he doesn’t want Damian to see the first Talon again—he's too little to remember before the special screaming room. To remember the kindness. But maybe—maybe Tim could see just—just the first Talon. Or talk to him. Maybe.

-

Nothing can make Pam feel old quite like Dick Grayson. He must be close to thirty now. And she remembers when he was tiny.

Before the other Robins, before the Batgirls, before Harley, there were Batman and Robin. And Robin was a baby. And now here he is, raising children of his own. Brothers, he calls them, not sons. But that doesn’t change the fact that he’s raising them.

She was already a doctor, when she started fighting Batman and Robin. And she’d gotten her doctorate early, but still. It’s been over twenty years since she finished school. Nearly that long since she became a supervillain.

She’s old enough to be the mother of a nearly thirty year old. It’s terrifying.

She never used to care about the Bat kids. She never hated them like she did Batman, never really disliked them at all. Tried not to hurt them more than she could avoid, because they were children. But actually caring—it’s probably Harley’s fault, somehow.

They’ve all grown up now. Even Tim, somewhere out in the multiverse, the littlest Bat, is at least nineteen.

She never felt any urge to take care of them, when they were kids. She tried not to really hurt them, but she didn’t—

They’re all adults. They can take care of themselves.

They need to eat more vegetables, and get more sleep. They need to wear sunscreen. They need to stop slouching. They need to recycle more. They need to talk to each other, and to a therapist who’s never lost her license due to criminal insanity.

The urge to parent grown adults she used to fight as children is baffling and infuriating. And it makes her feel so old.

“Richard, stop sulking,” she says.

He looks up at her, indignant. “I am not sulking.”

“You are. You’re sulking because Harley is a better acrobat than you.” Pam suspects this is not something a parent would say. Which is good, because she is not a parent. She is a supervillain.

“She is not.”

“Really? Because it looked like—”

“Just because she can use the hyenas—she’s had years with them. You can’t incorporate animals into your routine on the fly. And it’s hard on their spines, at that size. And it sets a bad example for the kids. And you cheated.”

Originally Harley and Dick had just been practicing, or playing, or something in between, enjoying having another gymnast around. Then Tim and Damian had started watching, and it had turned into showing off.

Pam will admit that Harley’s performance was more impressive only because of the hyenas and the vines Pam sent to catch her in the air. She and Dick are very evenly matched. Dick might be better, though she’d never tell Harley that. He’s younger. More flexible.

“So you’re not sulking.”

“Maybe a little,” he admits.

“She is a little hard on them,” Pam admits in turn. “They’re not young hyenas. But at least she means well. They’ve been through much worse with the Joker.”

“I don’t want the kids to think they can ride them,” Dick says, shifting easily from whiny kid mode to responsible parent mode.

“They probably can. They weigh practically nothing.”

“Temporarily,” Dick says. “Hopefully.”

Pam shrugs. She’s only met the one Damian, but the other Tim she knew hadn’t ever grown very much. “Come help me. There are dozens of tomatoes to be brought in.”

Notes:

BTW we are now caught up with the events of "Who Shall Make the Clown Laugh?"

Chapter 24

Summary:

“That’s—that’s them,” Tim says.

“Yeah."

“It’s not other them. It’s my them. I—I remember. Daddy used the tripod.”

Dick gets a text from Tim a few days after their last phone conversation.

"So other Tim has a ton of photos, and I have a few. But it sounds like Gotham was already pretty much a dystopia when little Tim was born, so I thought a lot of the settings and clothes wouldn't be familiar to him. I went through a bunch of Owlman stuff until I found a photo from his world."

"I could have gotten Red Hood to do that, Tim. I asked you because I thought it would be easy for you to run next door."

"I know. But he has things to do - he's an adult and a vigilante. I have a lot more free time."

"Owlman has a lot of really creepy stuff. You don't need to put yourself through that."

"You don't need to protect me from my choices - i'm an adult too. i like doing this stuff. " He sends through the photo, Jack and Janet both dressed more casually than Dick's ever seen, Jack's arm around Janet's waist, Janet holding a four or five year old Tim, all three of them smiling widely.

"I touched it up a little," Tim texts. "I can get more - not like this, not really his. but other tim has a ton. Maybe some of mom and dad when they were younger would be nice? before the universes deviated so much?"

"Yeah. We'll start with this, though. it's great. thank you."

-

Dick forwards Tim’s photo to Jason, who gets it printed out the next time he goes into town. Less than a week after the initial request, they have a framed, 8x10 photo.

Jason gets home to find Cass in the kitchen, and no one else in sight.

"Where is everyone?"

"Pam is out doing plant things. Harley is walking the hyenas—took Damian."

"Is that safe?"

Cass shrugs. "Dick said okay. We agreed Dick is the most in charge of them."

"Yeah, but—"

"He really wanted to. We trust her for therapy—why not walks?"

"It's the hyenas," Jay admits.

"Good boys."

"Okay. So where are Dick and Tim?"

"Tim, hiding in his room. Dunno about Dick."

"Find him while I put the groceries away? He won't want to miss giving Tim his photo."

-

Dick goes to collect Tim while Cass helps Jay put the last of the groceries away. He knocks on the door. A minute or two passes, filled with the soft sounds of Tim moving things around, before the door opens. Tim slots himself in the doorway, obstructing Dick’s view of the room behind him.

Dick’s pretty sure he’s not up to anything worth worrying about. Privacy is new for him—he’ll be taking as much as he can get.

“Hey, Tim. Could you come to the living room with me? We have something for you.”

He looks maybe a little suspicious—he’s so hard to read—so Dick adds, “Something good.”

Tim follows him silently to the living room. Cass and Jay are waiting. Jay has a paper bag on his lap.

As soon as Tim sits down, he passes it to him.

“I should—I should open it?” he checks.

“Open,” Cass says.

Tim does, extracting the framed photo carefully. He makes a soft, surprised sound when he sees the figures, and for a moment Dick is afraid he’ll drop it. Instead, he clutches it tighter.

“Look at the back,” Jason suggests, and Tim turns it over slowly. Jay’s written “Jack, Janet, and Timothy Drake” on the back of the frame, and the year the photo was taken.

“That’s—that’s them,” Tim says, flipping it back around. “They’re Jack and Janet?”

“Yeah,” Jason says.

“It’s not other them. It’s my them.”

“It is,” Cass says.

“I—I remember. Daddy used the tripod.”

Okay, older Tim was right. Tracking down a photo from Owlman’s world was definitely worth it.

“Do you want to put it in your room?” Dick suggests.

Tim nods. He stands, and nearly runs to his room, hugging the photo to his chest.

He turns back a moment later. “Thank you,” he says, and then flees before any of them can answer. He doesn’t emerge until dinnertime.

-

Tim stares at his photo. He stares at it until Jason comes to get him for supper. His mom. His dad. He remembers. Not just them—he never forgot them, not completely—but that day. He remembers how his pants were new, not washed yet, the fabric scratchy. He remembers how his dad set the timer wrong the first time, so he wasn’t in position by the time the picture took, and they had to do it again. He remembers how his mom left the next morning, back then when Owlman let people leave, and he cried every day for a week, and she didn’t come home for two months. His dad left, three weeks after she came back.

“Someday we’ll be together always,” Mom had told him, once. “Someday Owlman will be gone, and we’ll be together, and I’ll show you the world.”

But they’ll never be together, and she’ll never show him anything, because she’s dead.

Her name was Janet. Jack and Janet and Tim Drake. He knows now. Owlman will never take that from him again.

He puts the picture under his pillow. It feels funny, that night, sleeping on it, but he doesn’t care. Under him is the safest place it can be. No one can take it from him if he sleeps on top of it.

No one would take it anyway. Dick and Cass and Jason gave it to him, and Harley told them to give it to him, and Damian won’t hurt him unless Owlman makes him. And Owlman is gone.

The Plant Lady—

Pam doesn’t have any reason to take it from him, either. None of them will take it from him.

He’s still sleeping on it. At least for tonight.

Maybe—maybe not every night. It is really uncomfortable.

-

Cassandra's babiest brother is asleep in her lap. His arms and legs are streaked with drying mud, and there are leaves and more mud in his hair.

She has tried so hard to help him. And she hasn't done a bad job. But nothing she can do is like what the hyenas can do. He forgets all the things that scare him when he's playing with Bud and Lou. He's been playing in the woods all day, chasing them and being chased, wrestling and rolling in the dirt, being a little boy. He's tired from a day of having fun, not from a day of being afraid.

She picks the leaves and dirt clumps out of his hair, slowly, careful not to wake him. She'll get in trouble later for leaving the mess all on the couch, but on the couch is better than in Dami's hair. And maybe she'll be able to vacuum it up before Jay notices.

Jay worries. He worries about messes and injuries and hyenas.

Dick is the best at taking care of their feelings. Jason is the best at taking care of their bodies and their home. Cass is just—here. She can do what the others ask. She can help Damian, but not any better than a hyena can.

He shifts a little, making a soft, mostly-sleeping sound, and Cass pauses on the tiny twig she's untangling. She doesn't want to wake him.

She's just resumed her efforts, sure he's sound asleep again, when Dick comes into the room. His body language is all stress and sorrow—maybe he's been texting Tim, or maybe something reminded him of one of the bad things. She'll ask later, when she's not trying to not wake Damian. She smiles at him, and watches all the hurt in his body melt away. For now. She knows it'll come back. But for now he sits down with her, on the side where the mess isn't, careful not to jostle Damian, and he leans into her, and he doesn't feel so sad.

She will do more. She will be better. But in a world where they've lost so much, just being here is worth something, too.

-

Damian appears in front of him. Dick sets down his phone—he'll finish the text to Tim later. "Hey, Dami. What's up?"

"Tim got a photo of his parents."

"He did."

"I want a photo of my parents."

Dick panics. He doesn't let it show. "Okay. I'll see what I can do."

Damian nods, then he climbs onto the couch, tucking himself into Dick's side.

He's so cute. Dick has no idea how to give him what he wants without traumatizing him.

He waits a few minutes, to see if Damian will say anything else, but he seems content to sit there quietly, so Dick picks his phone back up. He doesn't mention Damian's request to Tim. There are no photos of Talia and baby Damian together in his world, since they didn't meet until Damian was fifteen, and Tim does not need any more problems to solve. They can figure this out on their own. Or enlist Red Hood Jason.

-

"A photo of his parents," Jay repeats.

Dick nods.

"How do we say no?" Cass asks. "Without upsetting—without being unfair?"

"Well," Dick says, "we can get a photo of Talia, at least. Ideally a photo of Damian and Talia together, but I don't know where. Do we know of any Damians that were with Talia as toddlers and are still on speaking terms with her?"

"This world," Cass offers.

"Yeah, but how do we ask her?"

"Don't have to," Jay says. "Hang on a sec."

He goes to his room. Flips through the disorganized contents of his top desk drawer until he finds it—he buried it on purpose. Didn't want to look at it, think about it, think about the family he'd thought he could have.

He goes back to the kitchen. Sets the photo down on the counter. Talia, holding Damian, age two-ish. She's smiling that soft smile she only ever smiled for Damian.

"Where did you—" Dick starts.

Jason cuts him off. "I don't want to talk about it." He'd stolen it. From Talia. When he knew she was about to send him away. Something to remember them by. He'd never known Damian that young, but it was the picture he'd had a chance to grab. He doesn't really want to give it away. But it's not like he looks at it. It'll mean more to Damian.

"Do you want to make a copy the next time you go into town?" Dick asks. "So you can keep this one?"

“Yeah. Yeah, I’ll do that.”

Notes:

A couple people have expressed interest in the Lex, Tim, identity reveal situation. I do have that scene written from Lex's perspective, for the eventual part 4. If you'd like me to post the scene on Tumblr now, as sort of a preview, let me know and I'll post it when I get a chance.

Also, I've just finished the story about Talon Jay in his new home. It's 5 chapters, 8000ish words. I'll try to post it in the next couple weeks here.

(This is my busiest time of year. It shouldn't impact normal posting, because the next several chapters are pre-written, but I might be slow on the extra stuff and comment replies through Christmas. Or I might be faster than usual because I'm procrastinating on the things keeping me busy. Time will tell.)

Chapter 25

Summary:

"They could have lived another year, if they gave me to Owlman. He—he took me anyway. They could have just given me to him. They could have lived."

"They could have lived," Harley says, "but they would have had to live with themselves, knowing they had betrayed you. One year of life isn't worth that much."

Notes:

Shortish chapter this week. Happy Thanksgiving!

"I have to talk to you now," Tim says, trying not to fidget. It's harder than it used to be.

"You don't have to," Harley says.

But he does. A deal is a deal, even if she says it's not.

Harley makes him nervous. Not the way Pam does, not the way the others do. She's new. Really new, not just a new person but a new face. He's never met a version of her before. He doesn't have any prior experience to predict what she'll do, what she wants.

"I'll talk to you," he says.

"Okay. What do you want to talk about?"

Tim frowns. "That's your job."

"You're scared, right now. I don't want you to be scared or uncomfortable. So we can talk about whatever you feel comfortable with, first, and go from there."

Tim doesn't feel comfortable talking about anything. But they gave him a picture, so he has to give something back. And what they want is talking. But he didn't know he'd have to figure it out on his own.

"You talked to Damian about family," he says.

"Yeah. Do you want to talk about family, too?"

Tim shrugs.

"Okay. Well. Could you tell me a little about your parents?"

He lets himself think for a minute, before answering. "Our house was a museum. They couldn't take me out into the world, so they brought the world to me. They had to travel a lot, for work. They took turns, so I wouldn't be alone. Until Owlman didn't let them leave anymore."

He'd been so happy when they couldn't travel anymore. He'd been little. Damian-sized, maybe. He didn't understand—he just wanted his parents. It had been so fun, having them home every day. Until all the nice things disappeared from their house, and they'd gotten more and more stressed, and he—he hadn't known what was going to happen. But he'd known something bad was coming.

"You missed them," Harley says.

"I miss them," he corrects her.

She nods.

"They could have lived another year, if they gave me to Owlman. He—he took me anyway. They could have just given me to him. They could have lived."

"They could have lived," Harley says, "but they would have had to live with themselves, knowing they had betrayed you. One year of life isn't worth that much."

Tim doesn't answer. He picks up a pillow and starts playing with the tassel on the corner, making little braids. He doesn't think he's worth more than a year of life. He doesn't—you make sacrifices, for the people you love. He remembers—he remembers that from somewhere. From his parents, maybe. But it isn't—it isn't true.

He thinks about love. Tries to remember how it felt, the shape of it beneath his skin.

He loves Damian, he decides. If he loves anyone besides his parents, anyone alive, he loves Damian. And he didn't make sacrifices for Damian. He did lots of bad things to Damian, so Owlman would do less bad things to him.

But he didn't love Damian yet, then. There wasn't room for love, with Owlman.

He wants to think he wouldn't hurt Damian to save himself, now. But he thinks about Owlman, and he isn't—he isn't sure. He can be brave about a lot of things, but Owlman—Owlman is—

If his parents had given him to Owlman, then when they couldn't make their payments next year, when they had nothing left to offer him, he would have sent a Talon for their heads.

And that Talon would have been Tim.

Would he—would he have done it?

Would he have a choice? Would he have gone to the special screaming room, if he hadn't listened? Would he be able to do anything but listen, after the special screaming room?

They would have gotten another year to live. But at the end of it, their son would have killed them.

"Are you all right, Tim?" Harley asks.

"Yes," he lies. "Can I go now?"

"Sure. We'll talk more next week."

Tim sets the pillow aside, and goes back to his own room. He looks at the picture of his parents, sitting on the dresser next to his spider plant, so he can see it all the time. He would have—he would have killed them. He did kill Damian. A lot. He killed lots of Talons a lot. He killed—he killed a lot of people.

He was scared. He was so scared, always.

He doesn't think that's a good excuse for killing people.

His parents died for him. Did they know he'd have killed them if they hadn't?

He goes back to the talking room. Harley is still there.

"Tim?"

He sits back down. "I'm a murderer."

"Me too," Harley says.

Tim doesn't know what to say about that. He starts playing with the tassel again.

"Is Damian a murderer?" Harley asks.

"Yes. But it's not his fault."

"Why not?"

"He was so little."

"Tim, you were little, too. You're still little."

"I'm twelve."

"Twelve is little. You were little, and you were kidnapped and tortured and manipulated. You were—" She stops, and Tim looks up. She looks upset. She takes a deep breath, and starts again. "You were hurt in so many ways that we still don't fully understand. Everything we've heard specifics on is horrible. A lot of it makes the Joker look harmless."

"What's the Joker?"

"It's—not important right now. The point is, you killed people because Owlman made you kill people. It wasn't your fault."

"How do you know?"

She frowns. "It's not Damian's fault. What about the other Talons. Do you blame them? For hurting you? For doing what Owlman told them?"

He has to think about it for a minute. "No."

"Why not?"

"Owlman made them."

"Then why do you blame yourself?"

"I—I don't know."

Harley nods. "Think about that. Okay? Think about why you blame yourself, and not the other people in the same situation. Think about whether you're being fair. And we can talk about it more next time."

-

She's had three therapy sessions with Damian now. He sits on the floor in front of the coffee table, coloring, and they talk in what she hopes are age appropriate ways, not about anything too big, not yet. It's nice.

Tim—she's just had what's really their first session, since all he would say last time was that he wanted a photo. And it was—

She tried to keep things light. Tried to stay in his comfort zone. Which she gets the impression is a very small zone. And it went well! They talked a little, and he sat there looking thoughtful for several minutes afterward. She's still mostly a stranger, and he's still very uncomfortable with everything; getting him to think about things at all is great. Talking to her about his thoughts will come with time.

But then he'd come back.

He was so like her Tim. Kidnapped and tortured. Blaming himself for things he'd never blame anyone else for. She'd—she'd almost forgotten, for a second. Which is ridiculous, because her Tim is several years older, and significantly more human-looking. He was just—

Ugh.

She can't provide therapy for a traumatized kid if she can't separate him in her head from another kid, especially a kid whose life and trauma she's been so personally involved in.

He needs therapy, and she is the only option he has. So she's gonna have to figure herself out.

Chapter 26

Summary:

"Hey, Tim," he says. "What's up?"

"You lied. All of you lied. To Damian. About the photo."

Tim and Harley are both being weird.

This Tim's weird isn't the same as her first Tim's weird. It's taken her time to learn to read him. It's still really hard sometimes. She thinks he must have worked really hard, at some point, to become unreadable. Dami is easy—the littler you are, the harder it is to hide your feelings. But Tim is still so hard.

She thinks something is bothering him, but she has no idea what. He seems more anxious than usual, and more—what's that word? Jason uses it sometimes. Introspective? She thinks that's right.

Harley is on edge and maybe a little guilty? But Cass doesn't think she's done anything bad. Tim isn't acting like he's upset with or afraid of Harley. And Cass knows that More Scared Than Usual is one of the things she can always read on Tim.

Harley is a grown up. She can handle whatever she's being weird about herself; that is not Cassandra's job. Tim, though. Tim is her job.

She gets cookies from the kitchen. Jason has been baking a lot since the kids got here, but not for a few days. Right now they have Oreos from the grocery store. Two Oreos for bribery, and she goes to sit next to Tim on the couch.

(Her Tim—her older Tim—likes Oreos. She doesn't think this Tim has had any yet, at least not here. She talked to him—older Tim—for a long time, yesterday. Not a scheduled day, even. He called her. Said he was bored. It was nice.)

"Do you want Oreos?" she asks.

Tim looks over at her. Suspicious, but only a little. "Cookies?" he asks.

"Cookies."

He takes them.

"Are you okay?" she asks.

"Yes."

"Are you really okay?"

He eats the first cookie. He eats the second cookie. There's a...getting-ready-ness, maybe, to his body. He's going to answer. She just needs to be patient.

"Am I bad?" he asks, after the second cookie.

"No," she says. "You are very good."

Tim doesn't answer. Cass doesn't think he's convinced.

"Did Harley say you were bad?" That doesn't sound like something Harley would say. But they're both being weird since Tim's therapy.

"No. Harley said I'm not being fair."

"To who?"

"To me."

"Because you thought you were bad?" Cass guesses. She wishes Dick or Jason was here. They would be better at this.

Tim nods.

"I have a special—a special talent. I can read people. I can tell what they're thinking or feeling or planning to do next in a fight. It's not perfect. It doesn't have details. I can tell if—if you're sad, or hungry, but not what you're sad about, or hungry for. I could tell if you were bad. You're not. I promise."

Tim nods again. He still doesn't look convinced. But he looks less unconvinced than he did a minute ago.

"If you promise not to tell Jay, I will give you a third Oreo," she offers, because she does not want him to be sad.

He smiles at her, and it's real.

-

"Tim asked if he was bad," Cass reports when the kids are in bed.

"Bad, like, a bad person?" Jay asks.

She nods.

"What did he say when you told him no?" Dick asks. He doesn't need to ask what she told him; of course she'd have said no.

"Not convinced."

"You think he's thinking about all those murders he technically committed?"

"Probably. Been off since therapy. But that's—um. Secret. Private?"

"Confidential," Jason offers.

"That."

"Nothing a kidnapped and tortured eight to twelve year old does is his own fault."

"Yeah," Dick says. "But this is Tim. A Tim. Good luck convincing him of that. I think our Tim still blames himself for what happened with the Joker sometimes."

Cass nods, frowning.

"So he's stubborn. But like, less stubborn than he could be, right?" Jason says. "Which is mostly bad—Owlman spent four years beating the stubbornness out of him. But maybe he'll be a little easier to convince than a baseline Tim?"

"Maybe," Dick says. "We don't want to push him. I think we wait for him to bring it up again."

-

“Hey, Damian,” Dick says, “do you remember when you asked for a photo of your parents?”

Damian nods. That was only last week. He’s not stupid. He’s not very good at being a Talon, maybe, or a little boy, but he can remember things that happened last week.

“We have a picture of your mom,” he says. “We couldn’t get one of your dad. I’m really sorry.”

Jason holds out a frame, and Damian takes it. He can see they all expect him to be sad about not having a picture of his dad, but he isn't. He doesn’t remember his dad. Or his mom. He doesn’t know anything about real life parents. He just thought he must have some, since people have to get born somehow. And Tim got a picture of his, so Damian wanted one too. So things were fair.

He looks at the picture in the frame. There’s a pretty lady in a pretty dress, holding a baby.

“Who is that?” he asks.

“That’s you,” Cass says. “When you were little. Before you were a Talon.”

“Oh,” Damian says. She must be the hug he remembers. She’s not quite hugging him in the picture. Just holding him. But if anyone ever hugged him, Before, it was probably his mom. Right?

“Her name was Talia,” Jason says.

Damian nods. He looks over at Tim, on the other couch, watching with his careful face.

“Tim, do you want to see my mom?”

“Sure.”

-

The kids have been in bed for over an hour. Most of the adults are still awake, but they've scattered; Harley is out with the hyenas, Cass is in her room—maybe sleeping, Dick's not sure—and he has no idea where Pam got to. Dick and Jay are in the living room, Jay reading a book, Dick scouring the internet for any updates on the various friends he's lost touch with. (He doesn't let himself do that, usually. Just—there was a possible speedster sighting in Iran the other day. And he—he had to read about that, right? And he sort of spiralled from there.)

So it's him and Jason in the common areas when Tim emerges. He comes to stand in front of the couch, frowning, adorable in pajamas featuring what look like knock-off Thomas the Tank Engine characters—Cass must have bought them for him. Jay puts down his book, actually placing the bookmark instead of leaving it open, face down, on the couch, so Tim will know he has his full attention. Dick closes and sets aside his laptop.

"Hey, Tim," he says. "What's up?"

"You lied."

"What'd Dick lie about?" Jason asks.

"All of you lied. To Damian. About the photo."

Dick and Jay exchange glances. "Tim," Dick starts.

"You told him you couldn't get a picture of his dad. But you have contact with other worlds. At least three of them. There's no way you couldn't find out who his dad was and get a photo of him, not with at least four worlds to check. You lied to him."

"Yeah," Jason admits. "We lied."

"Why?"

"To protect him."

"From what?"

Dick looks at Jay. Jay looks at Dick. He shrugs. They wanted to protect Tim, too. But that's not going to work, is it?

(At least Tim is asking them. At least he trusts them enough to say something, instead of panicking alone about their plans.)

"Tim," Dick says, "do you know who Damian's dad is?"

He doesn't answer right away. He stands there, frowning his thoughtful frown, for a long moment. "It's Owlman," he says finally. "Isn't it?"

"Yeah, bud," Jay says. "It's Owlman."

"Oh."

"Do you want to sit with us?" Dick asks.

Tim does, sinking slowly onto the empty cushion between them. "I won't tell him," he says.

"I think that's for the best. At least until he's older."

Tim nods. "Did he kill Damian's mom? Even—even though he had a baby with her? Or did they decide to have a baby together because they were both evil?"

"We don't know," Jason says. "We know her name, and we know other versions of her, some good, some bad, but we don't know anything about your home world's version of her."

"Did you ever hear Owlman mention a woman?" Dick asks. "Did he say anything when Damian arrived?"

Tim shakes his head. "Owlman went away—he did sometimes—and he came back with Damian. He made him a Talon right away. He didn't say anything about it. He wouldn't. He didn't—didn't talk to us. Except for the first Talon, sometimes, but he didn't like him to answer, and he especially didn't like him to say anything about it later. But he didn't talk to him about Damian, because they weren't alone, and then he went to the special screaming room."

"Why did he go to the screaming room?" Jason asks.

"For trying to take care of Damian. Protecting him. Going easy on him. Owlman didn't like that."

"Did Owlman treat Damian differently from the rest of you?" Dick asks.

"No." Tim frowns. "Yes. But not— not better. Worse, but not—not personal worse? He seemed frustrated. That Damian was too little to understand things and do what he wanted. But Damian couldn't help being a baby. I hope—I hope his mom loved him."

"I hope so, too," Dick says.

Tim doesn't answer.

"Do you know why Owlman made Damian a Talon so young?" Jason asks, after a few minutes.

Tim yawns. "So none of us would kill him," he says, very casually.

Dick and Jason exchange a look over his head. "To protect him?" Dick asks.

Tim nods. "We could have pretended it was an accident, because we didn't remember how fragile real kids were. Any—any of us might have done it." He yawns again, sinking deeper into the couch. "Permanently killing a Talon is too—too on-purpose. Can't make it look like an accident. None of us would dare."

A few minutes later he's asleep. Jason carries him back to bed.

"Has Tim ever said that many words to us?" Jay asks when he's back. "Like, combined, over the last six months?"

Dick shakes his head. "We gave him the photo. And Harley didn't let him make a bargain for it, made it clear we were just giving it to him. We told him the other me is safe and awake. We were honest with him just now, about Damian and Owlman."

"So we finally earned some trust. After six months."

"I'm not sure if I'm more surprised that he talked, or that he fell asleep."

Jay nods. "He doesn't—he doesn't really talk about the other Talons. Besides Damian. But he clearly cares about other you. Should we try to arrange something? A meeting where they're both alive and awake?"

"Not yet, I think. Let him get settled—he hadn't even met his parents when I talked to Tim. But in a couple months, yeah. If they're both up for it."

Notes:

Bonus preview of Lex figuring out Batman's identity from Part 4 is now on iowritewords.tumblr.com. Some new announcements and stuff up, too. Talon!Jay's story, Bird and Bee, will start posting this week.

Chapter 27

Summary:

"Why are storms so scary?" Cass asks.

"It always stormed when he was extra mad at us. I think—I think he planned it. I think when he knew a storm was coming, he would give us tasks he knew we'd fail at, so there was—so there was something to punish us for. Whoever he was maddest at had to sit outside the whole time."

"It's not safe," Jason says. He stands in front of them, arms crossed, glowering.

If Harley hadn't been a dangerous criminal, if she hadn't known him so well, if she hadn't seen him running around Gotham in a leotard as a child, it might have been scary. Scary is the intention, she's sure. Or intimidating, at least. She's seen that expression on his face cow his siblings more than once. But Harley's not that easy.

"We can't stay cooped up here forever."

"It's been less than two months since Lou killed and started eating a member of the—"

"We'll be careful. And we'll only be gone a couple days."

"You," Jason says, radiating skepticism. "Careful."

"We need space sometimes."

"Don't tell me you don't love being in the car alone when you make your grocery runs," Pam says.

He deflates a little. "If you get recognized—"

"We won't lead anyone back to you," Harley promises. "Two days. Take good care of Bud and Lou."

-

The kids and the hyenas are antsy, with Pam and Harley gone. At first, they think the hyenas are anxious because Harley is gone, and the kids are anxious because the hyenas are. It isn't until the thunder becomes audible that they make the connection—the kids and the hyenas all have sensitive hearing.

Damian jolts in Jason's arms as the sky rumbles again, and the whole house shakes. Bud whines. Or maybe Lou. Jason's not very good at telling them apart.

It was just a little cloudy, this morning. By late afternoon they've got a serious storm underway.

"I've been good," Damian mumbles, half a question.

"Yeah," Jay says. "You're so good. The best."

"Then why is the sky yelling at me?"

"The sky is an asshole," Jason tells him. Jason's not...afraid of storms, exactly. Anymore. But he remembers being a kid, living on the streets. Not being able to get inside during storms. Wondering how he would ever get dry, what he would do if he got sick. Watching shelters he'd made get swept away, watching precious food fall apart in the wet. Reminding himself again and again how unlikely it was to get struck by lightning, 270 people per year in the US, and then thinking, well, someone's gotta be one of those 270 people—why not me? So he gets it. Storms are scary.

"Jason," Dick says, and it takes him a second to realize he's being scolded for swearing in front of the kids.

"Sorry."

"Dami," Dick says, "can you tell me what's scary about the storm?"

Jason glances over at him, annoyed—Dick's smart enough to figure out on his own why a traumatized little kid with enhanced hearing wouldn't like thunderstorms.

Dick looks to his left, and Jason follows his gaze to Tim, on the floor, curled against one of the hyenas, eyes squeezed shut, one hand clutching at the hyena's fur (which he's being remarkably tolerant of), visibly distressed.

Okay, yeah. Dick's right. Tim's Talon training is holding a lot stronger than Damian's, so he shouldn't be visibly distressed right now, unless there's something more going on. There must have been plenty of storms during the time they were with Owlman, and Jay doubts he would just tolerate an obvious display of weakness whenever the weather got bad.

Damian hasn't answered the question. Which isn't surprising, because he's six, and scared. Jay's not going to repeat it, and he doesn't think Dick wants to, either.

Lightning strikes outside, lighting up the whole sky for a moment. Tim squeezes his eyes shut tighter. Damian flinches, then hides his face in Jason's side. Thunder, and they both flinch again.

Cass comes back from the kitchen and distributes hot chocolates. She ends with Tim, sitting down beside him as he takes the mug. Dick looks a little jealous—Tim flinched hard last time Dick got that close to him, maybe half an hour ago. But Jason doesn't think it's personal. Cass has hot chocolate for him. Dick didn't.

Damian pulls away from Jay a little to drink his hot chocolate.

"Why are storms so scary?" Cass asks. She probably heard Dick ask, before, but she's directing the question at Tim, which is more likely to get an answer.

"It always stormed when he was extra mad at us. I think—I think he planned it. I think when he knew a storm was coming, he would give us tasks he knew we'd fail at, so there was—so there was something to punish us for. Whoever he was maddest at had to sit outside the whole time."

Okay. So they're dealing with a sensitive kid's natural aversion to a loud storm, plus years of that aversion being used against them for Owlman's amusement. That would explain the fear. Owlman probably wanted them to be visibly distressed. He probably enjoyed it.

Sometimes Jay wishes he could have been the one to kill Owlman. Then he remembers Owlman had his dad's face, and he changes his mind.

More lightning. More thunder. Damian jumps, and spills his hot chocolate on Jay's arm, and it burns.

He tries not to react. "Dick?"

"Yeah," Dick says, standing.

He doesn't have to explain. They understand each other. Dick swaps places with Jason, taking over the Damian-comforting so Jay can run cold water over his arm. He heads for the kitchen, and whichever hyena Tim doesn't have slinks after him.

He's just turned off the sink when the power goes out.

-

“Well,” Dick says. “There goes the generator.”

“Is that—is that bad?” Tim asks, voice shaky in the dark.

“Not…bad. Just inconvenient. You and Damian can see okay in the dark, but it’s harder for us. As long as it doesn’t stay out a long time, there won’t be any other problems.”

Jason comes back into the room, guided by a tiny flame—he’s using the lighter to see his way. It shouldn’t be this dark at this time of day, but between the heavy, dark clouds and the huge trees surrounding the house, no light is getting through. They have the flickering lighter and two pairs of glowing zombie eyes to see by.

 

"Tim, can you see okay?" Jason asks.

"Yes."

"Cool. Would you mind helping me find the flashlights and candles?"

"Okay."

The two of them leave the room. Dick sees movement in the room, and feels the couch dip as Cass joins them.

"Okay, Dami?" she asks.

He doesn't answer, but he's still curled up on Dick's lap, and Dick can feel the motion of his nod.

"Cass can't see you, buddy," Dick tells him.

Damian sits up. "You can't see?" He sounds very worried.

"Cass, Jay, and I can't see in the dark," Dick explains.

"Why not?"

"Because we're not Talons."

"Oh."

Another roll of thunder, and he presses close to Dick again. One of the hyenas, somewhere in the blackness, whines.

Tim and Jason come back, and Tim sits on Cass' other side, closer than he would usually get, while Jason lights the candles.

"I should go check the generator," Dick says.

"No. You're not going out in that."

"Jason—"

"It can wait until the storm passes."

"We have no idea how long that'll be. The food could go bad."

"Pam and Harley are in town," Cass points out. "Can get more."

Overruled by overprotective siblings—it's just a thunderstorm—Dick compromises. "Ice cream for supper, then."

"That's not—"

"It'll melt. We can't let it go to waste."

"Ice cream is not—"

"Ice cream?" Damian repeats hopefully, lifting his head slightly.

Jason sighs. "Fine. But no one tells Pam about this."

-

Damian is lying on the floor, squished between Bud and Lou. It is very late, and he should be sleeping, but they said no bedtimes tonight, because of the storm.

Damian hates the storm. Every time he starts to fall asleep there are more storm noises.

He is dry. He is trying to be happy that he is inside, and dry, and not going to be struck by lightning, which really hurts. But it's still too loud, and sometimes too bright. Still scary.

He knows he won't be sent out into the storm, no matter how bad he is. And he knows he hasn't even been bad. But it's still scary.

He reaches up to pet one of the hyenas—he was too tired when he squeezed between them to even notice who was who.

The hyenas don't like it, either. Or Tim. Or Jason, he thinks. Dick and Cass are fine. Dick fell asleep on the couch, but he woke up again when there was really loud thunder. He looked annoyed to be awake, not scared of the noise.

It’s weird, knowing he can't see Damian the way Damian can see him. It feels like cheating, but Damian can't help it, and no one seems upset that he and Tim can see more than them.

He hears Cass' footsteps, hears her crouch down. He doesn't look up; he's too tired. She puts a hand on his shoulder, and drops his stuffed dog down in front of his face. He pulls it closer, squeezes it tight.

"Ear plugs not helping?" she asks.

Damian shakes his head. He can hear the thunder through the ear plugs, and even if he couldn't, he feels it, too.

"Tim, too. Sorry."

"Will it end soon?"

"Don't know. Hope so."

More thunder happens. Damian presses his face into a soft hyena side. Cass sits down all the way, as close to him as she can be with the hyenas there.

"Can't make the storm stop," she says. "But we won't let anything bad happen to you."

-

Tim wakes up on the floor. The light is on in the room, and there's more light coming in the windows. The storm is gone. He sits up slowly, looking around the room. It is a mess. Damian and Cass are sleeping on the floor, too. Dick is sleeping on one of the couches. There are burnt down candles and empty bowls and mugs all over the place. He doesn't see Jason or Bud or Lou.

It was kind of nice, the darkness yesterday. Nothing else was nice about yesterday.

Well, ice cream for supper was nice, too. But he liked the darkness. How his eyes didn't strain at all. It feels too bright, now, even though it's not very bright, really. His movie watching glasses are in the drawer by the TV; no one said he was only allowed to wear them for movies. He goes to get them, trying to be quiet, but Cass wakes up.

She sits a little, sees Tim crossing the room, and slumps back down. Damian doesn't move at all.

Tim frowns. Damian should not be sleeping that soundly. He should have heard Tim move, and he definitely should have either heard or felt Cass move.

They are safe. It’s safe to sleep through people moving around, when none of them are out to get you. Damian can sleep.

Besides, Tim must have slept through Jason and the hyenas moving.

He finds his glasses, and wanders out of the room. He would like breakfast, and he doesn't think he'd get in trouble for eating anything he found in the kitchen, but he's not sure. He would rather find Jason, and let him handle the details of breakfast.

He looks around the room again, and decides to pick up some of the dishes while he waits for Jason to appear. He's just set everything down in the sink—carefully, quietly—when he hears Jason and the hyenas come in the front door.

"Tim," he says, not being quiet at all. "You're up. Hungry?"

Tim nods. He can hear the sounds of everyone else being woken by hyenas—by being walked on by hyenas, it sounds like.

"All right. I think this is a morning for waffles."

Tim nods again. He likes waffles.

Even though the hyenas wouldn't let them sleep, it takes a while for the others to make their way to the kitchen. Tim helps pour chocolate chips into one bowl of waffle batter, and blueberries into another.

Dick is the next one to come into the kitchen. He eats a handful of chocolate chips, right out of the bag, then starts setting the table.

"Glasses?" he asks.

Tim hides his own handful of chocolate chips behind his back. "Too bright this morning," he explains.

Dick nods. "What do you think about contacts?" he asks.

"Eat those chocolate chips before you answer," Jason says, "or they'll melt in your hand and make a mess."

Chapter 28

Summary:

He glances out the window above the sink—there's something lying on the ground in the yard. Something roughly the size and shape of a person.

Well. That can't be good.

When Dick calls Bruce, he's able to get the contacts developed quickly enough for Harley and Pam to pick them up at the usual multiverse meeting place before they come home.

It's not that far out of the way, and it's not like any of them have full schedules. Dick could have gone to meet Bruce himself for pick-up. But it's always a little weird, seeing Bruce. Awkward and a little painful. He likes to see him, but he knows it can never last long, and that—that's hard. So he has Pam and Harley get the contacts.

Bruce had two pairs made, one for each kid. Tim was interested. Dick's not confident he'd going to get a six year old wearing contacts, but they'll be available, in case.

It was nice of Pam and Harley to agree. Harley hadn't wanted to meet Bruce in person, last time the opportunity came up.

It's not until after he's made the arrangements with Bruce and Harley that it occurs to him maybe Tim would have been willing to see them in person, if he'd asked. Maybe he'd have come with Bruce to drop off the contacts.

He still doesn't want to push. And he doesn't—he doesn't want to make excuses. The next time he sees Tim, he wants to just see Tim. And he wants to be sure Tim wants to see him, too. He doesn't want to have an excuse like needing something from Bruce. And he doesn't want to spring it on him—Tim'll be less stressed if he has more time to prepare for a reunion.

Dick hasn't talked to Cass about it, but he thinks she feels the same way; she hasn't suggested trying to arrange a meeting, either.

They'll see him again. But he probably needs more time. He hasn't been texting them for that long, and he just made his first unscheduled phone call last week.

-

Tim sits on the counter in the bathroom with Dick's tablet, watching videos of people putting in contacts. After five videos, he feels ready. Dick and Cass and Jason all offered to help, but he did not want help. If things are going to be stuck in his eyes, he's going to be the one doing the sticking.

He almost gets the left one in, but just when the contact is about to touch his eye—

It's been a long time since he last had an eye gouged out. Owlman only does that to them, or has them do it to each other, when he's really mad, because it takes a long time to heal. Days. And blind Talons are useless Talons.

Sometimes they'd have just one eye gouged out, so they could still be useful, but even then it throws them off a little—their vision, their balance. So it doesn't happen often.

His eye isn't going anywhere. He's putting something in, not gouging something out.

He tries a second time, and a third, but he keeps getting too scared, right at the last second.

He doesn't have to put the contacts in. He knows they're fancy, special contacts, made just for him, brought over from a different universe. But no one is going to be mad if he changes his mind and doesn't use them, doesn't even try them. No one will be mad.

But if he puts them in, the lights won't hurt his eyes anymore.

He gets the left one in on his fourth try. It feels funny, at first, and he sits there for a few minutes, blinking, until he gets used to it.

The world looks strange, with one contact in. There's a dull ache in his right eye that he didn't notice until it went away on the left. The lights aren't quite so bright. He can still see everything, but seeing doesn't hurt.

He hops off the counter to flick off the bathroom light. In the dark, everything is normal; he can still see just as well with his left eye, even with the contact in.

The right contact goes in easier.

-

Harley comes home gushing about some ruins on a hill that she read about in the city. It's an hour drive, and then a several mile hike, away from the house, and she is determined that the whole family has to go.

"Since when do you hike?" Jason asks.

"I'm trying new things! Turning over new leaves! I have to have some kind of hobby, if I can't be a supervillain anymore."

"You haven't been a supervillain in a long time," Cass points out.

"Well, yeah, I guess. But I've still been a criminal! If we're staying here, laying low, that means no robberies, no property destruction, no fighting, no ecoterrorism, no murders, no—"

"Okay, yeah," Dick says. "You need a new hobby. Hiking it is."

Jason shrugs. "Pam?" he asks. "You're up for the hike?"

"I've been promised rare plants."

"Okay. In the morning. Cass, help me pack lunches?"

"And sunscreen," Pam adds.

"Yeah."

"And plenty of water," Harley says.

"I know."

"And—"

"I know, guys. I've got it. Dickie, explain the concept of a hike to the kids?"

"On it."

-

Everyone else wakes up in the morning excited to leave the house, to try something new. Dick wakes up with a pounding headache.

"Are you sure you can't come?" Harley asks.

"Yeah. I feel like I'm dying."

"But we're all going," she says. "Even the hyenas."

"Wait, the hyenas?" Jay asks. "You're bringing the hyenas to a tourist destination? Not exactly the best way to maintain a low profile, Harl."

"Well, it's not really a tourist destination. People hardly ever go there."

"Then how do you know to go there?"

She shrugs. "I hear things, sometimes. But it'll be better if we all go. Please, Dick?"

"Leave him alone, Harley. He looks like shit."

"Jason—"

"Well, you do. I'm helping. Do we have to bring the hyenas?"

Harley nods. Jason sighs.

"Fine. We're taking separate cars, then."

-

Jason drives, with Cass in the front seat and the kids in back. Damian's a little upset he's not in the same car as the hyenas, but he's going to have to cope, because Jay doesn't want giant wild animals in his car, and he doesn't want Damian in theirs—Harley drives like a lunatic. And somehow, she always ends up behind the wheel, even though Pam is a much better driver.

If they all get caught because someone at this place notices the hyenas, Jason is going to break his promise not to kill anymore.

"I've never been in a car before," Damian says.

Jason forgets, sometimes, just how profoundly messed up these kids' lives are. It's the mundane things that keep throwing him. Damian hasn't been in a car while conscious since he was a toddler. He didn't understand TV, or coloring, or most toys. Almost every time Jay's made new food or dessert, it's something Damian's never had before. Tim—Tim remembers some normal kid things, at least. Jason's not sure if that makes it better or worse.

"Look out the windows," Tim says to Damian. "It's so fast you get dizzy, but in a good way?"

Jay looks at them in the rearview mirror. They're sitting right next to each other, even though there's plenty of room in the back seat for them to have more space.

They've gotten a lot closer over the last several weeks. Well, Tim's gotten closer. It always seemed like Damian was sticking as close to Tim as he dared. Which was never very close. But once he knew the truth, once he believed them, Tim went from ignoring Damian to pretty obviously looking out for him. And now they're like this, sitting squished together in the car, when most brothers their ages would be mostly annoyed with each other.

He wonders, sometimes, if it would have been easier on the kids, coming anywhere other than here. If it would have been easier for them to be separated, even if they're happy to be together now.

None of the other Talons went home together, except the bio siblings. And none of them went home with people wearing familiar faces. And whatever difficulties they had adjusting, they weren't the same as Tim's. Other Tim would have told Dick and Cass. Other Tim would have heard about any major difficulties any of them had, because that kid always seems to know everything, and he would have told them. The only Talon whose difficulties he considered worth mentioning was Dick.

But would it have been any easier for Tim? Or would Tim have been unable to trust anyone he wound up with?

Taking them both was the right thing to do. Tim still doesn't trust them completely. But he trusts Damian now. If they'd taken one Talon home, the way everyone else did, Tim wouldn't have anyone to trust. Here he has Damian.

-

Cass has decided that she likes hiking. It's hilly out here, with less trees, and much sunnier than it usually gets around their house. Damian is wearing sunglasses, which he usually doesn't have to do when they play outside, because it is so shady. Tim doesn't need them, with his new contacts. Both of them are running ahead, and occasionally behind and off to the side, usually with the hyenas.

The hyenas are not on leashes. Harley and Jason had a fight about that, and Harley won, since they are the only people here.

It is nice to be out in the sun. Nice to be out at all. Nice to be away from home and not surrounded by a busy crowd of strangers.

She wishes Dick was here.

Damian comes rushing back from wherever he's been running this time, Bud on his heels, a gigantic spider on his shoulder. Cass picks it up carefully, and holds it out for him to see.

"That was on me?"

"It was."

He strokes its back carefully, and Cass turns around to set it down on a rock.

"Lunch soon?" Damian asks when she turns her attention back to him.

"I will ask the others."

He nods, then turns to run off again.

"Don't go too far," she tells him.

He waves, already almost caught up with Tim, waiting behind a pile of rocks.

Lunch, she thinks, is a good idea. Or snacks, at least. She knows Jason packed plenty of food; she helped him.

-

Dick takes four ibuprofen and goes back to bed for a couple hours after the others leave. He feels better when he wakes up, but not great.

The house is so quiet. It's actually amazing. He hasn't been alone in a house and safe there in years.

He misses his apartment. It was lonely, sometimes. But the privacy, the freedom to do whatever he wanted, the near-complete control over his entire living space. That had been nice.

He takes more ibuprofen, and goes to check the fridge for the lunch Jay said he'd leave him. He glances out the window above the sink—there's something lying on the ground in the yard. Something roughly the size and shape of a person.

Well. That can't be good.

He rushes outside. Definitely a man, face down on the ground, wearing a nice suit. Dick checks for a pulse, and finds one, before flipping him over.

Revealing Bruce Wayne’s familiar face.

Notes:

He's finally here!

Chapter 29

Summary:

It’s not his Bruce. Of course. It’s not any Bruce he’s met—not his, or Red Hood’s, or Tim’s. Not Owlman.

Notes:

Early update because I'm too impatient for cliffhangers.

It’s not his Bruce. Of course. It’s not any Bruce he’s met—not his, or Red Hood’s, or Tim’s. Not Owlman.

He’s younger than any of them. Older than Dick, but not—maybe thirty five. At the oldest. He’s less muscular.

He’s asleep or unconscious, and doesn’t stir when Dick picks him up. He’s easy to pick up, for—for Bruce. Lighter. Dick brings him inside, sets him down on the couch, and spends probably too long just staring at him—his ridiculously overpriced suit, dirty from lying unconscious on the ground. His too-young, too-carefree face. His too-small body.

He’s not Dick’s Bruce. And there’s only one way he could have gotten here.

He leaves the room to make his phone call, not ready to deal with the consequences of not-Bruce waking up.

“What the fuck, Tim?” he asks as soon as Tim picks up.

“Oh, good, you found him. Kon had to leave him in the yard, since you didn’t go out with the others.”

“What the fuck,” Dick repeats.

“You need a Bruce.”

“Tim, you can’t—you can’t just kidnap some guy who looks—”

“I didn’t take him from anything. He didn’t have anything.”

“Tim.”

“You need him. And he needs you, too.”

“He has the same face as Owlman. Tim and Damian—”

“They’ll be fine. Once they get used to it. I ran into the Joker last week, and I’m fine.”

“You saw—are you okay? What happened?”

“I was at the mall. I came out of the store and he was setting up bombs. Backed into me before I saw him. Said “Look out, kid,” and kept going. I called Bruce and went home before the bombs went off.”

“They went off? He bombed the mall?”

“Oh, they were glitter bombs.”

Dick tries to stop panicking. “Okay. Okay. But Tim, that’s one encounter. Years later. They’d have to see him every day. And it’s only been a few months. And they’re little kids.”

“Just try it. I mean, you kind of have to. You don’t have a car right now to get the drop point, and anyway you don’t have your own multiverse tech—you need someone at the other end to send him back.”

“If I called your Bruce he would—”

“If you don’t want him by this time tomorrow I’ll take him back. Promise.”

Tim hangs up before Dick can answer.

“Fuck,” he says, for the third time today.

His head is killing him. It's too soon to take more ibuprofen, so he finds some tylenol. Then he calls Jason; he's more likely than Cass to answer his phone.

"I need you and Cass to come home. Leave the kids there with Pam and Harley."

"What's wrong?" Jason asks.

"It's—it's nothing dangerous. I don't want to explain on the phone."

"It'll probably take us a couple hours to get back."

"That's fine. Just get here as soon as you can."

 

He hangs up, and sits down on the other couch, studying Bruce. He wonders what Tim meant, about him being alone. Did his kids die? Did he never adopt them? What about Alfred? The Commissioner? The Justice League?

It doesn't matter. They're not keeping him. Dick doesn't need to know the details of his life.

He falls asleep. Which is a stupid thing to do, alone in the house with a Batman that's been abducted, either knocked out or drugged, and brought to an unfamiliar location. But he really doesn't feel good.

He doesn't think he sleeps for long. Bruce is still unconscious, and Jason and Cass aren't home yet.

If this Bruce doesn't have kids—if he doesn't know an alternate Dick Grayson—how is he going to react to Dick as a stranger who presumably kidnapped him, when he wakes up? Should Dick try to tie him up?

That would be a really unfortunate start to their relationship.

Their very brief relationship, which will be over by this time tomorrow, if he can't get someone else to collect Bruce sooner.

Still, he doesn't like the idea of restraining him.

Dick is nearly asleep again when the door opens, which means he's unable to catch Jay and Cass in the doorway and explain the situation before they see for themselves. He jumps up and tries to head them off, but the entryway and living room are pretty open-concept, and he's too late.

"D—dad?" Jason asks, voice soft and young, and Dick knows in that moment they'll be keeping him.

"It's not him," Cass says, and it's half a question.

"No. Tim dropped him off. Or had Kon do it, I guess. He hasn't woken up yet."

"So Harley's sudden interest in hiking—"

"Probably an attempt to get us out of the house, yeah," Dick says, just now putting it together. He's really not at his best today.

"Kids?" Cass asks.

"Yeah, they're gonna freak," Jason says.

"Tim said if we don't want him by this time tomorrow, he'll take him back."

"We should—we should have him do that. Right?"

"Jay—"

"I know we can't keep him. I know he's not our Bruce."

"But maybe he could be," Dick says.

"Waking up," Cass warns them.

Right. They'll talk more later. Jason is right—they should send him home. Dick had every intention of doing so, until he saw Jason's reaction.

Bruce wakes slowly. It's—their Bruce wouldn't have woken like this. He'd have pretended to be asleep for a while, to get his bearings and assess the situation. He would have been on guard, would have looked either calm or panicked, depending on the situation he was waking up to, but they would have been able to tell he wasn't, tell he was alert and ready for action.

This Bruce wakes slowly but naturally; there's no time spent pretending. He wakes, and sits up, and looks around the room, curious but not concerned. There's no recognition on his face when he looks at the three of them.

It hurts. It shouldn't—none of them have met him. Dick had known, from what Tim said, that there was a good chance they were never a part of his life.

"Hello," he says.

"Hello, Mr. Wayne," Dick says. They're—they're complete strangers. He shouldn't call him Bruce.

He smiles that charming, fake smile he uses for interviews and parties. "Please, call me Brucie. Have you made your ransom request yet?"

"Oh. Um. This isn't a kidnapping?"

Bruce looks skeptical. Understandably, probably. "The business card is in my jacket pocket, I think." He pats himself down, clearly searching for it.

"Business card?" Jason asks.

"With the number for the board. To make your ransom request?" He finds the card, and offers it to Dick, smiling again.

"The board? You don't want us to call Alfred?"

His smile slips. "Alfred Pennyworth died six years ago."

"Oh. Okay. I'm—I'm sorry. Bruce—"

"Brucie," he corrects.

"Right. Sorry. Brucie. Give us a minute?"

The three of them retreat to the kitchen. Dick turns to Cass, who hasn't said a word since Bruce woke up.

"Not Batman," she says.

"Yeah, that's what I was thinking. But he can be a good actor. You're sure?"

Cass nods.

"It doesn't matter how good an actor he is," Jason says. "We would—we would know. We're his kids. I mean, not his. But we—we know him."

"So now what? If he isn't Batman, the multiverse is going to be a tough sell."

"He might," Jason says. "He seems really chill about being kidnapped."

"That's probably just because he gets kidnapped so often. He's going by Brucie. That doesn't exactly seem like—"

"I don't think the name a man tells his kidnappers to use is any indication—"

"Hello," Bruce says, suddenly behind them. "I'm sorry to intrude, but you didn't tie me up. I was wondering if you have any food, if you're not calling the board soon. I didn't have breakfast."

Cass opens the freezer, taking out a bag of leftovers. "French toast?" she offers. It's the first time she's spoken in Bruce's presence. Dick notices she's carefully not looking at him.

Bruce nods, still smiling that fake smile that makes Dick's chest ache. "Can I ask how much the ransom is?"

"This really isn't a kidnapping."

"It technically is," Jason says.

Dick sighs. "Okay, technically. But we didn't kidnap you! Our little brother kidnapped you, and dropped you off here, without our permission. It's—temporary." Probably temporary. "We'll get you home, no ransom. We just have to work out the logistics."

Cass takes two slices of French toast out of the toaster, puts them on a plate, and sets it on the table. Bruce sits down, and Cass gives him a fork and knife before sitting across from him, staring intently. Jason gets out butter and syrup. Dick watches, chest aching, head pounding.

"What happened to Alfred?" Cass asks.

Bruce drops his fork. Dick picks it up and drops it in the sink; Jason gets a new one from the drawer.

"It's—it's public knowledge," Bruce says.

"We aren't public." Cass says. She continues staring at him; Dick isn't surprised it only takes him thirty seconds to break down and answer.

"I was hosting a gala. It was attacked by an angry clown. He was going to shoot me. Alfred—Alfred stepped between me and the gun. Security shot the clown, but it was—it was too late for Alfred."

"Six years ago," Cass says.

Bruce nods.

"You've been alone ever since."

Bruce turns his attention to the French toast, and doesn't answer.

"We'll be right back," Jason says. "Stay here."

This time they retreat to Dick's bedroom, it being the first room in the hall with a door that closes.

"He's so sad," Cass says.

"You want to keep him," Dick says.

She shrugs.

"You were so pissed when I replaced Tim. But you want to replace Bruce?"

"He's sad," Cass repeats. "And little Tim is—I'm glad he's here."

"I want to keep him, too," Jason admits.

"I know. I don't—I don't—not want to. But the kids."

"They understand about the multiverse now," Jason says. "They know that there are different versions of people, and some are good and some are bad. We can make them understand."

"Fear doesn't run on logic. Knowing he's different doesn't mean it won't be scary to be around someone who looks like Owlman."

Jay nods. Cass sighs. Dick knows that they won't push on it. Knows they'll give him the veto power he didn't think to give them six months ago. If he says it's too much for the kids, they'll let him send this Bruce home. But he remembers Jay's voice when he first saw him, and he—he can't. He should veto it. But he can't.

"Okay. But we're not holding him hostage. We have to convince him. He only stays if he wants to stay."

-

Cass calls Tim, because Dick doesn't think Tim will answer again, if he does. Dick is supervising Bruce. Jason is calling Pam and telling her to absolutely not bring the kids home until they tell her. (He is not calling Harley, because he's mad at Harley, because she probably conspired with Tim to get Bruce here.)

"We need information," she says when Tim answers.

"On Brucie?"

"Need to know him if we're going to keep him."

"So you're going to keep him?" Tim asks.

"If he wants us too. Info?"

"Should I send it to you or Dick?"

"Dick." She's not going to do all that reading.

"Okay. On it. What's Brucie been like so far? Do you—"

"I know you meant it to be nice. But I am upset. I need to go. Talk later, okay?"

She hangs up, and goes to find the others. She needs to take over Bruce watching, if Jay hasn't already, so Dick can read what Tim is sending.

This Bruce is so different. She wants—she wants him so bad. But she knows it will be different. And she's mad at Tim because if she'd never seen this Bruce, she would be fine. She's been fine. But now that he's here, she needs him. And it's going to be so different, and so hard.

This Bruce is sad, and lonely, and not a fighter, and not a dad. He smiles the same way as her Bruce. But her Bruce's smile was to hide all his planning, all his brilliance, all his strength, and this Bruce's hides something else. She isn't quite sure what yet. Maybe his sadness. Maybe fear or nervousness. She needs to watch more, to decide.

Looking at him hurts. Looking at him makes all the hurt go away. She doesn't understand how both of those things can be true, but they are.

Tim sent a lot of information, Dick tells her, when she meets him in the hall. It'll take ages to go through, but less if he splits it with Jason. That means Cass sitting alone with Bruce while they go through it, however long it takes.

"Okay," she says.

"Are you sure?"

She nods. "You learn things from Tim's files. I learn things from Bruce's body. We compare notes after."

It will be hard, she thinks, to learn things from this Bruce's body, the same way it's hard to learn things from little Tim's. It's like—like they're almost speaking a language she knows. She keeps thinking she knows what they're saying, but then she's wrong, because her Tim and little Tim can say the exact same thing, but it means different things for each of them. Little Tim will do something so much like something her Tim does, and she'll think she understands it, but she doesn't. It's frustrating.

She can read the body language of complete strangers without trouble, but for people her brain thinks she knows, she gets jumbled up.

Bruce is on the couch now. He's looking around the room, but not the sharp, searching way her Bruce would. She sees boredom and mild curiosity, maybe a little stress, but not much. She thinks that's right, but she can't be sure, because this Bruce is not her Bruce.

She sits on the other couch, not too close to him.

"This is an unusual kidnapping," he says.

"Weird for us, too," she offers.

"Do you have kids?" he asks.

She glances around the room again. Stack of coloring book on the coffee table. Kids' movies on the shelf. Two toy cars and a tiny stuffed cat on the floor. (She bought it as a key chain, and cut off the chain part before giving it to Dami.)

"Little brothers. They aren't home right now."

"Someone mentioned it was your little brother that kidnapped me?"

"Different little brother. Grown up little brother. He doesn't live here anymore."

Bruce nods. He doesn't ask any questions.

"Do you get kidnapped a lot?"

He nods again. "I don't—I can't keep count. If you call my board they can give you a number."

"No cell reception here," Cass says. It's only partly a lie; they have reception, but they can't connect to a number from his home world. She is going to wait for the boys to help explain the multiverse.

Notes:

Got some new stuff going on - come see at iowriteswords.tumblr.com

Chapter 30

Summary:

“I don’t think I can be your dad.”

“You don’t have to be our dad,” Jason says. “Our dad is dead. But you could still be family.”

“You wouldn’t have to be alone,” Cass says.

"Dick," Jason says, after he's read through more newspaper articles and stolen records than he can count, "I think he's really Brucie."

"Yeah," Dick says. "It kind of looks that way. But he can’t be as dumb as he acts. He got into med school."

"He flunked out of med school," Jason says.

"Yeah, but even getting in is really hard."

"I'm seriously wondering if someone got paid off to let him in, or if it was, like, a pity, legacy thing because of Thomas. We saw his school records. He barely got through undergrad. He barely got through high school."

"Would they let someone unqualified do something as serious as becoming a doctor just because they felt bad?"

"If they were paid enough, and they knew he would never make it anyway? Sure."

“Okay,” Dick says. “Really Brucie. Weird.”

Their Bruce had a carefully cultivated reputation as an utter disaster of a man, generally well intentioned, but scandal prone and not too bright. This Bruce has the same reputation—idiot playboy, always in the tabloids, largely unable to take care of himself, widely considered to be useless at everything.

Their Bruce acted like that to hide the fact that he was Batman. As far as Jay can tell, this Bruce doesn't have anything to hide. And if it's an act, it's much better than their Bruce's. There's no evidence of a start date, where he decided Rich Idiot would be a good cover. He consistently struggled in school. He doesn't seem to have been quietly overseeing and contributing to the company like their Bruce. He got in trouble as a kid for underage drinking, truancy, and occasionally too-public romantic entanglements, not the bursts of violence that characterized most Bruces' adolescences, before he had Batman to channel his aggression.

This Bruce—Jay thinks Cass was right, that he's sad and lonely. Of course she was; she's Cass. He's sad, and lonely, and not sensible or careful or discrete or mature. Not angry. Not determined to fix the whole world. Just kind of a mess. More of a mess in the six years since Alfred died.

He's thirty three years old. He'd been twenty seven when the only family he had left was killed protecting him. Was shot right in front of him, just like his parents.

He'd been Dick's age.

He's not old enough to be their dad.

Jason sits up suddenly. "Cass," he says.

"Yeah? What about her?"

"We left genuine idiot playboy Bruce alone with a beautiful woman in her twenties that he has no reason to think of as a daughter."

"He wouldn't—"

"He seems like a nice enough guy, but even if he hits on her very politely, it's gonna be super uncomfortable from a guy who looks like her dad."

"Okay, yeah, Cass rescue."

Bruce and Cass are sitting on the couch together, playing Uno. Bruce has probably over thirty cards in his hand.

Okay. Maybe Brucie has the sense not to hit on an apparent kidnapper. Their Bruce would absolutely have hit on a kidnapper in his Brucie act, but this is a real person, even if he happens to have more in common with an act they've seen than the real guy who put in on.

"I'm winning," Cass says.

"Yeah," Dick says. "Um. We should probably talk. About what happens next."

Cass sets down her cards in the empty middle cushion of the couch, and Bruce follows suit. Dick and Jason sit down on the other couch. The four of them sit in silence for a long, awkward moment.

"Jay?" Dick says. "You're good with words."

Oh, that is so not fair.

"Okay," he says. "Okay, so, um. Bruce."

"Brucie."

"Right. Brucie. You are in an alternate universe. The version of you that was born in this universe is—is dead. He was our dad. Our meddling little brother—" (not Jason's little brother, not really, but that's too complicated to get into now) "—um, he felt bad that we missed our Bruce. And he found you, in your universe, and thought you seemed lonely, too. So he kidnapped you and brought you here for us."

"Okay," Brucie says.

"Okay?" Jason repeats.

Brucie shrugs.

“Um. Do you believe me?”

“I took a date to a TED talk on multiverse theory once. I didn’t understand much, but the speaker seemed to know what he was talking about.”

Jason takes a moment to process this. Convincing Brucie he was in an alternate reality wasn’t supposed to be easy.

“Okay. So. Alternate universe. Tim brought you here, because he thought we were all lonely. And the thing is, he was right. It seems like you’re all alone in your world. No family, no friends.”

“I have friends,” Bruce protests.

“Real friends? Or people who show up to all the same parties?”

He shrugs. “What’s the difference?”

“Friends are people who love you,” Cass says quietly, in the same gentle voice she uses when the kids are making her sad.

“Oh,” Brucie says. “I don’t have those.”

“You could stay here,” Dick says. “With us. If you want to go home, we’ll get you home, by tomorrow at the latest. But if you want to stay—we aren’t billionaires anymore, and there wouldn’t be a lot of parties or events. Not a lot of women to date. Not much of a social life at all, really. But we—we could be your family. We could love you.”

“I don’t think I can be your dad. I’d have had to start when I was, what, five?”

“You don’t have to be our dad,” Jason says. “Our dad is dead. But you could still be family.”

“You wouldn’t have to be alone,” Cass says.

It shouldn’t be that easy to convince a man to leave behind everything he’s ever known.

Really, Jay is worried about this Bruce.

-

Jason and Cass left, and that makes Tim nervous, a little. They said everything was fine, they just had to help Dick with something. But now he and Damian are alone with Harley and Pam, and Harley and Pam are okay, but he's never been with them without the others somewhere nearby.

Hiking is fun. Running around with the hyenas is fun. But Dick and Cass and Jason are all an hour away—an hour away in the car, plus walking time.

What if he needs them?

He shouldn’t need them. Talons don’t rely on people.

“Are you okay, Tim?” Harley asks.

He nods.

“We’ll be back with the others in a few hours.”

“Why did they leave?”

“They didn’t say, exactly. But they did say it wasn’t anything bad. Probably they made an excuse to go away because they were too lame to hike with us.”

Tim’s pretty sure that’s not what happened. But it does make him feel a little better.

“Tim!” Damian shouts. “Come see this cool rock!”

“I’m coming.”

-

“So there’s the three of us, two kids, and two other adults in the house,” Dick explains. “We’ve got Tim—he’s twelve. Not the same Tim that sent you here. And Damian. He’s six. They both—they both look like zombies, and they have some minor meta abilities—night vision, enhanced hearing, accelerated healing.”

“The kids are gonna be hard,” Jason says. “They—you can’t freak out when you see them. But, um. They’re definitely gonna freak when they see you. Because they’re from an alternate universe too, and in their universe, Bruce Wayne was a supervillain who kidnapped and tortured them.”

“Should I be here?” Brucie asks. Which is a very sensible question.

“We’ll see how it goes,” Dick says. “Just be really nice, and really careful. The other adults—do you have a Poison Ivy in your world? Or a Harley Quinn?”

“A Poison Ivy,” he says.

Of course Harley wouldn’t be there; the Joker was killed after killing Alfred. And if Bruce didn’t even know he was called the Joker—he described him as an angry clown—he wouldn’t have been established enough to get Harley’s attention.

“She’s a bad guy?”

“Yeah.”

“She’s—not exactly a good guy, here. She and Harley are kind of semi-reformed criminals? But they’re our friends, and they’re living here for now, and they’ll be nice to you.”

“Hyenas,” Cass says.

“Right. There are two pet hyenas, too.”

“Cool,” Brucie says, sounding like he means it.

“Okay. So that’s the rundown on the roommates. We should get you a bedroom. Jay, any thoughts?”

Is he fishing for more things to do, to delay the return of the kids?

Absolutely.

It’s going to be a disaster.

-

Jason studies the unused exam rooms, trying to decide which one to make Brucie’s. They’re all small—much smaller than he’ll be used to.

They’ll need to take down a wall to expand. But a much cleaner job than they did for Pam and Harley. Which’ll take a few days. He can sleep in a smaller room until then. But they don’t exactly have any extra beds lying around—what’s he gonna sleep on?

He can have Jay’s bed tonight. He can take Brucie shopping tomorrow, to pick out some of his own things, and to keep him away from the kids for a while longer.

Wait. He can’t take Brucie shopping. Brucie shares a face with a very famous man who would be in prison if he wasn’t dead.

Bruce Wayne died years ago. On the other side of the world. And Brucie is younger than Bruce was when he died. If anyone notices the resemblance, they’ll just think it’s a weird coincidence.

Yeah. Shopping trip. Jay and Bruce. Brucie. Tomorrow.

He picks out a pair of rooms that share a wall, and aren’t too close to Tim and Damian’s, to renovate. He picks another room to put Brucie in when they have the bed, and before his real room is ready.

He pulls out his phone to check the bank account. There’s still money. Not a ton. Enough to renovate a room for Brucie, as long as his tastes aren’t too expensive (they probably are), and enough to keep feeding everyone. But it’s tighter than it used to be. The money won’t last forever, and he’s not going to put a target on his back and cause tension with his family by making more the same way.

Harley and Pam have one bag of cash, and one bag of diamonds, but he feels weird about asking them for money.

They’ve just invited a billionaire into their family.

He goes back to the living room. “Hey, guys. What do we think about revisiting that ransom?”

“You told Harley our mystery funds weren’t running low,” Dick says.

“They’re not low, exactly. But with Harley and Pam living here, and now Brucie…” He glances over at Brucie, who looks sort of…politely confused? Clearly, being kidnapped doesn’t bother him. But Jason isn't sure he understands what he’s suggesting. “I just thought maybe you’d like to bring some of your money with you across the multiverse,” he explains. “You can probably just take it out of your account. It wouldn’t actually be a ransom.”

“If we requested the money as a ransom, then people would know Brucie was kidnapped, and when he never comes home they’ll assume the kidnappers killed him. Could be nice for people back home to have an explanation.”

“Brucie?” Cass asks. “Thoughts?”

“The board always pays. They’ll be happy to be rid of me—I’ve cost them billions between the ransom demands and the lawsuits.”

“Wait. Does the money come from the business? Or from your personal accounts?”

Brucie shrugs.

“Okay,” Dick says. “We’re gonna bypass that whole thing—don’t want to steal from the company. I’m gonna call Tim, see if he can withdraw some money from your personal accounts. Maybe he can pick up some stuff from your house for you, too? Make me a list of personal items you’d like, and I’ll make arrangements.”

“Anything you don’t get from home, I’ll take you shopping for in the morning,” Jay adds.

“All right,” Brucie says.

“Enough talking,” Cass says. “Back to Uno. I’m almost winning.”

Jay leaves her and Brucie to it, and Dick, still a little sick, to relax on the couch. He’ll get started clearing out the rooms he plans to turn into a construction zone.

Notes:

Next week the kids come home!

Also. There is an announcement about my books at iowriteswords.tumblr.com

Chapter 31

Summary:

This is an incredibly bad idea. Harley would know—she is the master of bad ideas. She's never had an idea she didn't immediately make worse.

Notes:

Merry Christmas!

They go home in Pam and Harley's car, squished in the back with the hyenas. There is not room for two boys and two hyenas in the back seat, and it's uncomfortable, but Tim doesn't really mind. Damian is very happy squeezed between hyenas, at least until he falls asleep, which doesn't take long.

When they get home, Dick and Cass and Jason all meet them in the garage. They all look tense. Tim has been trying all afternoon to not worry. But now he thinks he was right to worry. Something—something is wrong.

"Let's go out into the yard," Jason suggests.

They sit on the grass together, and Dick says, "Do you guys remember what we told you about the multiverse? How there are different versions of the same people in different worlds?"

Tim nods. He nudges Damian, still half asleep, and Damian nods too.

"Good. So, in your world, Owlman was a very bad man. In our world, he was a good man. He was our dad. And he died a few years ago."

Tim does not like where this conversation is going.

"Another version of him came here this morning, and we would like him to stay."

Yeah. That's what he was afraid they were going to say.

"Owlman is in our house?" Damian asks, very awake now, and very afraid.

"Bruce Wayne is in our house," Jason says. "He looks like Owlman, but he's a completely different person."

Cass scoots closer to them, and Tim thinks she's going to hug Damian, but Damian flinches away from her, leaning closer to Tim instead.

He really hopes that's not going to get them in trouble. He wouldn't have expected it to, yesterday, but everything is very different now.

"Do you trust us?" Dick asks.

Tim doesn't know how to answer. He trusts them not to hurt him and Damian on purpose. He doesn't trust them to not get tricked by Owlman.

"How do you know it isn't Owlman?"

"Owlman is dead," Jason says. "And his head and body were separated and burned so he couldn't be brought back."

"Did you watch it happen?"

"No," Jason admits.

"How do you know it happened?"

"We trust the person who did it," Dick says.

Tim considers this. Does he have to trust people just because they do? Can they really be good judges of character, if they want an Owlman to move in with them? He glances over at Damian, who looks very stiff and very scared, and like he's trying to be a very good Talon.

"What if this Owlman is evil, too?" Tim asks, instead of questioning the trustworthiness of whoever killed his Owlman.

"We did a really thorough background check," Jason says. "We researched his entire life. He's just a normal guy, a few years older than Dick. He isn't a supervillain or a superhero. Just a guy."

Tim thinks about it. Owlman—Owlman could have tricked them. But if an Owlman really used to be their dad, then they should— they should know his tricks, right?

Owlman is Damian's dad. If this Owlman really isn't evil, then—then Damian could have a dad.

He knows Damian is very scared right now. He also knows Damian trusts him, even if he shouldn't. If Tim goes into the house and meets Owlman, Damian will, too. So everything is Tim's choice.

If Tim takes Damian and runs into the woods, they can find a way to survive. But Owlman will still be in this world, and he could track them down. And if he finds them after they've run away, it will be much worse than if they walk into the house now.

Tim wraps his arm around Damian's shoulders, and tries to decide what the right choice is. He thinks for a long time, and none of the grown ups try to rush him.

"Okay," he says, finally. "Okay. Let's go inside." He—he wants to trust them. And if they're wrong, it's better to find out now, than spend weeks in the woods hiding from a bad guy who might not even exist, but who will definitely catch and punish them if he does.

Tim stands up. Damian does, too, clutching Tim's hand, hiding half behind him. None of the adults stand up until they have.

He lets Dick and Cass and Jason go into the house first, even though they are much easier to permanently kill or injure if Owlman is really Owlman. He feels bad about that. But Damian is plastered to his back, and he wants as many people as possible between Owlman and Damian.

Owlman is sitting on the couch. He is younger than the Owlman Tim knows, and smaller. He's wearing a fancy suit, but it's dirty. He smiles, and it's not a smile Tim recognizes on Owlman's face. It's a little nervous. Owlman is never nervous, and if he was, he wouldn't be smiling about it.

"Hello," he says. "My name is Brucie."

Tim frowns. Brucie is a stupid name. Owlman has way too much dignity to call himself Brucie, even when he's trying to trick someone.

"I'm Tim," he says. "This is Damian."

Damian stays behind him, and squeezes his hand tighter, and doesn't say anything.

-

This is an incredibly bad idea. Harley would know—she is the master of bad ideas. She's never had an idea she didn't immediately make worse.

Tim asked her to get everyone out of the house, because he had a surprise planned. She trusted Tim to have reasonably good judgement, and didn't ask any questions. If she'd known the plan was to send over a guy who shared a name and face with the older kids' dead dad, and the younger kids' torturer, she would not have helped him.

Tim—little Tim, here right now Tim—is holding up better than she'd have expected. He's very tense. But he doesn't seem to be actively panicking.

Damian hasn't made a sound since they came into the house. He's sticking close to Tim, avoiding looking too closely at Brucie.

And Brucie himself—

"Harley?" he asks.

“Um. Yeah?”

"Harley! We went to med school together," he says.

"You went to med school?" If this world's Bruce Wayne was in med school, he sure wasn't there with her.

"Briefly. I—um. I wasn't very good at it. But we had a few classes together, and we were in a study group. You helped me a lot."

Weird. "Were you at Gotham U? What classes were we in? Did you have Dr. Kalibas? He's the worst."

“I had him for three days. He told me to switch to someone with more patience.”

“Wow, I wish he’d asked me to switch.”

She spends the next several minutes comparing notes about the beginnings of med school. She kinda forgets about the kids for a bit. It’s fine—they’re not her kids. She’s the therapist, and she’s not on duty right now.

After her conversation with Brucie, they gather at the table for dinner. Both kids are picking at their food. Tim has placed them carefully as far from Brucie as possible. The older kids are trying—and failing—to act like everything is normal.

He's their dad. Of course they want to keep him. But Tim and Damian—what was her Tim thinking, putting them in a position where they had to choose between giving up their dad and traumatizing their kids?

Brucie himself seems fine. Quieter than she would expect, from the brief history Jay shared with her and Pam as they prepped the meal and set the table. But then he gave up his entire life on a whim a few short hours ago, he's just discovered that the multiverse exists and he's a superhero in most of it, and he knows these kids are terrified of him because an alternate version of him did horrible things to them. This is a good time to be quietly processing.

She is going to have to apologize so much for helping Tim with this, once she gets a moment alone with the older kids.

-

"We are having a sleepover tonight," Cass announces, gathering her littlest brothers close. "You will both sleep with me in my room, and we will be safe."

Jay is giving Brucie his room for the night. Dick needs to sleep, in his own bed, for many hours, because he has been sick all day and this has not been the kind of day where he has had a chance to get better. She will watch the little boys, and make sure they are not too scared.

She remembers, at the Manor, before everything went bad. Tim found out she'd never had a real sleepover, and he was upset. They built a blanket fort, and stayed up way too late watching movies and eating lots of sugar.

She doesn't want to keep them up—they are having a hard time, and it will not be any less hard in the morning if they are tired and crabby. But they can make a blanket fort. She gathers as many spare sheets and blankets as she can find, making sure to leave some for Jason on the couch.

The kids put on their pajamas and brush their teeth, and she brings them into her room and locks the door. She would like to spent more time with Brucie tonight—she is still trying to figure him out, and he will be out with Jason all day tomorrow. But the kids are more important.

"The door is locked from the inside," she says. "People can only get in by breaking it down, and we would hear that before they got through. If that happens, we go out the window. Everything will be safe here. We will be in our blanket fort, I will be between you and the door all the time, and I will not let anything past."

Damian peels away from Tim, for the first time since they got home, and wraps himself around her leg instead. He doesn't say anything.

"I don't remember how to build a blanket fort," Tim says. Don't remember, not don't know. So he has some memory of a blanket fort, just not construction details.

"It's okay. I haven't done much, either. We will figure it out together."

-

Jason is surprised when the first person up in the morning—well, second person, after him—is Brucie.

It's early. Earlier than Jason would be up if he was sleeping in a real bed, but the couch wasn't really working for him.

Brucie really isn't what he's been expecting, so far. He read all the data Tim sent, and he expected a man very much like the one his Bruce pretended to be. But Brucie is mostly quiet and reserved, so far. And apparently an early riser.

It occurs to Jason that the realization that no one in Brucie's entire universe actually cared about him may have had a sobering effect. Is he so quiet because they made him really, really sad?

"It's six in the morning," he says, in case Brucie somehow hasn't noticed that.

He nods. "I went to bed really early last night."

It was maybe eleven when they all went to bed. "How late do you usually stay up?"

"Three or four. Maybe five."

And he's not even spending that time fighting crime? What is he doing all night?

Jay decides he probably doesn't want to know. This is still his dad. Kind of.

"Do you want to help me make breakfast? It'll be a long time before everyone's up, so I thought I'd make one of Alfred's recipes that I usually don't have time for."

"You—did you know him?"

"Yeah. He helped raise us. He went missing around the same time our Bruce died. We don't—we don't know what happened. We hope he's still alive, somewhere."

"I've been told I'm a disaster in the kitchen."

"That's okay. My dad was, too. I'll make sure you don't mess anything up too bad."

He pulls out the recipe, and starts preheating the oven.

"Just do exactly what I tell you," he says. "After breakfast, you and I are going to pick up your stuff from your universe, and then we'll go shopping for anything else you need. We'll be gone most of the day, so it'll give the others more time to work on the kids about having you here."

"I don't want to scare kids," Brucie says.

"They'll come around." Hopefully. "Grab me the flour? It's over there."

Brucie brings him the sugar.

"Okay, you know what? We're gonna do a basic tour of the kitchen before we get started. Learn how to tell apart the various white powders. I think that'll help a lot."

They run through all the ingredients currently in the room. Brucie pokes suspiciously at the flour.

"It looks like cocaine."

"You got a lot of experience with cocaine?"

"Alfred doesn't like drugs," he says. Which is not, Jason notices, actually an answer.

Based on the many, many news articles of various levels of legitimacy that Jason read yesterday, and his dad’s Brucie act, a drinking problem seemed pretty likely, and they were ready to deal with that. But a drug problem is a whole different issue. Jason is absolutely not emotionally prepared to deal with anyone resembling a parent having a drug problem.

"I don't do illegal drugs," he says, apparently realizing that his original answer was not sufficient for Jason's peace of mind. "I know everyone thinks I do, when something wild happens. I probably drink too much. But mostly I'm just stupid."

"Bruce—"

"I do have a knack for always making the worst decisions. Is there a difference between sugar and powdered sugar?"

"Um, yeah. They taste different, and they have different textures, so they work differently in recipes. Did—did Alfred make this for you a lot? He loved to make it for special occasions, for us. I always liked helping him."

-

Dick wakes up, feeling much better than he did yesterday, and follows voices to the kitchen.

Bruce is laughing when he gets there—his real laugh, not his Brucie laugh. He's wearing a significant amount of flour.

"Dickie!" Jay says, seeming younger and lighter than he has in a long time. "Help us with breakfast."

"Okay, what are we making?"

It's a really nice morning, until Cass gets the kids up and into the kitchen.

He doesn't know how she managed to spend a whole night with them, knowing how overwhelming their emotions can get for her. They're both radiating misery and anxiety and exhaustion, and this isn't—this isn't fair. They promised to take care of them. Exposing them to someone who looks like Owlman is not taking care of them.

But he looks like Bruce, too. How can he ask Jay and Cass, after forcing the kids on them in the first place, to give up Bruce for their sake?

Damian looks exactly like Bruce's kindergarten pictures, Talon features aside. There's a good chance he'll look like Bruce when he grows up, too—a good chance he'll grow up to look like Owlman. So that's a trauma to look forward to, ten years from now—maybe it'll be less traumatizing to deal with a guy who looks like Owlman now, than to be a guy who looks like Owlman later?

They'll just have to see how things go.

"Are you guys ready for breakfast?" Dick asks.

Tim nods warily. Damian, holding his hand, standing mostly behind him, doesn't answer at all.

Dick wondering if telling Damian Bruce is his dad would make things better or worse.

That's something to think about later. Probably something to ask Dami's therapist about. Which reminds him—"Should we wait for Pam and Harley?"

"Nah," Jay says. "They went to their room, because I was sleeping on the couch, but I don't think they actually went to bed until pretty late. I was hearing voices for a long time. We'll let them sleep. Reduce the chaos for the morning.”

Dick watches as Damian tugs on Tim's hand, and stands on his toes to whisper something completely inaudible to Dick's standard human ears.

"Can the hyenas come out?" Tim asks. "They—they like us, and they don't belong to Owlman. Harley said they kill bad guys. If—if he was bad, they would protect us."

"I'll let them out," Cass says. "Very quiet."

The hyenas really are great. Dick's not sure how Damian's actually going to eat any food, since he has one hand in Tim's and one on Lou's head, but he looks more relaxed with them here.

Brucie abandons his seat at the table to crouch down in front of Bud. Dick watches Tim, sitting right by Bed, tense up, then force himself to relax.

This whole thing was such a bad idea. He should have called Bruce or Red Hood and demanded they take Brucie home before anyone else saw him.

"You can't just pet him," Tim says. "You have to let him sniff your hand first."

"Oh," Brucie says. "Sorry." He withdraws his hand, offering it to Bud and accepting a sniff and a lick before trying to pet him again. He looks up, smiling winningly at Tim. "Thank you for telling me."

Tim nods.

Not a terrible interaction, Dick thinks. It's a good start.

They have to make this work. He doesn't know what they'll do if Brucie's presence destroys the kids' faith in them.

Tim looks like he's relaxing slowly over the course of breakfast. Damian is convinced to let go of Tim's hand so he can eat, and that's all the progress he makes. He still isn't talking, which really worries Dick.

They're both visibly relieved when Jay and Brucie leave. Dick wants to try to talk to them, but Tim pulls Damian into his room and closes the door.

Notes:

Reminder to check out the announcement on my Tumblr (iowriteswords) - it only goes through Sunday!

Chapter 32

Summary:

"He's—he's just a guy," Tim says. "We could kill him."

Damian brightens, for a second, then his face falls. "Everyone would be upset. Really upset. It's a rule."

Notes:

Bonus chapter!

They stop by the multiverse meeting point, first. Tim himself isn't coming—apparently he's extremely grounded after the events of yesterday—or Dick and Cass would have wanted to come.

It's Bruce, a Bruce that much more closely resembles Jay's dad, with a few duffle bags full of stuff that must be Brucie's.

Jason throws the bags in the trunk, and doesn't make eye contact with Bruce. It's just—it's weird. They talk very briefly, mostly "thank you" and "you're welcome" and "sorry about Tim," before Jay gets Brucie back into the passenger seat and flees the scene.

Brucie has the account information for the money Bruce transferred to this world, and a card. That'll enable a shopping trip that lines up more with his usual quality of life. (Pam and Harley are going to contribute funds to the household, too—they talked about it last night—but since they have exclusively dirty money, in cash and diamonds, it's going to be sort of a process. When they're slightly less wanted they'll have to travel somewhere far from here to convert the money to something less traceable before spending it.

He should have made someone else meet Bruce to pick up the stuff. He can—he can handle Brucie. But Bruce looked and felt so much like his dad, even with just a few minutes.

"He was...intense," Brucie says, when they're alone again.

From Jason's understanding of the situation, Tim's Bruce is actually much less intense than the average Bruce, but compared to Brucie, yeah. Any version of himself who's a costumed crime fighter probably feels intense to Brucie.

"You do a lot of your own shopping?" Jason asks.

"Not a lot. People get mad."

"About what?"

"Wasting money."

"Isn't it your money to waste?"

Brucie shrugs.

"Okay, well, do you know what kinds of stuff you like? You're gonna do a lot of shopping today. Limits are nothing alive, nothing illegal, and it has to fit in the car."

He shrugs again. "Whatever Alfred bought was fine."

"Alfred's been dead for six years, Brucie," Jason says, as gently as he can. "What have you been buying since?"

"I have the housekeeper order clothes and household supplies from the stores Alfred used."

"You never buy anything?" There's no way he never buys anything. He's a billionaire.

"Just stupid things. Once I bought a tiger. My housekeeper said she'd quit if I kept it, so I gave it to the zoo."

Okay, well. Jason is in agreement that a tiger is a stupid thing to buy. And refusing to work in a house with one is totally reasonable. He’ll give this one to the housekeeper. But in general, Jason doesn’t like how Brucie talks about himself.

The Brucie that Bruce pretended to be always seemed so carefree.

That Brucie wasn't a real person. This one is. He keeps having to remind himself of that.

He's starting to worry that Brucie's main issue isn't being dumb or reckless or oblivious or self-centered; it's everyone treating him like shit.

He changes the subject. "So tell me about med school."

"I went because my dad was a doctor. But I've never been good at school. The professors all hated me. I came home for winter break the first year and never went back. I don't know if I could have gone back—my highest grade for the semester was a D+."

"Did you like school?"

"I hated every second of it. My parents were so smart, they all expected me to be good at it. And I just…wasn’t. Don’t know how the hell I got into med school.”

“It’s cool that you went with Harley. That didn’t happen here. I don’t think our Bruce ever even tried to go to med school.”

-

Tim pulls Damian into his bedroom. Damian’s bedroom, where Damian will feel the most safe. They need to be away from the grown ups. They need to talk.

Damian is so scared. It is so obvious that he is so scared. Which is bad, but also good, for research purposes.

Tim knows Owlman. Talons change—Owlman makes them change. But Owlman is constant. Other people can trick him, but Tim knows himself, and he knows Owlman.

Owlman takes himself seriously, always. He has dignity. He has pride.

"He wore Jason's clothes," Tim says to Damian. It was a t shirt and sweatpants. Owlman would never wear sweatpants. "His suit was dirty yesterday. He spilled raspberry jam on his shirt this morning and didn't even notice. I corrected him and he didn't get mad. We're acting weak and scared and he isn't getting mad. I heard him laugh this morning. He acts nervous. He calls himself Brucie."

"You think he's not Owlman," Damian says.

"Yeah."

"But he looks like Owlman."

"He looks younger than Owlman. And weaker. If Owlman could make himself younger he would have done it earlier. And he would never let himself become weaker." Unless he's a different evil Owlman, not theirs. But Tim isn't going to give Damian new things to worry about.

"I don't care if he isn't Owlman. I don't want to live with someone who looks like Owlman. I want to be safe. I thought we could be safe."

Tim wraps an arm around Damian's shoulder, and tugs him closer. He wants to be safe, too. He doesn't want someone who looks like Owlman here, in their house, where Dick and Jason and Cass promised they would be safe.

But he doesn't know what he can do about it. They said Pam could only come if Tim and Damian were okay with it. They didn't give them that option for Owlman. Owlman is here. They can stay here, in the same house as Owlman, or they can run away, and Tim—he thinks he can take care of himself alone, if he has to. He isn't sure he can take care of Damian. Damian is so little. Tim is not big enough to take care of someone so little.

"Dick and Jason told me a secret," he says. "I promised not to tell you."

Maybe he shouldn't. Maybe it's too much. Damian is so little. But maybe it will help.

"Remember how they said they couldn't get a photo of your dad?"

Damian nods.

"They lied. They could have gotten one. But they didn't want to upset you. A picture of your dad would have upset you."

"Why?" Damian asks.

"Because your dad is Owlman."

Damian stares at him for a long moment. "I don't want Owlman to be my dad."

"I know. But Owlman—Owlman is gone. Maybe this guy, if he's nice, maybe he could be your dad instead?"

"I don't want Owlman to be my dad," Damian repeats.

"He doesn't have to be. But maybe—maybe it could be nice?"

Tim is having a hard time imagining anything being nice with Owlman. But he has to—he has to convince Damian. He has to make Damian feel safe.

"Pam is nice. She's not like the plant lady. She helped us make plants for our rooms, and she helps cook for us, and she's never mean or scary."

"But it's Owlman," Damian says.

"The hyenas don't mind him."

"Animals are good judges of character," Damian says. Tim wonders where he picked up that information; maybe Harley told him. He doesn’t really sound convinced.

"He's—he's just a guy," Tim says. "We could kill him."

Damian brightens, for a second, then his face falls. "Everyone would be upset. Really upset. It's a rule."

It's one of the only rules. But—but it's not just a rule. Dick and Cass and Jason made a promise. To keep them safe. So it's not a rule; it's a deal. Tim and Damian don't hurt or kill anyone, and they keep Tim and Damian safe. If they won't keep their promise, then it's Tim's job to keep him and Damian safe, and maybe that means killing.

"I've never killed anyone on my own. Without—without Owlman telling me to. And he's not like us—he won't come back. Dead is forever. So we have to—we have to be sure. We have to give him a chance, first."

"How much chance?" Damian asks.

Tim thinks about it. "A week. We give him a week. Starting yesterday."

-

Owlman is his dad.

Owlman is his dad.

If Owlman was his dad, why didn't he—why didn't he love him? Dads are supposed to love you. The books and the movies all say so. Sometimes dads are dumb or mean or far away, but they always—they always still love you.

Damian is very sure that Owlman never loved him.

He looks across the room, at the picture of his mom. He wonders if Owlman loved her. He wonders if she loved Owlman. He wonders if his mom loved him, when his dad didn't.

She looks like she loves him. But that doesn't mean anything. It might—it might not even be Damian and his mom, just like Brucie isn't Owlman. That might be a different Damian's mom, who loves a different Damian. His mom might not have ever loved him at all.

But somebody hugged him. Someone—someone must have loved him, once. Someone hugged him.

And people love him now. He knows they do, because they hug him, and Cass gives him toys, and Jason gives him cookies, and Dick says "I love you," and Tim protects him. Someone loved him once, and someone loves him again, so maybe—maybe it's okay his parents didn't.

It's not okay. It's not fair. But nothing has ever been fair. Why would it be different now?

He doesn't want Owlman to be his dad.

"Sleep," Tim says, tugging him farther under the bed. "You didn’t, last night. Not enough."

"What if he comes?"

"I'll protect you. Sleep."

-

Harley tries to herd the kids off for an emergency therapy session when they come out of Damian’s room, but Tim shakes his head, and Damian sticks close to Tim, and doesn't answer her.

Cass thinks probably they are not ready for talking. They need more time to just feel first, before they find words for it. They sit in between the hyenas on the floor in front of the couch, and Dick puts on a movie they both like. Cass gets Dami's stuffed dog out of his room for him, then convinces Harley to help her make cookies. Pam goes out into the garden. Dick sits down with the kids—not too close, because they're upset.

It will be a slow, quiet day, with Brucie out of the house. They can save talking for later.

-

Dick calls Tim. He’s grounded, but Bruce cut off his phone from contacting everyone except his family, in both worlds. He said he’d never take away Tim’s access to his family.

“Okay,” he says. “We will try keeping him. If the kids can handle it. But Tim. Please. Stop playing with the multiverse when you’re emotionally compromised.”

“I don’t—”

“You run into the Joker, and less than a week later I have a new not-dad.”

“That’s one—”

“I told you about our Justice League, and now Black Canary and Green Arrow have a second kid.”

“I didn’t tell you that.”

“Red Hood Jason mentioned it. Bruce told him.”

“Okay, but we didn’t even get her from the multiverse. It was just research.”

“Tim.”

“Okay. No multiverse when I’m upset. Be nice to Brucie. I gotta go—late for therapy.”

-

This probably isn't the most reckless choice he's ever made. He is, after all, known internationally for his bad decision making.

Sometimes, when he gets kidnapped, he's not sure the board is going to make the ransom payment.

Sometimes, he's not sure he cares if they do.

A group of kidnappers who would rather have his presence than several million dollars is...

(They did take some money. But it's still his money; the account is only in his name. They're going to use some of it, today, to buy him clothes, and furniture for his room.)

No one ever prefers him to money.

And he met a man who was clearly him, so they must have been telling the truth about the multiverse. He thought they were. But he keeps hearing Uncle Philip in his head, complaining about how gullible and useless Brucie is, like he did a couple years ago when Selina stole fourteen million dollars from him and vanished from his life, or when she came back for three months last year, stole eighteen million, and vanished again.

"Of course it was about the money," Uncle Philip'd said the first time. "Do you think anyone would put up with you if you weren't a billionaire?"

"I thought even you were smart enough to know better," he'd said the second time. "The same damn woman? Have some self-respect."

She'd come back to him. Fourteen million hadn't been enough. He'd thought—if she married him, she'd have billions. He'd thought maybe that would be enough. Maybe he'd be worth putting up with, for billions.

He'd been wrong.

He usually was.

So. Selina had been a mistake. Most of his choices were. And he kept making them, again and again.

If he's here, his poor choices won't sabotage his parents' company. And these people say they want him. They'll probably change their minds—everyone does. But maybe they won't. Because he looks like their dad. Maybe—maybe that'll be enough.

Or maybe his general...everything will be even more insufferable accompanied by a familiar face. Their Bruce probably wasn't like him. Not if he was a superhero, and a father. He was probably a lot better. He was probably more like Dad.

He can’t be a dad. He’s less than ten years older than most of them. Than the ones who actually want him here.

The kids—the kids make him nervous. Not because they're zombies.

Well, a little because they're zombies. But all kids make him nervous. And these ones make him extra nervous because he makes them nervous. Usually kids like him, even if he's not sure he likes them.

At least Harley's here. It's good to have someone he knows, even if she technically isn't. He hasn't seen Harley Quinzel in years, but at least she's a familiar face.

Chapter 33

Summary:

It takes him a minute to find the wallet, and he can feel eyes on him the whole time—kid followed him down the hall.

He's not going to eat Brucie's brains. The others would have told him if the kids ate brains.

Notes:

A short-ish one today. Btw, I’m loving everyone’s speculations about Brucie’s history. Answers in a few weeks!

Shopping is an experience. He can't understand a word anyone says, he's twice as white as anyone here, and no one recognizes him. He can't remember ever going out and having no one recognize him. It's amazing.

Jason asks his opinion about everything. Brucie doesn't really care.

"Okay," Jason says, "but that's now. You might care a week or two from now, when it sinks in that you really live here, and this stuff is going to be what you're using for years. Pick things you'll like."

They go to six different stores. Jason speaks rapidly with salespeople in an unfamiliar language, then turns to Brucie to give him options.

"What size bed do you want? You won't like a twin, and a king won't fit. You can have a double or a queen."

"What color do you want?"

"Do you need two of these, or three?"

Brucie doesn't do this kind of shopping. The kind where he has to think about things. He buys things for people who ask him. He makes stupid, spontaneous purchases that people yell at him for later. For the practical, everyday things—he always did what Alfred said. Even when Alfred was gone.

He gets a queen bed, and blue and white and green sheets, and a bed frame that Jason says will be easy to assemble. He gets a phone and a laptop. He gets a dresser that barely fits into the car, and not nearly enough clothes to fill it.

"You've got the duffles, too," Jason reminds him.

Brucie spends the drive home trying and failing to set up his phone and laptop. He's not quite sure what he'll do with a phone or a laptop, since everyone he knows in this world lives in the same house. But Jason was insistent he needed them.

Back at the house, the two kids watch him with creepy eyes and anxious faces, and everything is quiet and awkward.

“So,” Harley says. “Tell me more about med school.”

“Um. You came home with me for Thanksgiving, because the flight home was too expensive. I offered to pay for that, but you said that was weird, so I invited you over instead.”

“Oh, cool. What did we do?”

“Well. We didn’t usually do a ton for Thanksgiving? Because Alfred’s British. But since you were there, we—”

"Alfred?" the bigger kid asks, creepy yellow eyes suddenly laser focused on Brucie.

"Yeah. He was...my butler. He raised me."

The kid keeps staring at him.

"Um, do you wanna see a picture?"

He untangles himself from the smaller kid, settles him between the two hyenas, and comes closer, stopping about a foot away from Brucie. His yellow eyes never move from Brucie's face.

"Okay. Uh, let me find one. Just a sec."

He left his old phone and his wallet in the pocket of his pants, abandoned on the floor last night in Jason's bedroom. It takes him a minute to find the wallet, and he can feel eyes on him the whole time—kid followed him down the hall.

He's not going to eat Brucie's brains. The others would have told him if the kids ate brains. And his brains aren't worth much, anyway.

He waits to take out the photo until they're back in the room with everyone else. Just in case.

Tim takes the photo, and stares at it as intensely as he's been staring at Brucie all night.

"He's real," he whispers.

"Tim?" Dick says. "Do you know Alfred?"

"I'm going to bed now."

He goes back down the hall. The littler boy scrambles away from the hyenas to follow him. They both disappear into one of the bedrooms, shutting the door behind them. Dick and Jason both stand up.

"No," Cass says. "Time. Ask tomorrow."

They sit back down.

“So what did we do on Thanksgiving?” Harley asks.

“Um. Alfred made a turkey. You said you had to make something, even though Alfred said guests don’t work, so you made me help you make a pie. Pumpkin. It went—it went really bad, actually. But it was fun.”

-

When everyone else is in bed, Dick texts Red Hood.

"What happened with Alfred in Owlman's world?"

He answers right away. "He took care of Bruce for about a year after his parents died. Then he disappeared. Looks like he might have gone back to England, but the records are a mess."

"Why would he leave?"

"Expired visa? Didn't want the responsibility? Lost custody to an actual relative? Got murdered by baby Owlman? Could be anything, really."

"Okay. Thanks."

"Yeah. On a less depressing note, Duela sent my Dick a photo of Talon the other day."

-

When Dick gets up the next morning, Tim and Damian are sitting at the kitchen table, Damian coloring, Tim watching.

It's not happy coloring. It's extremely aggressive coloring.

"Hey, Tim, can we talk for a minute?"

Tim nods warily. He looks—he doesn't look like he's afraid of Dick, or like he hates him. But he doesn't look like he trusts him as much as he did three days ago.

Dick glances over at Cass and Jay, in the next room, both talking happily to Brucie.

This is such a mess.

"Could you tell me a little more about Alfred?" he asks Tim.

"He—he wasn't real. It was a trick."

"What do you mean by he wasn't real?" Jason asks, suddenly right behind Dick, who totally doesn't flinch, because he absolutely heard him coming, because he is a trained vigilante.

"It was virtual reality. We thought we escaped. We thought he was taking care of us. But it was all pretend."

"Okay," Jason says. "Well. That's horrifying."

Tim looks down, and doesn't answer.

Okay, subject change. "Hey, Tim,” Dick says. “Do you want to see a current photo of the first Talon?"

"Yes."

Dick hands over his phone. Tim stares at it for a long moment. He frowns, nose scrunching up. "What is he wearing?"

He's wearing a fuzzy, neon orange sweater with green stars printed on it. And glasses. Dick recalls the wardrobes of their local allies in the fight against Owlman.

"He's living with—" Shoot, what were their names there? "Riddler, Jokester, and Three Face?"

"Oh," Tim says. "They're in charge of his clothes?"

"I'm sure he's allowed to wear whatever he wants. But they're probably buying things for him, or at least helping him pick things out."

Tim nods.

"Tim, do you want to pick out your own clothes?" Jason asks.

Tim looks down at himself. He shrugs. "These are fine. I just don't want to look dumb."

"He does look kind of dumb, doesn't he?" Jason says.

"A little. He looks happy."

“Yeah,” Dick says. “He does.”

Chapter 34

Summary:

"It's okay. If we don't like him after a week we kill him.”

Tim winces. Clearly, that was meant to be a secret. Fortunately, six year olds are not good at secrets.

The first thing Damian says, when Harley finally gets both kids into her office for emergency therapy, is, "I don't want Owlman to be my dad."

Okay. Well. That's a landmine she doesn't see a way not to step on.

"Why are you worried about Owlman being your dad?" she asks.

"Tim told me."

She looks at Tim. He looks back at her, wearing an expression she recognizes from his other self, one that says I'm Right and You're Wrong and I'm Not Sorry.

Why would Tim tell him that? Didn't Tim specifically promise Dick and Jay not to tell him that, because he knew it would be upsetting?

"I thought it would make Brucie less scary," Tim says, before she actually asks for an explanation.

"Oh. And did that work?"

"No," Damian says. "But it's okay. If we don't like him after a week we kill him.”

Tim winces. Clearly, that was meant to be a secret. Fortunately, six year olds are not good at secrets.

"Okay," Harley says. "Well. I think we can come up with another solution that works a little better for everyone."

"Like what?" Tim asks.

"Like, we could send him home. Or to another world where people want him around."

"They don't want to send him home. They want to keep him. They didn't even ask if they could keep him, not like when you and Pam came. We had to agree when you and Pam came, but we didn't get a chance for Owlman."

"I know. And that wasn't fair to you. They should have asked. Or they should have said no to him staying, even without asking you, because they should have known how you would feel about it. They did something selfish. But Brucie doesn't need to die because of someone else's mistake."

"How else do we get rid of him?" Tim asks.

"We talk to the others. They don't want to send him home, but when you're responsible for kids, what you want isn't always the most important thing. And I'm sure they want to send him away more than they want him to be killed."

"I don't like killing people," Tim admits.

She turns her attention back to Damian. "Dami? What do you think about talking to the others, before we resort to murder?"

"Okay."

"How about I grab Dick, Cass, and Jay, and we have a conversation?"

-

Harley gathers all of them in her office, leaving Pam and Brucie in the living room. Tim and Damian are there, squished on a couch together.

“So,” Harley says. “Damian was just telling me about how he's not too worried about Owlman living here, because if they still don’t like it after a week, he and Tim are going to kill him.”

Dick knew keeping Brucie was a bad idea. Thank goodness for Harley; he did not want to be the one to tell his siblings they couldn't.

“No one needs to kill anyone,” Jason says quickly. “We can—we can send him home again.”

“You didn’t even ask if he could stay!” Tim says. “You asked for Pam, and she’s way less scary.”

Dick looks over at Jay and Cass. They didn’t ask, did they? They definitely should have asked. He was just so caught up in all the conflicted feelings about a surprise not-dad, he didn’t even—

“Sorry,” Cass says. “Should have asked. Sorry.”

Damian scoots impossibly closer to Tim. Neither boy answers.

“We should have asked,” Jay says. “Sometimes we mess up. Next time we mess up, talk to us before resorting to murder. Okay?”

“Okay,” Tim says, very quietly.

They can’t keep him. But they can’t just send him home. They already invited him to stay. And Dick knows how badly Cass and Jay want this. Jay especially. "You said a week?” Dick asks. “Before you killed him?"

Tim nods.

"Okay. So let's say if you still don't trust him after a week, we send him away?"

"What if we trust him, but looking at him is still scary?"

"Yeah, that's a problem. Can we work on making him look less scary? He's younger, and he'll be wearing different types of clothes. Maybe we could ask him to change his hair?"

“His hair is already different.”

“Okay. We’ll think of something else, then.”

Tim glances over at Damian. Damian, who hasn't said a word this whole time, who's been quiet and withdrawn and not himself since Brucie got here. Damian doesn't react in any way that Dick can see, but maybe Tim picks up on something Dick missed, because he turns back to them and nods. "One week. Promise not to kill him, but if we don't like him in one week he goes away."

"Deal," Dick says.

"One week from when he came. Five days now."

They leave the kids to keep talking with Harley. Dick calls Tim, and explains where they’re at.

“Okay, yeah,” Tim says. “It was a bad idea. I just—I was just—” He stops.

“You were feeling a lot of misplaced guilt after running into the Joker, and the best way you could think of to handle it was trying to replace what you took away from us?”

“Yeah. That.”

“You know it wasn’t your fault.”

“I know,” he says. “Most of the time.”

“So. Five days, and he’s probably gonna have to go.”

“Where am I gonna put him?”

"I don't know, Tim. You're our multiverse expert. Find another world with no Bruce. Find a world where Bruce isn't famous, so a second one won't stand out. Find a world where the local Bruce is old enough that this one can be his surprise son."

“Okay, yeah. I’ll work on it. But I still think, if it wasn’t for the kids—”

“I know. But the kids are here. So.”

-

Cass leaves her brothers, her baby brothers who are so scared that they were planning a murder, and goes to sit with Pam and Brucie.

He is her dad. He is not her dad. He is exactly like her dad. He is nothing like her dad. She doesn't—she doesn't—

She didn't want a new Tim. She does want this new Bruce.

She thinks maybe it's because Bruce is dead. Tim—Tim is gone, but also not. Tim still lives in her phone, real and alive, and that makes replacing him feel worse. Feel wrong.

And it's not really replacing—she learned that, with Tim. Maybe she wants this Bruce because she learned that already. She isn't replacing Bruce. She's letting a new person into her life, who she knows she'll love because she loved Bruce.

She loved Bruce. She knows she'll love Brucie too, just like she loves both Tims.

She wants to keep him. She needs to keep him. He needs them. He is so alone, and they told him he didn't have to be, and they can't—they can't take that back.

Brucie is a grown-up. The kids are little and scared and it is their job to take care of them.

But he's Bruce.

They can't send Brucie back. They can't keep him. Those are the only two options they have, and they are both impossible. She can't lose a second man wearing her father's face. She can't hurt her baby brothers. She can't—she can't. She doesn't know what to do.

-

"Okay," Harley says when the older kids are gone. "Are you two okay with the new plan?"

Damian looks over at Tim. Tim nods. Damian nods too.

"All right. Do you have any questions about Brucie, or what's going on?"

"How did he come here?" Tim asks.

"The other Tim dropped him off."

"He—when—when did he tell you?"

"That he was dropping Brucie off?"

Tim nods.

"You know when Pam and I were gone a few days? When the storm came?"

He nods again.

"While we were gone, Tim told me that he had a surprise, and that I should get everyone out of the house for a while so he could drop it off. He didn't tell me what the surprise was, and he didn't tell anyone else anything. We wouldn't have okayed Brucie coming here without talking to you first, if we'd known about it. And if your brothers and sister hadn't been so surprised and confused by him just appearing, they probably would have handled it better. They were too caught up in their own feelings to take good care of yours."

-

Jay takes a few minutes to himself before rejoining the others in the living room. Dick isn't there—probably making arrangements with Tim.

Arrangements to send Bruce away.

It’s not—he’s a grown man, and he hasn’t seen his dad since he was fifteen years old, and they’re little kids, and they’re rightfully terrified. Brucie isn't even his dad. He isn't even that much like his dad.

But he’s the closest thing Jay is ever going to have.

Maybe—he’s so different from Bruce, and he’s probably even more different from Owlman. If they can just get him to loosen up a little, so the kids can see how very different he is from Owlman, maybe, maybe—

Jason sits down on the couch next to Brucie. "So, you've been really...mellow, since you got here."

"Is that bad?"

"No. No, you can be...however you want to be. But I get the impression from our research that mellow isn't exactly your normal."

"My normal isn't very likeable, for more than a couple hours."

“We’d like to get to know your normal. And the kids—um. The kids are terrified of you. And we really, really want you to stay here. But we can’t make the house feel unsafe for the kids. So if we can’t get them to come around, we’ll—we’ll probably have to send you home. I think—I think the more like yourself you are, the less like Owlman you’ll be. So—so if you just—I really don’t want to have to send you back. And I really—I really want to get to know you—real you, not on-your-best-behavior-you, too.”

“If—if the kids are—”

“We told them five days. If they’re still scared of you in five days—I’m sorry.”

“We want you to stay,” Cass says.

“Yeah. Just—”

“You have to take care of the kids,” Brucie says. “I understand.”

“Just—just try to be normal, and friendly, and not scary?” Jay says. “We’ll—we’ll try to get them on board.”

He’s not sure they can. He really, really wants to keep Brucie. But they can’t have the kids this scared, and they can’t have them murdering people. So. He’ll just try to enjoy the five days they have left.

-

They go back to Tim’s bedroom, where it’s safe. Damian is quiet and clingy, and it’s making Tim anxious.

More anxious.

He sent Brucie here.

Why—why would older Tim do that?

He believes that Brucie isn't Owlman. Which means Owlman didn't trick or force Tim to send him here. Tim just did it.

Why would Tim do it?

He must have had a reason.

If he can't trust himself, he can't trust anyone. So he must have had a reason.

Chapter 35

Summary:

"You get rescued a lot," Tim says. He sounds a little judgmental, which Dick actually loves; he's expressing more personality all the time.

"So I was dating this girl Vicky. Investigative journalist. And it was really great at first, but she was absolutely convinced that I was a superhero." He pauses. "Which is even funnier, now."

"What superhero?" Cass asks.

"Superman, at first, but then he rescued me, and there were photos of us together, so then she was thinking Green Lantern."

"Green Lantern?" Jason asks. "You?"

"She said we had similar personalities. But then she decided I really looked more like Superman, and I shouldn't use the same personality as a hero and a civilian, so someone else must have been pretending to be Superman that time to throw her off. I can't remember if that was before or after Green Lantern rescued me."

"Is someone else Owlman in your world?" Tim asks. "Since you aren't?"

Tim is, Dick thinks, really trying hard. He's giving Brucie a real chance. Trying to talk to him, even. "He would probably be called Batman," Dick says. "He's usually Batman; Owlman is the evil version."

"Neither," Brucie says. "We have a Batwoman, though. She's really cool." He sighs. "Lesbian, though."

"Redhead?" Jason asks. "Really pale?"

He nods.

"Well, she's not just a lesbian. She's also your cousin."

Brucie takes a moment to process this. "Oh, gross."

"Why is that gross?" Damian asks.

"Because he liked her," Jay explains.

"Oh."

"Kate?" Bruce asks.

"Yeah."

"Really? Kate? Oh, that's so gross. That's so embarrassing. She knew I had a crush on Batwoman!"

"Were you guys close?" Dick asks.

"No. Only saw her once or twice a year. Wow, I'm so glad I'm never going to see her again."

"Did you ever meet her as Batwoman?"

"Yeah, she rescued me. And told me she was a lesbian."

"You get rescued a lot," Tim says. He sounds a little judgmental, which Dick actually loves; he's expressing more personality all the time.

"I get kidnapped a lot," Brucie says.

"Why?"

"Because I'm rich, and other people get rich from charging ransoms. Superman rescued me from a burning building, though. I was in Metropolis for a party, and I didn't hear the fire alarm go off, because there was this girl, and we were—um. I just didn't hear it."

"What were you doing?" Tim asks. He doesn't like having things hidden from him.

"Grown up stuff," Jason supplies. "Not bad stuff. Just private, grown up stuff we don't all need to hear details on." He glances at Damian, which will hopefully signal to Tim that they're protecting Damian's little ears, not Tim's, and should satisfy him at least for now.

"What happened with Vicky?" Cass asks.

"She said she loved the man she knew I really was, but she couldn't stand the secrets and lies anymore, and she wasn't going to stay if I wasn't going to be honest. And I still wasn't Superman, so that was the end of that."

Okay, that's actually really sad.

-

"You were wrong," Tim tells Cass. She turns to find him right behind her; Tim and Damian are the only people who can sneak up on her.

"About what?"

"I'm bad. You said I wasn't, but I am."

"Not."

"I only killed people because Owlman made me, before. But Owlman didn't make me kill Brucie."

"You didn't kill Brucie."

"I planned it."

"You planned because you were scared. You didn't do it."

“I killed so many other people,” he says.

She understands how he feels. She killed one man, and blamed herself for ten years. But she didn't even know what killing was until she'd done it. And Owlman is a better bad guy than David Cain. Her father made the mistake of creating a weapon he couldn't defeat. So she was able to run, able to never kill again. But Owlman was smarter, and his weapons couldn't escape him.

It wasn't their faults. Not Tim's, not the other Talons', not hers.

But she knows Tim won't believe that just because she says it. She knows. She remembers. It takes a long time to understand the blood isn't on your hands, when you can remember seeing it there.

She'll say it anyway.

She tugs him down onto the couch beside her. “You are so good. The bad things are not your fault.”

“Brucie—”

“Isn’t your fault. We messed up. Not you. Not Brucie. Me and Dick and Jay. Being scared is not your fault. Did what you know how to do. Trying to protect Dami is good. You are good.”

Tim doesn’t answer, but he leans into her a little.

“Where is Dami?” she asks. This is the first time she’s seen them apart since Brucie got here.

“Pam and Harley’s room. Nap with the hyenas. Pam says if Brucie comes in, she’ll grab him with vines.”

“Good.” She looks at Tim, and tries to decide if Pam is watching Dami because Tim now trusts her more than he does the rest of them, or just because he knows she can go up against Bruce, from his home world.

“Sorry about Brucie,” she says, because she can’t remember if she has, yet.

“He’s your dad,” Tim says.

“Kind of. He’s your nightmare.”

“Kind of,” Tim says.

“We will keep you safe. Promise.”

“I know,” Tim says.

-

Harley has been ejected from her own bedroom, which is just not fair. It’s her room! They’re her hyenas!

She coulda been quiet, for Damian. Probably.

Abandoned by Pam and the hyenas, she searches the house for someone else to hang out with. Cass and Tim are sitting on the couch, and she's not going to interrupt them. She doesn't see Dick and Jay. Brucie's door is open.

She knocks, and lets herself in without waiting for an answer.

It's a smallish room, made smaller by the largish bed. She glances around. Bed. Bedframe. Dresser. Standing lamp. Two smallish framed photos on the wall, one of little Bruce and his parents, one of adult Bruce and Alfred. At least, she's assuming it's Alfred and his parents, based on context. The bedspread is very colorful. The pictures and the bedspread are the only things that give it any personality.

"Hey, Brucie."

"Hi," he says. He looks tense. That makes sense. His living situation is up in the air right now, and she's not sure whether anyone actually told him the kids were considering murdering him.

Well. She's not gonna be the one to mention it. He's sitting on the bed; she flops down beside him.

Other her went to Thanksgiving at Brucie's place. They must have been pretty close.

She thinks about Bruce Wayne's reputation. She thinks about how she was in college, so desperate to connect to anyone in any way she could.

"So. Did we ever..." She trails off, expecting Brucie to pick up the question.

He looks at her expectantly. "Ever what?"

"You know."

He continues to look at her. Okay, maybe he doesn't know.

"Did we ever, like, hook up?"

"Oh!" he says. "No."

"Huh. Well, why not?"

"We were in medical school."

"Yeah?"

"Harley, I barely passed middle school."

"Okay, so we were exclusively study buddies."

"Yeah."

"Cool. So, uh. This room. It's kind of sad."

"Jason says he'll knock out a wall, if I stay."

"Yeah, that'll help. But we can work with this, too. Let's check out the storage areas. Cheer this up a little. I'm surprised Jay didn't have you pick out more fun stuff." She has second thoughts even as she says it; should they do up his room if he's leaving in a couple days?

"He tried. I just didn't—I didn't really know what to get."

"Well, what did you have at home?"

"Home was a historical monument. I wasn't supposed to change anything."

Okay, that's it. Harley stands and pulls him to his feet, then down the hall. They're gonna make these couple days count.

"Says who?" she asks.

"My Uncle Philip."

"And why is Uncle Philip in charge of your house?"

"He was my legal guardian."

"You're in your thirties."

Brucie shrugs, looking uncomfortable. "I guess I got in the habit of listening to him."

"Wait, what about Alfred? I thought he was your guardian?"

"Alfred raised me, because Uncle Philip didn't actually want me around. But he had the legal rights; Alfred was basically a nanny."

She's never met Alfred. But from what the kids have said, she's pretty sure that's not the usual setup.

"Okay, well, what about when you were in college? What did you do with your dorm?"

"Nothing, really. Let my roommate do what he wanted."

"You're kind of a pushover."

"I know."

"Come on. Let's find you some personality." She opens the door to the storage area, and pulls him inside.

-

Jay is in the backyard, sitting on the ground, looking out at the trees. Dick sits beside him.

"So," he says. "How are you feeling about Brucie?"

"Stupid," Jay says. "For thinking it could work."

"We've got a few days, yet."

"Come on. There's no way the kids'll okay it. They shouldn't. I wouldn't, in their place."

"So what are you doing out here? Go spend time with him while you can."

Jay shakes his head. "The more time I spend with him, the more I'll miss him later."

"The more the kids see us being comfortable around him, the more comfortable they'll feel around him."

"Yeah? So why aren't you hanging out with him?"

"I will. In a bit. It's just...weird. You know?"

"Yeah," Jay says. "Weird."

"You've spent the most time with him, so far. How is he?"

"I don't know. Nice? I'm seriously worried about his mental health. I don't think he'll do well if we send him back home."

"Then we won't. Tim and Bruce will find a good place for him. And maybe—maybe the kids'll come around."

"Right," Jay says, sounding distinctly skeptical.

"Harley's helping him furnish his bedroom, now."

"I already tried that. Got as far as two picture frames."

"Well, maybe she'll have more luck. She can use her doctor skills, or the fact that he knows her, or something."

"I hope so. It was like pulling teeth, trying to find things he actually liked."

-

Brucie looks around his room, newly decorated. He doesn't see much point in decorating a room he'll only be using for a week, but it made Harley happy.

He missed Harley.

Misses her. He knows it's not the same person, really.

She won't miss him, when he never comes home. (He won't go home; they said they'll find a better place for him, next week.) They haven't spoken in years. He thinks about the other people in his life, wonders if anyone will care he's gone.

Uncle Philip will be overjoyed. Uncle Jacob won't care. Kate might, but only because she's Batwoman, and it's her job to care about missing people. Selina might be upset, when she runs out of money and comes looking for him again. He doesn't think anyone else will really have any feelings about it.

Harley—this Harley—found a colorful rug and a few posters. He doesn't care much about the items themselves, but they're all things Uncle Philip would hate—he'd think they're awful and tacky. So that's nice.

The only thing he really cares about in the room is the bedding, which he doesn't like—the pillow is weird and the sheets are uncomfortable. But he's pretty sure that's a rich person problem, so he doesn't want to mention it, especially when he's not staying.

He would have liked to stay.

Chapter 36

Summary:

"Tim said—Tim said that if Brucie isn't Owlman, and he stays, he can be my dad."

Okay, well. Now he's got both Tims making major life choices for Brucie. And he probably needs to have a conversation with little Tim about making promises of parental feeling on someone else's behalf.

Damian slides out from under the bed to join Tim, sitting on the floor with Bud. He's still scared, but he's bored, too.

"I want to color," he says.

"In the kitchen or the living room?" Tim asks.

That is a dumb question. He doesn't want to be in the kitchen or the living room. Owlman might be there. "In here," he says.

"Okay," Tim says. "I'll bring some stuff for you."

"Don't go." Damian wants his coloring things. And he doesn't want to leave the room. But he doesn't want Tim to leave him alone in the room, either.

"You can't color if I don't go."

"I know."

Tim sighs. "Okay. We'll just stay here."

-

It's been a couple hours since anyone's seen the kids. Or the hyenas. Dick goes looking—Tim's door is open, and Dami's is closed, which means they must all be in Dami's room.

He knocks gently, and waits for an answer, even though the kids aren't good at answering, because he's really unsure of his welcome right now.

The door opens just far enough for Tim to poke his head out.

"Oh, good," he says. "It's you." He opens the door farther. "Damian, can Dick stay with you if I get your stuff?"

Damian lifts his head slowly from where he's mostly hidden behind a pile of hyenas. "Okay."

Tim flees the room. Dick stands in the doorway for a moment, thinking. It's good that he's being trusted to look out for Damian. It's bad that Damian needs to be watched over in his own bedroom.

"You gotta close the door," Damian whispers.

"Oh. Sorry." He closes it, and crouches on the ground, the hyenas between him and Damian. "Hey, Dami. How are you feeling?"

"I don't want Owlman to be here."

"I know. I'm sorry. He'll be leaving soon."

"He's not Owlman, though. Right?"

"Right. Is it okay if I come sit by you?"

Dami nods. Dick circles the hyenas slowly, since they seem to feel pretty protective of the kids, but they both ignore him, so he must not register as a threat.

He sits, and Damian scoots over, closer, but not pressed up against him like he would usually be when he was upset. Because he doesn't trust Dick like he did a week ago.

He should have called Tim's Bruce to take Brucie back home before Brucie even woke up. Before Cass and Jason knew about him. He shouldn't have humored Tim, shouldn't have gotten his whole family into this mess.

They sit in silence for a minute, and Damian shifts a tiny bit closer. "Tim said—Tim said that if Brucie isn't Owlman, and he stays, he can be my dad."

Okay, well. Now he's got both Tims making major life choices for Brucie. And he probably needs to have a conversation with little Tim about making promises of parental feeling on someone else's behalf. But none of that is Dami's fault.

"Yeah?" he asks. "What do you think about that?"

"Dunno. Never had a parent."

"Well. Every parent is different. But most of them are better than Owlman."

"I want Tim to come back now," Damian says.

"Do you want me to go find him?"

"No. Don't wanna be alone."

"Do you want to come with me to find him?"

"No."

Dick pulls out his phone to text Jay. "Tim out there? Dami wants him."

He remembers how Tim fled the room as soon as he saw Dick, and thinks maybe he doesn't want to come back to the room and babysit his little brother. Maybe his boredom is outweighing his fear of Owlman. Tim's a kid, too; he shouldn't have to be watching Damian all the time if he doesn't want to.

But Tim doesn't want Damian to be scared, and Damian doesn't feel as safe with anyone else, so Dick doesn't know how to spare him that responsibility.

He comes back pretty soon after Dick texts Jason, carrying a stack of coloring books, loose paper, colored pencils, and markers. Damian leans over the hyenas to reach for a coloring book.

"We're coloring now," Tim tells Dick, and it sounds like a dismissal. He stands up slowly.

"Okay. I'll come get you guys for dinner?"

Tim nods.

"Do you guys want to watch a movie tonight?"

Tim glances over at Damian, already engrossed in his coloring. "Maybe," he says.

-

Tim leaves the room quick, before Damian can change his mind. He knows that Dick is not as good as him, especially since the grownups let Brucie come here, and he knows it's his job to protect the baby. But he is so sick of sitting in the same place all day.

Everyone except for Dick and Damian is in the living room. And Pam, but he can see her in the kitchen. Jay and Cass are on one couch, and Harley and Brucie are on the other. Jay is reading, and Cass is watching Brucie, and Brucie and Harley are talking.

Tim could tell Brucie was talking to Harley even if he couldn't see her, because Brucie talks different when he talks to Harley. He's louder and faster and he moves his hands more. Tim likes watching him talk to Harley, because he doesn't look so much like Owlman when he does. He looks a little like Damian, when Damian is safe and happy and not like he is now.

Soon he will go back to Damian. Soon. He sits down next to Jason, who puts down his book and smiles at him.

"Hi, Tim. What's up?"

"Dick is sitting with Damian," he says.

Brucie goes quiet. Tim scoots a little closer to Jason, aware that everyone in the room is looking at him.

"Keep talking," Cass says, and after a few seconds Brucie starts again, slower and quieter.

Tim tries to relax. Brucie always gets quieter and stiller when he knows Tim is watching, and then he tries to—to not, but he never does a good job out it.

Tim thinks that he makes Brucie nervous. Because Brucie makes him nervous. Which is a confusing loop he doesn’t like.

"Are you okay?" Jason asks.

He nods, even though it's a lie.

"Do you want to go into another room? We can hang out in the kitchen, or the yard, or someone's bedroom."

"I'm okay." There's a few days left. He hasn't decided yet if Brucie can stay or not. The less time he spends with him, the harder it will be to decide.

He knows Damian doesn't want Brucie to stay. But he also knows Damian trusts him, and he'll agree to Brucie staying if Tim does. And Tim wants to give Brucie a fair chance. Because the grown-ups deserve to have a dad, and because he feels guilty about planning to murder him.

"Do you want to watch something?" Jason asks. "Or we could play a game."

"I'm okay," he says again. He just wants to be not stuck in the bedroom with Damian. And to watch Brucie a little more.

"Okay," Jason says. "Let me know if you change your mind." He goes back to his book.

Tim hears his phone vibrate, a few minutes later, and he knows before Jason takes it out of his pocket and reads the text that he has to go back to Damian. He starts gathering up the coloring supplies he came out to get. His little brother needs him.

-

"You think he's okay?" Jason asks Cass, quietly, when Tim leaves the room.

She shakes her head.

He glances over at Brucie, who seems pretty involved in his conversation with Harley, unlikely to be listening to them. "Even when this week is over, they're—it won't be the same. Will it?"

They shouldn't have let Brucie stay. He knows that. He knows. But it's Bruce. It's his dad. He's not a good enough person to give up a single minute with any version of his dad he can get. They'll send him away at the end of the week. Jay needs these last few days. He needs them. They're the last time with his dad he's ever going to get.

Cass shrugs. "Tim's less scared than Dami," she says.

"But he's still more scared than he should be, in his own house, where we promised he'd be safe."

"Yeah."

-

"You could be nicer to him," Harley says.

"You could be less nice," Pam counters. They're in their bedroom—alone, because the hyenas are with the kids, and she's really hoping she can convince both Harley and Jason to make that a regular thing.

"Why should I?"

"He's obnoxious? The kids are terrified of him?"

"He's sad, and lonely, and sweet. And funny. And he deserves for someone to be nice to him."

"You're all being nice to him. The kids like that I'm not; it's why Damian feels safe taking naps in here."

"He'll be gone in a couple of days. The kids'll be safe. It's nice to have a friend from before, who isn't constantly worrying about my Joker baggage." Harley stares at her for a long moment, head tilted, thoughtful. "You're not jealous, are you?"

"No." Maybe.

"He's not—I like him. I don't like him like I like you."

"He's annoying. And the kids don't like him."

"If the kids let him stay, you have to start being nicer."

"Harley, come on. There's no way."

"Tim watches him. Not—not on-guard watching. Thoughtful watching. He's thinking about it."

"He should never have been put in a position to be thinking about it."

"I know, Pam. I know. I'd be yelling at Tim—older Tim—about it if I could." He's grounded; she won't be able to talk to him again until his Bruce gives back his phone. "But he's here now. And it's not his fault he is."

Pam sighs. "It's not personal. I don't like anyone. You know that."

"You like me. You like the Bats."

"You're different. And the Bats took time."

"Not the little ones."

"The little ones took time for you. I had all those months you were avoiding them to get used to the idea. Besides, kids are different, too."

"If they let him stay you have to be nicer," Harley says again.

"If he stays," she agrees. There's no way he's staying.

Chapter 37

Summary:

Oh, this is bad. This is really bad. Bruce may have flunked out of medical school, but he can still—necks don't bend like that. Living necks don't bend like that.

Notes:

So, warning for *extremely temporary* death of a small child. 450 words between dying and coming back. Does come back *in this chapter.*

"Cass, get dressed," Pam says. "We're having a girls' day."

Cass looks down at her pajamas. She doesn't want to get dressed. It's early. "For what?"

"For fun," Harley says.

"Brucie—"

"Dick and Jay can handle Brucie and the kids for a few hours. You need a break."

She knows her brothers can handle things. But she doesn't want to upset the kids by changing their routine, and she doesn't want to lose any time with Brucie when he'll probably leave in a few days.

"Two hours," Pam says.

Cass frowns. "Can't get anywhere and back in two hours."

"We can get to a different part of the forest, have a picnic, and come back. Enough time for you to relax a little."

"What about everyone else relaxing?"

"We can get them out of the house in the next few days, too," Pam says.

"You're the one who's always hyperaware of everyone else's feelings," Harley says, "so you're the one who needs a break the most. Two hours of relaxing. That's all."

"Okay. Two hours."

-

Damian has been hiding for days, which makes sense, because Brucie is very scary. But Tim is worried, because Damian should be running and playing and having fun. He finds Dick talking to Brucie. He doesn't want to talk to Brucie, so he finds Jason instead, washing dishes.

"Can Damian and I play outside?" he asks.

"Sure. Let me finish this, and I'll come out with you."

Tim thinks about this. "Can we go out alone? Damian is—" He pauses, not sure what words he wants to use. He doesn't want to upset Jason. But Damian is mostly tense around everyone but Tim, right now. And they can take care of themselves; they don't need to be watched in the back yard.

Jason frowns. He glances over at Dick and Brucie on the couch. "Um. Okay. But be careful, and don't go out too far. Keep the house in sight."

"Your sight or my sight?" Tim asks. Jason's vision isn't enhanced; Tim can see really far.

"Good point. Let's say within a hundred yards, okay?"

"Okay."

He goes to get Damian out from under the bed, and the hyenas off from on top of it. (Jason said no hyenas on the bed, but they are guarding and protecting Damian. If Brucie wasn't here, the hyenas wouldn't be on the bed, so Tim has decided they can ignore that rule for now.) This will be good. Damian will climb trees and see squirrels and be happy. Brucie will be far away inside the house. It will be safe.

-

Brucie is trying to help Jason in the kitchen, but he's pretty sure he’s just getting in the way. He just spilled—something. He’s not even sure what.

“I’ll get it,” Jason says. “Maybe you should just—”

“Get out of the way?” he suggests.

“Just—just give me like five minutes to get things back in order, okay? I’ll come get you.”

Brucie goes outside. That should be far enough out of the way.

There’s movement up in the trees. The kids. He forgot they were out here. He should go back inside. He doesn’t want to scare them.

He’s just turning to leave when a small shape comes tumbling down from the sky.

Damian. Damian, falling. Damian, hitting the ground.

Oh, this is bad. This is really bad. Bruce may have flunked out of medical school, but he can still—necks don't bend like that. Living necks don't bend like that.

His first time alone with them, and a little kid is dead. A little kid is dead, and his brother watched him die.

Bruce hasn't seen someone die since—since—

No. He's the grown-up here. He needs to be a grown-up. Damian is—he needs to be a grown-up for Tim.

Tim is making his way down the tree slowly. Bruce pushes through his shock to reach the body before he does. He crouches down and checks for a pulse, because that's—that's what you do, but of course he doesn't find one.

Tim reaches his side, and stares down at Damian, mostly calm, and Bruce isn't sure if he understands—he doesn't want to be the one to explain that his little brother is dead.

He leans forward to pick him up.

"You can't move the body," Tim says.

"It's not—it doesn't matter anymore," Bruce says, as gently as possible. You don't move an injured body—you don't risk further injury. But for a dead body—

"No, his neck will heal funny if you pick him up."

"Tim, he's not—he won't—"

"Oh," Tim says. "You don't know."

"Tim," he says again. This isn't—this isn't—this is so bad. He shouldn't have come here, he shouldn't have thought he could be part of this family, he should have known, he should have known his family always dies in front of him, he should have known better than to let anyone—he's just a kid. He's just a little kid, and he's dead, and Bruce is pretty sure it's his fault.

Tim lays a very hesitant hand on his shoulder. "It's—it's okay. He isn't dead. Well, he is, but he'll be okay. We're—we're undead. And we heal."

Tim joins him on the ground in front of Damian, and reaches out to adjust the neck.

"You—you said we couldn't move the body."

"I said you couldn't move the body. I know how his neck should be."

"Tim," Bruce says. Does he—they are zombies. They told him they were zombies. Zombies can come back from broken necks.

Tim is done messing with Damian's neck. He sits up straighter, studying Bruce intently. "You're really upset. I promise it's okay. He'll wake up in a minute."

He was dead. He was definitely, definitely dead. Bruce watched him die.

"Oh," Tim says, alarmed. "You're not supposed to cry. You're a grown-up."

"Sorry," Bruce says.

Tim pats his arm. "Um. It's okay. Really."

"Why is Brucie crying?" Damian asks.

Bruce looks down. His neck is straight and his eyes are open and he's starting to sit up.

"Because you died, I think. How does your neck feel?"

"Hurts."

Bruce rallies. "We should—we should go inside and get painkillers."

Damian stands up.

"You—you shouldn't walk. Your neck was broken. Your spine—"

"You should let him carry you," Tim says to Damian. "I think it'll make him feel better."

"Um. Okay," Damian says, which is weird because Brucie is pretty sure Damian’s terrified of him, but he just—he just died—so maybe that makes Brucie less scary somehow?

He's never actually carried a kid before. Damian is heavier than he looks, and Bruce is still really freaked out that he just watched him die, but it does make him less nervous about dropping him now. He would probably be totally fine if Bruce dropped him.

Once he's figured out how to hold him, it really only takes one arm, and Tim grabs his free hand.

"You're really pale," he says. "Don't pass out. You're not that heavy, but you're big. I hate carrying adults. Unwieldy."

"I won't pass out," Bruce says. He's mostly sure it's true.

-

Brucie walks into the house carrying Damian, holding Tim's hand, and looking like he just watched his parents die in front of him again.

Everything about this is worrying.

"What happened?" Dick asks.

Jay comes around the corner when he speaks, nearly running into Brucie; Damian reaches out, and Jay takes him. Tim steers Brucie to the couch and half pushes him down.

"Damian died," Tim says, very casually.

Damian mumbles something into Jay's shoulder; Dick can't hear it from a few feet away.

"What happened?" Dick asks again.

"Fell out of a tree," Tim says.

"He says his neck hurts," Jay says.

"Yeah, it broke. Brucie said he could have pain killers."

"Sure," Dick says. "Sure, yeah, I'll just—get those."

He comes back with a couple ibuprofen and a paper cup of water. He's not sure how much two ibuprofen is going to do for Damian—should he have more because he has a high pain tolerance, or less because he's so little? Or more because he's undead? Or less because he's undead?

"Why did Damian fall?" Dick asks Tim while Damian is taking his medicine. If it was because he saw Brucie standing out there and panicked—why did they let him go out there when they knew the kids were alone?

"I didn't see," Tim says.

"It was my fault," Brucie says. It sounds like he's been crying.

"Why?" Jason asks. "What happened?"

"It's because he's—my family always dies in front of me. I should have known better than to—"

“Care about him?”

“Yeah,” Brucie says, miserably.

“I don’t think that’s how it works,” Jay says. “Dami, buddy, can you tell me what happened?”

He turns slowly from where he’s been hiding his face in Jay’s shoulder. “I was following a squirrel. It went out on a little branch, and it wasn’t strong enough for me.”

Dick relaxes slightly for the first time since Brucie and the kids walked in. It was a dumb kid thing, and they’re going to have to have conversations about being more careful despite technical immortality, but it’s definitely not Brucie’s fault. Or Dick’s, for having Brucie here.

The kids are fine. Dami’s a little shaken, a little sore. Tim’s a little anxious, gaze darting nervously between Brucie and Damian. But they’re basically fine.

Brucie is not. Brucie has just relived a major trauma, and watched a child die and come back to life. Dick makes eye contact with Jay, who nods and starts herding Tim into the kitchen, talking about cookies. He’s still holding Dami. Dick goes to sit down by Brucie.

"It definitely wasn't your fault Damian fell. And it wasn't your fault Alfred or your parents died, either."

"Alfred died protecting me. My parents, too. My mom pushed me behind her—the first bullet grazed her side, and hit me, here, in the shoulder. The second killed her."

"She was your mom. Protecting you was her job. It wasn't your fault. None of it was your fault."

“My cousin, and my aunt. When I lived with them, we were—we were in a car accident, and Beth and my aunt—only Kate and I survived.”

“It wasn’t your fault,” Dick says again.

"I watched him fall, and the way—the way his neck was bent—I was trying to figure out how to tell Tim. I thought—I thought he just didn't understand."

"I'm sorry we didn't explain more about their healing factor. They've stayed pretty safe since we got them."

Brucie nods.

"So, um. Have you seen anyone about your PTSD and survivor's guilt?"

"Alfred took me to therapy a few times, but Uncle Philip wasn't willing to keep paying, and Alfred didn't make enough to cover the expenses himself."

"Why was Philip in charge of your money?"

"He was my guardian. He had full control of finances until I was eighteen, and still had access to the accounts until I was twenty one."

Dick has so many more questions about that, but Brucie is just starting to calm down after watching a small child die and come back, and the goal is to keep him calm, not interrogate him about probably-upsetting topics.

"Maybe you should talk to Harley about it. You know, she's acting as a therapist for the kids."

"I'm leaving the day after tomorrow," Brucie says.

"Um, yeah. Probably."

They have to send him away. They have to. They promised the kids.

"Have we talked about the plan for that yet?" he asks.

Brucie shakes his head.

"Okay. So. The Bruce you met the other day, the one who brought your stuff over? He's going to come pick you up, and you'll stay at his place for a while. Probably not super long, but he's going to find a place for you to stay, permanently, that's better than here or your home world. I'm not sure what options he has lined up, yet, but I asked him to look for places where Alfred is alive."

"Thanks," Brucie says.

"Yeah. I—I hope he finds somewhere good."

-

Jason takes both kids to the kitchen, and shifts Damian to his other side to free up his dominant hand.

"I think this situation calls for cookies," he says. "Damian, why don't you pick a kind, since you're the one who died?"

Damian mumbles something into his shoulder.

"Can't hear you, buddy."

“Peanut butter,” he says, a little louder.

"Okay, peanut butter." He pulls out the relevant cookbook. When he turns back around, Tim is sitting on the counter. He's not really supposed to do that—it's good that he feels comfortable doing it anyway, especially after the week they've had. "Are you okay, Tim?" he asks. They've been pretty focused on Dami, who died, and Brucie, who was pretty visibly traumatized, but Tim also just witnessed his baby brother's death; it's not necessarily less traumatizing just because he's seen it before.

"He cried," Tim says.

Jason sets the cookbook on the counter, and Tim pulls it into his lap, flipping through to the cookie section.

"Who cried?" Jason asks.

"Brucie. He checked Damian's pulse, and he cried. He didn't want him to be dead."

"Oh. Well, that's good, right?"

Tim nods.

"Okay. Did you find the recipe we need?"

He nods again, and turns the cookbook around to show him.

"Great. Could you help me gather up the ingredients? I've only got one hand here." It doesn't look like Damian's going to want to be set down any time soon. And it sucks that it's because he just died, but this is the first time he's been affectionate with Jason since Brucie got here.

Tim stands up on the counter to get into the cabinets. Leaving behind muddy footprints that Jay will definitely have to clean up later.

"Are you okay, Tim?" he asks again, realizing he never actually got an answer.

"I'm fine. I think we should put chocolate chips in one of the cookies. Brucie likes chocolate."

Chapter 38

Summary:

Tim has died so many times. He has watched so many other Talons die so many times. He’s never, ever seen anyone be sad that one of them died. Only Brucie.

Cass has a really good time at her picnic with Pam and Harley. Nobody is stressed. And they're right—it's good to be just girls sometimes. She's glad she's not the only girl in the house anymore.

Everything is nice. Then they get home.

Dick's body language says stress, stress, sadness, more stress. Brucie's says terror and relief and guilt. She goes to the kitchen, which is hard to do because the hyenas are guarding the door, looking very alert. Jay is stressed, stressed, stressed, too. Dami is in his arms, squished up tight against his shoulder, his body tense with misery. Unspecified misery, until she gets a better look at him. Tim is standing on the counter in muddy shoes, passing baking supplies down to Jason. He seems okay. He is the only one who seems okay.

"What happened?" she asks.

"Dami fell out of a tree," Dick says; he's followed her from the other room. "Broke his neck. Died. Tim and Brucie watched it happen."

"Okay, now?"

"Physically, except he says his head hurts. He's upset. Clingy."

Cass nods. "Was gone two hours," she says.

"Yeah, well. We all fell apart without you, apparently."

She goes to Jason, angling herself so Dami can see her from behind Jay's shoulder. "Dami? Do you want to sit with me, so Jason has hands for cookie making?"

He peeks out a little. "Can we watch the cookies?"

"Yeah. I sit at the table. You sit in my lap."

"Okay."

Jay passes Dami over. He wraps his arms tight around Cass, and Dick pulls out a chair for them. He goes out into the other room to check on Brucie; Cass can hear Brucie's voice, and Harley's. They must be fine, because Dick comes back and sits by her.

She holds on tight to Damian. She left for two hours, and her babiest brother died.

Last time she went somewhere with Pam and Harley, her not-dad showed up and uprooted their whole lives.

She is never going anywhere with Pam and Harley ever again.

-

They make cookies, and they eat cookies, and Tim gives the chocolate chip peanut butter cookie to Brucie. They eat lunch. Damian’s moved from Cass’ lap to Dick’s, and he’s definitely falling asleep. He hasn’t been sleeping enough at night since Brucie got here.

Tim tugs the bottom of his shirt to get his attention. “Wanna go to bed?” he asks.

Damian nods into Dick’s shoulder, and Dick stands up, still holding him. “Whose bedroom are we going to?”

“Damian’s,” Tim says.

The hyenas follow them. Dick sets Damian down on the bed, and Tim shoos him out and closes the door. The sooner Damian gets a nap, the sooner they can talk.

He only sleeps for an hour or two. Tim sits on the floor with Lou—Bud is up on the bed with Damian—and waits. When he wakes up, Damian slides out of bed and onto the floor, between Tim and Lou.

“Feel better?” Tim asks.

“I guess.”

Spine breaks hurt. Tim’s never had time to just feel bad about one before. They had to get right back up and start fighting again.

“Brucie’s supposed to leave in two days,” Tim says.

Damian nods.

Tim takes a deep breath. He won’t like this. Not when he already feels bad. “He cried when you were dead. I think he should stay.”

“You want Owlman to stay?”

“But he isn't Owlman. He’s nothing like Owlman.”

“His face is like Owlman,” Damian says.

Tim has died so many times. He has watched so many other Talons die so many times. He’s never, ever seen anyone be sad that one of them died. Only Brucie.

Brucie’s barely even spent any time with Damian. And he cried when he died. He cared.

No one’s ever cared before. And he—he could be Damian’s dad. Damian could have a dad who cared.

He thought it was his fault Damian died. Which is dumb, but—it was never Owlman’s fault when they died. Even when he was the one who killed them, it wasn’t his fault they died. It was theirs, for being dumb or annoying or in the way. Brucie isn't Owlman. Someone who cried over a dead Talon could never be anything like Owlman.

“Do you trust me, Damian?” Tim asks.

Damian nods.

“I think we should let him stay.”

“Okay,” he says, and his voice is little and scared, but Tim has been thinking about it, all through making cookies, and all through his nap, and he’s pretty sure he’s right.

-

The kids are holed up in the bedroom again. Harley’s done a better job distracting Brucie from this morning’s trauma than Dick could. Everything is settling back down. Cass is doing dishes, and Jay is talking to Pam about something, and his family is safe and alive. The kids are in hiding, but Brucie will be going home soon, and then hopefully things will go back to normal.

He wishes they didn’t have to send Brucie home. Especially after talking to him today. But they have to take care of the kids.

Cass has just finished the dishes, and come to sit down next to him, when Tim and Dami emerge, the hyenas trailing behind them. Dami climbs up on the couch between Dick and Cass. Tim stands in front of them, looking very serious.

“Everything okay?” Dick asks.

"We've decided that Brucie can stay," Tim says.

"Oh. Um, okay." Dick was not expecting that. At all.

"Dami?" Cass asks. "You want Brucie to stay, too?"

"He can stay," Damian says.

The rest of the room has gone quiet, everyone eavesdropping on them.

"But you have to promise to send him away if he does anything evil," Tim says.

"Okay," Dick says. "That seems fair."

Tim nods, then turns and drops to the floor in front of the couch, wrapping his arms around the closest hyena.

"You guys wanna watch a movie?" Jason asks.

Damian sits up a little. "Winnie the Pooh?"

"Sure."

Jason puts in the movie. Bud wanders across the room to get petted by Harley, then Brucie, then Pam. Dick slides down to the floor with Tim and Lou.

"So why'd you change your mind about Brucie?" he asks, quietly.

"He cried for Damian. He cared that he was dead."

Dick remembers bringing the kids home. Tim unconscious, Damian dead. He hadn't really cared that Damian was dead, even later, when he found out Jason did it. It didn't matter; it was temporary.

He was still a dead six year old. It should have mattered more.

"Thank you for giving him a chance," Dick says. "I'm proud of you."

-

He's staying. Winnie the Pooh is playing, and there's a hyena head in his lap, and Tim is watching him with big golden eyes, and he's staying. This is going to be his home.

-

Damian sits on the floor between Bud and Lou. He's on the floor because the couch feels too soft, right now, but he's wrapped in a fuzzy blanket and two hyenas because the air doesn't feel soft enough.

He hasn't died in a long time. He doesn't like dying. He forgot how much he doesn't like dying. It’s been a whole day, and he still feels tired and icky.

Tim is standing a few feet away, leaning on the wall, between Damian and the kitchen. Between Damian and the others, or at least the awake others—Pam and Harley are still in bed. Cass was sitting with Damian, but she left to get him a blanket, and then to get Bud and Lou, and he doesn't know why she left this time. Jason is making breakfast, and Brucie is helping, and Dick is doing the dishes.

Damian watches Brucie. He watches how slow and careful he goes, listening to Jason's instructions. He watches how every few minutes he turns back to look at Tim and Damian, and every time his face is surprised and relieved.

Cass comes back, with a new toy—a soft, black and white cat. She pats him on the head, then stands back up and goes to the kitchen. Damian hugs the cat close and keeps watching Brucie.

That's his dad. Kind of. He didn't—he didn't want Owlman to be his dad. But Brucie isn't Owlman. Tim said Brucie cried when he died. So maybe—maybe Brucie would be a good dad.

His face is Owlman's face, and that still scares Damian, a lot. But right now he can't see the face. He can see Brucie's back, narrower than Owlman's, and his hands, softer and smaller than Owlman's, and he can hear his voice, a little higher and not as angry.

Tim is right. Brucie can stay. Maybe he can't be Damian's dad— not yet— but he can stay.

Chapter 39

Summary:

"Um, no," Dick says. "I think framing Philip for Brucie's murder is a little excessive."

"I'm up for it," Jay offers. Dick shoots him a quelling look, and he goes back to his reading, tuning them out again.

Notes:

I forgot to post this morning! Sorry!

Dick disappeared into the locked room where they keep their weapons and more advanced computer stuff right after lunch, and he hasn’t come out since. Jason checks his watch again, and decides it’s time to intervene.

Dick doesn’t even turn around when Jason opens the door.

"Hey, do you remember Bruce's Uncle Philip?"

"Um. Kind of." He didn't have a whole lot of experience with the extended family. "There were two uncles, right? Was Philip the asshole, or the other one?"

"The asshole," Dick says, finally turning to face him. "The other one is Kate's dad. He's cool."

"Did you see a lot of them? While I was dead?"

"Nah. Not the uncles. But we did see more of Kate, so I got a few stories out of her. Anyway. Brucie said that Philip, not Alfred, was his legal guardian."

"And that's why you've been holed up in here on your computer for two hours?"

"He's filed for conservatorship of Brucie four times since he turned eighteen."

"On what grounds?"

"Um." Dick turns back around and scrolls down the page. "Crappy ones. Judges kept throwing out the case. Philip said, on separate occasions, that Brucie was developmentally delayed, mentally ill, addicted to drugs, had brain damage, and was generally unable to take care of himself."

"And is any of that true?"

"Well, he was on antidepressants, but the depression definitely wasn't impeding his ability to make decisions to the point where he needed a legal guardian. Head trauma when he was eight—he was in a car accident a few months after his parents died. He was living with Uncle Jacob initially, but his wife and daughter died in the accident, and Brucie got sent to Philip instead. I’m still trying to hack into the records to find out how severe the concussion was."

It occurs to Dick, belatedly, that maybe he shouldn't be hacking Brucie's medical records without permission. He got caught up in the Uncle Philip thing. He'll hold off on further invasions of privacy for now.

"No history of drug use or other head trauma, no other mental health diagnoses, no record of developmental issues, and clearly he has been taking care of himself."

"When did he file?"

"The first time was a month after Brucie turned eighteen. Before he finished high school. The second, he was 23. Around the time he started med school—the judge was really unimpressed that time. Said a man who got accepted into med school could probably handle himself." He switches tabs a couple times to find what he's looking for. "Um, the next time he was 28. It was a few months after Alfred died. That was the drug one—looks like one of the household staff hired to take Alfred's place planted a shit ton of coke. Pretty sure Philip hired him to do it."

"Asshole," Jay says.

"Yeah. And then the last time was just last year, after Selina seduced Brucie and took him for millions. For the second time. The entire court system was pretty fed up with Philip by then. The judge said, and I quote, 'It's his own damn money, and he's a grown damn man. Do you know how many serial killers we have in this city? Stop wasting everyone's time.'"

Jay leans forward to read over his shoulder. "Okay. So. Brucie is really lucky, actually."

"Lucky?"

"Philip desperately wants this money, right? That's what all of this is about. Taking custody of him would give him access to financials. But you know what would be faster and easier, if he's the closest relative and Brucie doesn't have a will?"

"Killing him?"

"Yeah. If Philip was just a slightly bigger asshole, or less of a coward, or, you know. Whatever was holding him back from murder..."

"It's a good thing we got Brucie when we did."

"Yeah," Jay says again. "Fifteen years of trying and failing to get custody—he would've had to try a different tactic, soon."

"And now Philip gets all that money, anyway. It's like we let him win."

"Hm. Think we can do anything about that?"

Dick pulls out his phone. "Hey, Tim. I have a favor to ask."

-

Jay shoves Dick out of the chair so he can see the screen better, and half listens to the conversation with Tim while he reads.

"Um, no," Dick says. "I think framing Philip for Brucie's murder is a little excessive."

"I'm up for it," Jay offers. Dick shoots him a quelling look, and he goes back to his reading, tuning them out again.

"Hey, Jay?"

He looks up.

"Tim says he can get Bruce to help him transfer all Brucie's assets here, but what about the manor?"

"Um, we could have Brucie write a will and someone could plant it?"

"Tim, did you hear that?"

"Just put him on speaker, Dick."

"Hang on,” Tim is saying as his voice fills the room. “Bruce'll let me on the computer if I'm helping sort out my own mess. Let me get my laptop from him, and you can give me access to what you've got."

He connects, on his side of the multiverse, and Dick spends a few minutes getting him up to speed, Jason picking up on a few details he left out earlier.

"Okay,” Tim says, “but the important question here is, did Philip plan the car accident that took out his niece and sister-in-law? Brucie could have been the actual target."

"He hasn't resorted to murder at any other point in his attempts to control Brucie,” Dick says. “He got used to Brucie's money, later, and didn't want to give it up. But I don't think it was the original plan."

“So we probably shouldn’t frame him for murder,” Jason concludes, a little sadly. Uncle Philip was an asshole.

“We need a will,” Dick says.

"No one'll inherit his stuff for years, anyway,” Tim says. “How long does someone have to be missing before they're declared dead? It's different in different worlds."

"Well, as long as Philip can't access the money in the meantime, it doesn't really matter, right?"

They talk to Brucie, and draft a will, and send it to Tim's Bruce to get it printed, signed, and planted.

Someday soon, someone is going to find an envelope in Brucie's house labelled "Bruce Wayne's Last Will and Testament (Fuck you, Uncle Philip—it all goes to Kate.)"

-

"And you're okay about the will and everything?" Harley asks. She's sitting with Brucie at the kitchen table; no one else is around.

"It was a good idea. I don't want Uncle Philip to get everything."

"And you're okay with it going to Kate instead?"

He nods. It was Jason's suggestion; he didn't know what to do with it all. But he's fine with it. "I kind of owe her. I got her family killed."

"You survived a car accident they didn't. That wasn't your fault, Brucie."

"Beth was too small to be in the front seat, really. She wouldn't have been, if there weren't three of us. If I wasn't there, she'd have been in back with Kate, and Aunt Gabi may have died still, but she'd have been fine."

"Eight year old you was not responsible for your aunt making poor seating choices."

He shrugs. "Anyway, she's Batwoman. She'll have better uses for it than Uncle Philip."

Tim walks into the room with a couple dirty dishes. Brucie watches as Tim notices him, and goes all stiff for a second. (Why did he let him stay?)

"Okay, Tim?" Harley asks.

He nods. "You just look scary," he says.

Harley studies Brucie’s face for a long moment. "Hm. What if you had a mustache?"

Brucie considers this. "I think I'd look silly with a mustache. Tim, what do you think?"

Tim stares at him for almost as long as Harley did. "Silly," he agrees, finally.

"What if you were blond?" Harley asks.

"Sillier," Tim says immediately.

"I don't mind looking silly," Brucie says. He'd rather have blond hair than a mustache; with a mustache, he'd look too much like his dad.

"We could give you a spray tan," Harley suggests next.

Tim shakes his head.

"Hm. How about a big tattoo on your face?"

"Painful," Brucie says.

"Nose ring. Eyebrow ring. Some sort of large facial piercing."

Tim laughs, just barely, then tries to look very serious. It's adorable.

"I'm running out of ideas," Harley says. "Tim, help me out here."

'He's fine."

"You're just going to let this man walk around, with his scary, scary face?"

"You're being silly," Tim says.

"Me? Silly?"

"Yes."

"Brucie, do you think I'm being silly?"

He nods.

"Well, fine. But if you change your mind, I have a needle and a bottle of bleach."

"I really wouldn't mind something like that, if it helped," Brucie says later, when Tim is gone.

"Yeah. But he doesn't need it. He wouldn't have laughed at me if he did."

"What about Damian?"

"We'll see. Bleaching your hair would be the easiest."

-

Pam goes out into the yard, Damian trailing behind her, Bud and Lou trailing behind him. It's time to child-proof this jungle. She should have done it weeks ago. Before someone died.

"We're going to build hammocks and a trampoline, first," she tells Damian.

"Like in that movie?" Damian asks.

"Exactly." Hopefully. She has no idea what movie he's talking about.

She calls forward the kinds of vines she needs, and they start to weave themselves together. Damian watches, little yellow eyes wide through his sunglasses. Lou snaps at one of the passing vines.

"Can I go on it?" he asks.

"Not the trampoline, yet. You can be in the hammock. But leave the hyenas on the ground."

He climbs up into the smallest hammock, and continues to watch as she pulls the trampoline top tighter and tighter, then starts to weave a safety net.

"We can jump on it?" Damian asks.

"When it's done."

"Even though it's green?"

"Yes."

"Will it be as bouncy as in the movie?"

"I hope so."

"Can me and Tim bounce at the same time?"

"Yes."

"Can Bud and Lou bounce?"

"No."

"Can the grown-ups bounce?"

"Yes, but not all at once."

He has endless questions. She reminds herself that this means that he's feeling better, and that he's comfortable with her. She answers the questions. She finishes the trampoline.

"Okay, Damian, I need you to be quiet for a minute now. I have to focus."

He nods. She turns around, and puts all her focus into the jungle around her. Finding the plants she needs, calling them to her, pouring herself into them. Pouring her care for two little boys into them. Remembering that she lives with some very reckless adults, and pouring in her care for them, too.

When she's done, she turns back to Damian. He's climbed back out of the hammock, and he's sitting on the ground between Bud and Lou, watching her. She can't imagine it's been very interesting; nothing should have moved. It's all internal.

"Do you want to help me test my new system?" she asks him.

"How?"

"I just need you to climb a tree and jump out."

"I don't wanna die again," he says.

"You won't. I promise." If the system doesn't work, she'll send out new vines to catch him.

Damian extracts him from the hyena pile and picks a tree.

He trusts her. She knew he trusted her when she guarded his naptime, but repeating an event that recently killed him—he really trusts her.

"You don't have to go up very high," she says. "Just ten or twenty feet."

He goes up a few more feet, and pauses.

"That's perfect, Dami. Just jump now. I'll catch you."

Damian jumps. Pam watches, and does nothing. The vines she's prepared flow out to catch him, and lower him gently to the ground.

It works. Even if she's not here, not watching, the vines will catch him if he falls. Will catch any of them.

He runs to her as soon as the vines release him. "That was fun! Can I go again?"

"This is an emergency rescue system, not a toy."

Damian wilts. "So I can't go again?"

Pam sighs. "One more time."

Chapter 40

Summary:

She tries to think what words to use; Tim gives her time to find them. "I—you woke up in a new world, with a new Bruce, new Alfred, new me. And you just—you just—I'm not her. People we love are not replaceable."

Brucie is staying. Damian said that he could stay. So he’s going to have to be brave about it.

Brucie is sitting at the kitchen table with a mug. Pam is in the room. Jason and Cass are in the next room. They won’t let Brucie hurt him. Now is a good time to be brave. He goes into the kitchen.

"You can color with me," Damian says. "If you want."

Brucie looks up from his mug. "Oh. Okay. What are we coloring?"

"I'm doing my family. You can color anything. There's no rules."

Damian gets out paper and markers and crayons, and sits at the table. He lets Brucie pick out colors first, because that's polite.

"What are you coloring?" he asks, after a few minutes.

"I'm doing my family, too."

Damian nods. Families are a good thing to draw. He's glad Harley suggested it. He draws his family a lot. He looks over Brucie's shoulder and sees Tim in the next room. "Tim," he says, "come color with us. We're doing families."

Tim comes. Damian gives him a few markers, because he knows Tim likes them better—he says the crayons feel funny on his fingers. (They do, but Damian likes the funny feeling. Tim doesn't.)

"Who is in your family?" he asks, when Brucie has three big people and one little person on his page.

"That's my mom, and my dad, and Alfred."

"What is Alfred?"

"He's sort of my foster dad."

"Oh. Who is the little person?"

"That's me."

"Why are you little?"

"So my parents will recognize me. I was little last time they saw me."

Damian nods. That makes sense.

"I think I know everyone else," Brucie says. "Who's that lady in the corner?"

"That's my mom. I have a photo." His drawing has him and Tim and Dick and Cass and Jason and Bud and Lou and his mom.

"Cool," Brucie says. "Tim, who's in your picture?"

Tim looks up slowly. "Um. This is my mom, and this is my dad, and this is Damian."

"Why aren't you in the picture?"

"Oh. I'm—I'm not there right now."

"Why not?" Damian asks.

Tim frowns. "I don't know. Maybe I'm with Owlman?"

"You shouldn't be with Owlman," Damian says. "You should be with your family."

He shrugs. "I'm not, though."

Damian points at his own drawing of Tim. "You're here, with me. You're in my family."

"Okay," Tim says. "I'm with you."

-

Cass leans over the back of the couch to watch her little brothers bonding with Brucie.

Tim has been more relaxed with him every day. Damian has still been avoiding him, but Cass knows he’s felt safer, at least, since they said Brucie could stay, because he stopped avoiding the rest of them.

They are all doing a very good job. She can see that all three of them are nervous, but they’re sitting at the table coloring together, anyway.

She thinks Brucie will be good for the boys, if they can get past how he looks. He feels…safe.

He’s so different. Bruce felt safe, too, but it was a different kind of safe? Maybe?

Bruce—her Bruce—had a lot of pain. There was I-lost-my-parents pain, and I-lost my-son pain, and there-is-so-much-hurt-in-the-world-and-I-can't-heal-it-all pain. It was the last one that made her trust him, made her love him. That he cared so much, that other people's pain hurt him. He wasn't always good. He didn't always get things right. He hurt people, especially the ones who loved him. But he cared. He cared so much it hurt.

This Bruce has a lot of pain, too. But it feels different. Batman's pain was angry. Batman's pain was productive. Brucie's pain is sad.

He is smiley and chatty and silly and fun. But those things don't trick Cass. They don't trick any of them. He hurts so much.

Dick and Jason said, when he first came, that he really was the person their Bruce pretended to be. It is...hard. Cass saw the real Bruce through his disguises, and it's hard for her to understand what he looked like, in those disguises, to someone who didn't see all the secrets his body told. But she thinks—she thinks the man Bruce pretended to be wasn't supposed to have any pain. She thinks he was supposed to be happy, supposed to not have to think or worry about anything.

Brucie worries a lot. He worries about being annoying. About not being good enough. Not being smart enough. He worries that he doesn't know how to do housework, and that the kids are scared of him, and that Pam doesn't like him, and that every bad thing he's ever seen is somehow his fault, and probably a dozen other things that Cass can't pick out of the crowd of all his worries.

He's willing to help around the house, and not bad at taking directions. The kids decided to let him stay. Pam tolerates people more than she likes them, and it takes time and Harley's approval to build tolerance; he already has Harley's approval.

He's so different from her dad. When he first got here it was—weird. But now she looks at him and she doesn't see her Bruce, doesn't see her dad. She knows they have the same face. They have closer faces than the two Tims in her life, and she still sees them so much in each other. But Brucie feels...new.

Maybe it's because both of the Tims are her brothers, and Brucie is definitely not her dad.

She wanted to make Bruce proud. She doesn't care if Brucie is proud of her. She just wants him to stop being so sad.

“Cassie,” Dick says. “Tim time.”

She turns around to accept the tablet, and glances back at the kitchen table one more time before retreating to her room. The others will keep an eye on Brucie and the kids. She has another little brother to worry about.

He looks good today. He mostly has, lately. He didn’t, last time, right after he sent them Brucie. But usually he does, these days.

"Are you okay?" she asks, anyway, because she doesn't like how she left things, last time.

"Okay. Super, super grounded. I haven’t talked to anyone but family and my therapist since we dropped Brucie off."

"Good," Cass says.

"You know, I'm a legal adult. I feel like I should be ungroundable."

"Act like an adult," Cass suggests.

"I am! I'm acting like Bruce. He kidnapped me from the multiverse."

"Hm. Act like Alfred. Adultier."

"Yeah. Maybe." He sighs. "I don't think I'm ever getting ungrounded. I asked Jay to ask Kon to ask Lex to kidnap me, but he said no."

Cass takes a moment to process this. "Which one?"

"Oh, sorry. Jay said no to asking. But Dickie asked Kon for me, and then Lex said no, too."

"Ask Ra's?"

"Do you think he would?"

"Think you should just be grounded."

"Probably."

Cass doesn't answer. She takes a moment to study him, so small and far away on the tablet. He stares at the floor for a long time before he looks at her again.

"He didn't—he was just a guy."

Cass thinks about this. Gives up. "Who are we talking about now?"

"Sorry,” he says again. “The Joker. He—he wasn't even—" Tim stops.

"Had the same face, though."

"Yeah."

"Like Brucie."

Tim winces. "Yeah," he says again.

She can tell he has more to say. She waits him out; it doesn't take long.

"I just—I saw him, and I kept thinking about how last time I saw him, I ki—I killed Bruce. I found Brucie months ago, and I didn't do anything then, because I knew—I knew it was a bad idea. But I just kept thinking about how I took Bruce away from you, and he was—he was right there, all by himself. I just—I just wanted to give him back to you. I wasn't thinking about the kids."

"Not just the kids." She tries to think what words to use; Tim gives her time to find them. "I—you woke up in a new world, with a new Bruce, new Alfred, new me. And you just—you just—I'm not her. People we love are not replaceable." She wants Brucie here. She does. But she feels...weird about it. Why doesn't Tim feel weird about it? It hurts sometimes, how not-weird it is for him.

It takes Tim a long time to answer. "I killed Bruce," he says, finally.

"I know."

"So, yeah. It's easier, for me. To—to pretend."

"Timmy," she says.

"And back then there was no way to send me back, and I didn't want to go back anyway, and face you, after—after. It was just easier."

"We didn't care. We just love you."

He shrugs. "And then I—I was in really bad shape when I got here. By the time I was okay enough that the differences mattered, they still didn't matter, because I loved the new versions, too."

"Brucie and little Tim stay. But no more replacements. Okay?"

"I won't send any. Can't make any promises for Dick."

Dick's already promised not to do that to them again. So it is all good. She changes the subject. They need to talk about something happier. She wanted Tim to feel guilty, a little—wanted him to understand he couldn't do things like that. But she doesn't want him to be this sad. He's supposed to feel guilty about sending her surprise family replacements, not about killing Bruce, or how he copes with killing Bruce, or loving his new family.

When they have been talking for a long time, and he looks happy and okay again, she goes to find Harley. He's grounded from everyone but family, but Harley took care of him for almost a year, and now she lives with his siblings, so Cass is deciding that she counts.

-

Tim smiles out at Harley from the tablet, and it's so nice to see his face; usually he texts her.

She reminds herself that she's angry. "You know, if Dick hadn't been home to find Brucie and prepare the kids, Brucie would be dead, or they would be lost in the jungle, or both."

"Yeah."

"You shouldn't have made me a part of this."

"I know. I messed up."

"Don't do it again."

"I won't."

Okay, that's enough anger. It's not like she has much room to judge Tim's decision-making; she used to take him with her to murder people. "Good. So tell me how you found him."

Chapter 41

Summary:

He goes to parties. He goes to clubs. He goes to bars. He gets kidnapped. He gets ransomed. He goes to the office and tries to make sense of his paperwork. He asks too many annoying questions and gets kicked out of the office. He wonders if this would be easier if he'd gotten a business degree instead of premed. He wonders if he would have been any better at business. He goes skiing in Switzerland. He breaks his arm. He stays in Europe for a while. Goes to parties. Goes to clubs. Goes to bars. He gets kidnapped. He gets ransomed.

Brucie sits on the floor, because the kids will be up soon, and they seem less anxious when they're above him.

It's early. He always wakes up so early, here.

He doesn't want to turn on the TV—too loud, with so many people sleeping. He picks up the book lying on the coffee table—Green Eggs and Ham.

It doesn't take long to read that, and he's out of things to do again, and everyone is still sleeping.

He's bored. He's not used to being bored. If you're busy enough you can't be lonely. So he stays very busy.

He goes to parties. He goes to clubs. He goes to bars. He gets kidnapped. He gets ransomed. He goes to the office and tries to make sense of his paperwork. He asks too many annoying questions and gets kicked out of the office. He wonders if this would be easier if he'd gotten a business degree instead of premed. He wonders if he would have been any better at business. He goes skiing in Switzerland. He breaks his arm. He stays in Europe for a while. Goes to parties. Goes to clubs. Goes to bars. He gets kidnapped. He gets ransomed.

He goes home. He finds out Uncle Philip put the Manor back on the tour list when the tour reaches his bedroom and wakes him. He dresses up as the ghost of his great, great grandfather and haunts the next couple tours. He gets an angry call from Uncle Philip about his immaturity, shortsightedness, and lack of respect for the dead. He wonders why Uncle Philip even cares, when he's a Kane and the grandfather in question was a Wayne, no relation. He calls the tourist agency and gets the manor removed from their list again. He goes on a date with a model. He pretends to believe she's interested in something other than appearing on tabloid covers tomorrow. He gets kidnapped. He gets ransomed. He goes to parties.

It's good to stay busy.

It's impossible to stay busy, here.

It's not that early anymore. Jason and Pam, at least, would usually be up by now.

He needs a hobby.

Not skiing. He breaks something almost every time. Besides, he hasn't seen any snow or mountains here.

None of the things he used to do are good options.

Pam gardens. Dick and Harley are gymnasts. Jason reads. Damian colors.

He can't do gymnastics. Pam definitely doesn't want him in her garden. Reading and coloring don't sound that fun. He tries to help with cooking, and he’s not any good at it.

He hears a door opening. Finally. Someone else is awake.

Tim walks into the room. He looks around like he's hoping to find someone other than Brucie.

Brucie would also like there to be someone other than Brucie in the room right now. He's only been alone with the kids once, and that was—that was really bad.

"No one else is up yet," he tells Tim. He's glad he decided to sit on the floor.

"Not even Pam and Jason?"

"I haven't seen them."

"Oh." Tim sits down slowly on the couch farther from Brucie. "I'm hungry."

He is, too. But not hungry enough to brave the kitchen.

"You should get breakfast," Tim says.

That sounds like a really bad idea.

"Owlman wouldn't get me breakfast," he adds.

"Um. Okay. But I'm not using the stove."

Brucie goes to the kitchen. Tim follows.

There's cereal in the cupboard. Pouring cereal into a bowl is definitely within Brucie's abilities.

"Can we have toast?" Tim asks. "That doesn't use a stove."

Toast. He can do toast, right? The toaster spits it out when it's done, so he shouldn't be able to set anything on fire.

He opens a few cupboards, searching for bread.

Tim sighs. He goes to the right cupboard, and hands Brucie the bread. Brucie has no idea why they’re doing this; Tim is almost certainly capable of making his own toast. But it’s a not-terrible interaction that Tim initiated, so he’s going to go with it.

“This is not toast,” Tim says when he sets it on the table. “This is—I don’t know. Charcoal?”

Okay. The toaster cannot be trusted to spit things out on time. But it’s fine! Nothing’s on fire yet. He turns the dial down and tries again.

The second attempt must be acceptable.

“What are we having on our toast?” Tim asks him.

“I don’t know. What do you want?”

“Cinnamon.”

Bruce finds that in the cupboard the bread came from.

“We need butter,” Tim tells him. “Otherwise it won’t stick on.”

He finds the butter. He gets out the juice, too, because Tim probably needs something to drink.

No fires. No spills. No deaths.

They're just finishing their toast when Cass comes into the kitchen.

"Oh," she says. "No one else up?"

"Not yet," Brucie says.

"Sorry. Overslept. Bad night. For all of us. We are having toast?"

Dick and Jason appear not long after, then Damian, then Harley. Eventually Pam comes in from outside; apparently she's been awake all along, out working in the garden.

"If I'd known you were going to sleep all morning, I'd have stayed in to watch the kids," she says.

"It's fine," Jason says. "Brucie's got it."

-

Yesterday was the anniversary of Bruce's death. And Dick didn't even notice.

It's been so long since dates have mattered. Since he's held a job, since he's had to fill out paperwork, since he's had much of anything to celebrate, since he's had any reason to keep track of the passage of time. He knows when Tim's days to call are coming up, and he usually manages to remember Cass and Jay's birthdays, and, like, Christmas, but most of the time he doesn't even know what day of the week it is.

He's pretty sure Cass didn't notice, either. She's never been good with dates.

Jay must have known, because he was a little off all day yesterday, and Dick should have checked on him, but there was just so much going on, with the kids, and Brucie, and he just got distracted.

Jay had a nightmare, and got up, and Cass heard him, and got up too, and at some point she woke Dick, and Jason told them the date, and they all sat in the kitchen being sad until sometime after five in the morning.

It's so hard. He and Cass barely even had time to mourn, when it happened; they had to focus on running, and hiding, and surviving.

Jason would have been with Talia still, at that time. Or at least carrying out some sort of Talia-directed activity. Dick doesn't know what he was doing. He doesn't know if he had time to mourn, or even if he felt like mourning, at the time— Jason hardly ever talks to him about the times between dying and meeting Cass.

Dick's sad that Bruce is dead. Of course he's sad. Bruce was his dad. Cass and Jay only had a few years each with him; Bruce was in Dick's life for over half of it. But the more time passes, the more his anger outweighs his sadness.

Bruce got himself killed. Bruce ruined all of their lives. Endangered Dick, and Cass, and everyone who ever worked with Batman. Gave Tim so much trauma he'll never get over.

All he had to do was tell someone his child had been kidnapped, sometime before three weeks had passed. They could have rescued Tim before things got so bad. They could have worked together. Bruce didn't have to die. He chose to put his own—pride, or something— above his son's safety, and he screwed them all over.

Dick loves him so much, and he misses him so much, and he's just so angry.

And he was stupid, and stayed up all night being upset, and talking with Jay and Cass about the good times, and he didn't set an alarm or leave a note for Pam or anything, didn't think about the kids at all. Tim and Brucie were alone for like an hour.

And it was fine. The worst thing that happened was a couple slices of burnt toast.

But they should never have been alone. He knows Tim is still a little scared of Brucie. And supervising the kids is definitely not Brucie's responsibility.

He's so different. Dick does like him. He hasn't spent as much time with him as Jay and Cass, yet, but it's not personal. He didn't want to get attached to someone he couldn't keep, initially, and even now, with the kids—they're still anxious. So maybe it's good to have someone a little more distant from Brucie, that they can go to with any problems.

It's so weird, spending a night mourning his dead dad, and then getting up the next morning to find a man with the same face having the same struggles to make breakfast without Alfred.

Bruce always burned the toast the first time. Every time he toasted anything. For years. Dick never understood how he did it, when as far as he knew none of them ever changed the toaster settings.

-

"You were alone with him for a whole hour?" Damian asks, when they're sitting in one of Pam's magic hammocks later, and there are adults outside, but not close enough that they're listening, probably.

"It was fine," Tim says. It was. Not scary at all, really.

He could have gone back to his bedroom when no one else was there. It might have been rude, maybe, but Tim thinks he's probably allowed to be a little rude, since he compromised on Brucie living here, and living at all.

He was hungry, though.

He's almost completely sure he's allowed to get food for himself. But only almost. And he remembers, from Before, he wasn't allowed to use knives, or the oven or stove, because he was little. He's used a lot of knives since then, but the grown-ups get weird about stuff sometimes. He doesn't want to upset them. He doesn't know how old you have to be before grown-ups think you're big enough for things.

But Brucie is definitely a grown-up. So he should be allowed to do all the breakfast things.

He wasn't very good at it, but that's okay. He was nice.

He's always nice. He just looks scary.

Pam looks scary, too. And she makes fancy plant toys for them, and watches over Damian when he sleeps. And Tim knows he and Damian look scary. He and Damian are monsters. So he is trying not to worry about how people look. But it's hard.

Notes:

Btw I posted a new fic over the weekend. Sequel to bird and bee.

Chapter 42

Summary:

“You should show Brucie the vines,” Harley said. “It would make him feel better after what happened with the kids,” Harley said. “It would mean a lot to me if you could try to get along with him,” Harley said. “Okay, I’m gonna go walk the hyenas, bye!” Harley said.

And now Pam is here, with Brucie, with no Harley as a buffer.

“Feeling better?” Cass asks, when the chaos of breakfast is over, and she has a minute to talk to Jason without everyone listening.

“Better than last night,” he says.

“So still not good.”

“I just—I was so stupid. If I hadn’t listened to Talia—I missed so much time with him. I could have had—what, another year with him?”

She doesn’t know what to say. She wishes she had more time with Bruce, too. But he was the one who sent her away.

She shouldn’t have listened.

“Talia tricked you. Not your fault.”

“It still sucks,” he says.

“Yeah. Sucks.”

They sit in silence for a few minutes. They used to talk about Bruce a lot, before. When it was just the two of them, and they were strangers, their dad the only thing they had in common. Cass loved listening to Jason talk about Bruce. Even when he was angry. It made her feel like she was allowed to be angry, too. Angry that he sent her away, that he didn’t tell her about Tim, that he didn’t save Tim, that he died and left her all alone, without even a secret identity, or a way to contact what was left of her family.

She’d left her apartment as soon as she understood what was happening, what it meant for her. (It had taken too long to understand, and she’s lucky that the time difference and her erratic schedule and her general lack of local connections meant she got the news several hours before anyone in Hong Kong connected the dots and tried to arrest her.)

She’s pretty sure the people who came for her were American. She doesn’t think it was enough time for them to fly over. Maybe they were spies or soldiers or someone working nearby.

But she’d left, and she’d left the way she was used to leaving, the way she’d left everywhere she’d ever been before meeting Babs.

Babs, who she’d thought was dead. Babs, who wasn’t. Babs, who’d abandoned her in the worst possible way.

She’d left with the clothes on her back and the shoes on her feet. And the Batgirl suit, though she’d almost forgotten. She wasn’t good at—things. Wasn’t used to having them, to thinking about them. She hadn’t taken anything she could have used to contact Dick, or Alfed. She’d just left. And the people had torn apart her apartment already, by the time she’d thought about it, and she hadn’t been able to get anything back.

She didn’t know how else to contact anyone. They would be running, too. They would have had to leave behind the phones with the numbers she knew. She didn’t work with other heroes, much, knew that Dick at least would be in contact with them, but didn’t know how to find them herself to get back in touch with him.

She’d been alone. And she’d been terrified.

She thought she was used to being alone. She thought she was good at it. But it had been so different, this time. After she’d tried not being alone for a few years, and learned she definitely liked that better.

Jason had been a miracle.

He’d been attacking criminals. He hadn’t been wearing a mask. Cass had followed him for weeks. She’d stopped him killing three men without him noticing, and watched him kill another. She’d found him in the daylight, watched him buy groceries, listened to a voice a little deeper than the one from home videos, but still familiar, still right.

The man he killed—she could have stopped him. She knows she could have. She should have been fast enough. But it was early in the following, and the man she watched didn’t match the stories she knew, and she’d been afraid that interfering then would chase him away before she understood. She’d hesitated. She’d been too late. And she’d switched to watching him in the day, so she wouldn’t have to go through that again.

She was so lost and alone and afraid, and she didn’t know who she was anymore, but she knew that face. She knew it.

It was impossible. He was dead.

But she knew his face.

She’d put on Batgirl for the first time since Bruce died, and she’d followed him across rooftops in the dark, and she’d waited until they were alone.

She’d tackled him so he couldn’t run away until she understood what was happening. And she’d tried to talk for the first time since her last call with Bruce, months and months ago. It was harder than she remembered. But she’d managed to say what she needed to say, to explain who she was and who she knew he was.

And he believed her. And he was her brother.

They talked about Bruce so much, then. They don’t, anymore. She doesn’t know when they stopped.

“Brucie’s not the same,” Jay says.

“No. But family.”

“Yeah, I guess he is. Hey, do you think he’s okay? He's been talking to Pam for kind of a long time now.”

Cass looks over at them, sitting on the ground in front of a big tree, maybe the one Damian fell out of, surrounded by plants that didn’t use to be there. “I think he’s okay?” She’s still working out how his body language is different from Bruce’s.

“I’ll check.”

Jason leaves. Cass looks around the yard, and realizes everyone is here except for Dick and Harley. And Harley is walking the hyenas. Where is Dick?

She finds him inside, on the couch with his computer. He’s on that website where people report superhero sightings. He only goes on that website when he’s extra sad.

He wasn’t as upset as Jason, last night.

She sits down on the couch with him, and he sets the laptop aside when he notices her.

“What’s up?”

“You’re sad.”

“I’m fine,” Dick says, because sometimes he forgets his body will tell her the truth, even when his words lie.

“About Bruce?” she asks.

“I guess.”

“I missed you,” she says. It’s hard to think about Bruce dying without thinking about everything else they lost, with him.

“I missed you, too.”

He puts the laptop on the floor, and she moves into the space it creates, right up close to him. He wraps an arm around her shoulder, and she leans in, and they don’t talk. After a few minutes, Jason comes back in, and sits on her other side.

-

“You should show Brucie the vines,” Harley said. “It would make him feel better after what happened with the kids,” Harley said. “It would mean a lot to me if you could try to get along with him,” Harley said. “Okay, I’m gonna go walk the hyenas, bye!” Harley said.

And now Pam is here, with Brucie, with no Harley as a buffer.

She doesn’t—doesn’t hate him, or anything. People in general are annoying, and people she doesn’t know well are more annoying, and people she can’t have an interesting conversation with are more annoying still, and people who take up more than their fair share of Harley’s attention are the most annoying of all.

Well. The sooner she starts talking to him, the sooner she can stop. “Brucie. Would you like to see how I’ve childproofed the yard?”

He turns and smiles at her. “Sure.”

She shows him where the roots start, explains how the vines will grow to catch anyone who falls, shows him the range they’ll work in. And he just stands there and stares at her, like he’s—like he’s actually listening? Maybe actually interested? So she keeps going.

“What kinds of vines are they?” he asks.

“What kinds?” she repeats. She’s been talking about plants for fifteen minutes. To a billionaire. A dumb billionaire. Does he—does he not realize that if he asks questions, she’ll keep going?

“Yeah. What kinds? How strong are they? Do they have flowers? Are they—” He pauses. He makes a face very similar to the one Harley makes when she realizes she’s being Too Much.

She didn’t want to annoy Brucie with too much information. Is he worried about annoying her by asking for too much information?

“Here, I’ll show you.” She summons the vines. “I have two types here. This one isn't native to the region, but it’s not a concern as an invasive species, as it will only grow to catch anyone falling, then retract—it won’t be active outside of emergencies, and won’t spread any seeds. Which means I can’t allow it to flower, because that would risk seeds. But this plant does normally have flowers.”

She summons them, just for a minute, long enough to show them, but not long enough for any pollination.

Pam has no idea how much time has passed when Jason joins them.

He drops to the ground between them, after carefully pushing aside a few large leaves. “Hey. What are you guys up to?”

“I’ve learned so much about plants,” Bruce says.

Pam looks at everything that’s grown up around her. She might have gotten a bit too enthusiastic.

“Are these flowers always white?” he asks.

“No, they come in yellow, and sometimes—”

“Isn’t this the plant you use in that poison you showed me?” Jason asks.

Brucie, who was touching the flower, pulls back quickly.

“No. They’re from the same family, but you’re thinking of the…”

Jason and Brucie both listen. She doesn’t even notice when Harley comes back.

-

“Hey, Dami,” Jason says. “Do you want to make cookies with me and Brucie?”

He continues filling in the shape in his coloring book while he thinks. He likes making cookies. He likes breaking the eggs and sifting the flour and watching the dough spin around when he turns on the mixer. He likes taste testing the dough before scooping it onto the cookie sheets.

“Okay. When I finish this picture.”

“Cool. What kind do you want? I’ll get out the recipe.”

“Brucie can pick,” Damian says, because they are supposed to be nice to Brucie now.

He finishes his page and goes to the kitchen. The stool he stands on to reach the counter is waiting, and Brucie and Jason are pulling out ingredients. He watches for a while—Brucie is having trouble keeping track of all the different white powders. Damian understands. There are too many white powders. The best way to tell them apart is to taste them, but grownups get annoyed in you keep sticking your fingers in all the powders to check. They talk about germs and things.

Damian doesn’t think he has germs. He’s dead. But he doesn’t like when people are annoyed with him. So he just waits for Jason to give him the right powders, usually.

“Dami!” Jay says. “You ready?”

“What cookies are we making?”

“Oatmeal raisin.”

Damian frowns. Brucie doesn’t like raisins. Brucie likes chocolate. Tim made them add chocolate to his cookies when he cried after Damian died.

“Brucie picked?” he asks.

“I picked,” Brucie says.

“Okay.” Maybe Tim was wrong. Or maybe he likes raisins, too. But maybe—maybe he knows Damian likes raisins.

Damian stands on his stool. Jason reads the recipe, and Brucie hands him the ingredients, and Damian puts them in the bowl.

Every time Jason looks away, Brucie shakes some raisins into Damian’s hand.

He gets so many raisins.

“Okay, it’s time to add the raisins,” Jason says.

“Um, we’re out of raisins,” Brucie says.

“How are we out of raisins?”

“I…spilled them?”

Jason looks around the room, where there are no raisins spilled anywhere. He looks back at Brucie and Damian. Damian tries not to laugh, and it mostly works.

“Okay, well, there’s another box in the cupboard.”

He gives Damian the beater to lick, and they put the cookies on the trays, and Jason puts them in the oven. Damian finishes his beater, and goes back to his coloring book. Jason will tell him when the cookies are ready to eat.

-

“How many raisins did you give him?” Jason asks when Damian is gone.

“So many raisins,” Brucie says. He smiles, happy and relaxed and not at all worried about spoiling Dami’s dinner.

Jason shrugs. “Well, it’s not like raisins are bad for you.”

He looks so happy. Comfortable. Dami looked pretty comfortable standing next to him at the counter, too. Snacks—especially illicit snacks—are great for bonding with six year olds. It’s why Jay bakes so much.

Chapter 43

Summary:

Dick is woken by a text from Tim: "fyi little Tim's birthday is 16 days before mine."

He does some math. That means little Tim's birthday is in three days.

Dick is woken by a text from Tim: "fyi little Tim's birthday is 16 days before mine."

He does some math. That means little Tim's birthday is in three days.

It never occurred to him that they might have different birthdays, and that's something he's definitely going to ask about, sometime after they make arrangements for Tim's first post-Talon birthday party.

Another text comes in: "if you go into town before thurs, print this out for him"

There’s a photo attached, of a young Jack and Janet, and a baby that must be Tim.

Great. So that’s one birthday present. But it’s from Tim—they need to buy stuff. They need to plan stuff. He needs a cake. Do they even have wrapping paper in the house?

He gathers up his siblings—well, his adult siblings who live in this world—and explains the situation.

“So, shopping time,” Jason says.

"You go," Cass says to Dick. "Take Brucie."

"Are you sure that's a good idea?"

She nods. "Bond with Brucie. Need it."

"Okay, but I'm still a fugitive, and he bears a striking resemblance to my dead dad."

"Wear a hat."

"She's right," Jason says. "You need to get out more—I know you hate being cooped up all the time. It's worth the risk. No one is going to notice either of you, this long after everything, on the opposite end of the world from Gotham."

"Okay." He hasn't been in town since that festival with Cass. It'll be really, really nice.

"Do you want one of us to come with?" Jay asks.

"If you want. But we'll be fine."

He finds Brucie in his bedroom, sitting on top of his dresser. Which is interesting, but it’s not like Dick has room to judge on the subject of What We Use As Chairs.

“Hey, I’m going into town to shop for Tim’s birthday. You wanna come?”

“Sure.”

They don’t talk, for the beginning of the drive. Dick doesn’t know what to say, and Brucie seems weirdly interested in his phone for a man with literally no one in the world to talk to.

It kind of reminds him of the early days with Bruce. Neither of them sure how to talk to each other, or how much of their guards to let down. (Kind of like the late days with Bruce too, actually. And some of the middle days. But other middle days had been really good.)

Brucie’s so young. Older than Dick, yeah, and older than Bruce when Dick met him, but still so young. The age gap between them is uncomfortably small.

Of course, so was the age gap between him and Bruce, once.

Bruce really was way too young to parent a kid Dick’s age. He thinks that’s the reason for a lot of the problems with that first generation of kid superheroes. Bruce and Ollie weren’t old enough to parent teens and preteens. Barry was a cool uncle, and didn’t really know how to be an authority figure. Diana was kind of but not really Donna’s estranged older sister, also not really an authority figure. All of them could have used a lot more parental guidance, in general and in the hero thing.

Brucie is never going to be anything like a parent to Dick. But he’s a great age to be one for Tim and Damian.

Not that he necessarily wants to, or has to—he’s not the one who adopted them. Dick doesn’t know what he wants. Probably he doesn’t, yet, either.

It’s probably a good thing he’s so close in age to the rest of them. It’ll make it easier not to pressure him into a parental role.

“What’re you doing?” he asks Brucie, because the car has been silent for too long.

He glances up from his phone, briefly. “Thinking.”

Dick doesn’t push for more information, because Brucie doesn’t have any faith in his own brainpower, or any expectation that anyone else will, and Dick doesn’t want him to think he’s, like, questioning his thinking skills, when really he’s just curious what he’s thinking about.

“Do you know the Drakes?” he asks instead. “In your home world? Jack and Janet?”

"Um. Are they archeologists?"

"Yeah. They're Tim's parents."

"Oh. Yeah, they have a kid. Don't see him much. Don't see any of them much. They travel a lot, and I think the kid's in boarding school?"

"Yeah, that sounds like them."

Brucie nods, looking thoughtful. Dick isn't sure what else to talk about, and silence falls again.

He needs to figure out what to get. Tim doesn't show a lot of interest in most of the things they've given him so far. They've tried things the older Tim would have liked. They've tried new things. He'll play games and watch movies and color with the rest of them, but left to his own devices, he mostly just...sits there. Dick has no idea what he'll actually enjoy. It's been half a year, and he has no idea.

Well. He'll enjoy the photo from Tim, at least. They'd better get that printed, first.

Tim has used most of his Polaroid film, actually. Which doesn't necessarily mean a ton, since several of the photos were suggested by the rest of them.

(Damian wanted a picture of a lizard he caught. Harley suggested that Tim might like to have a photo of the hyenas. Damian wanted a photo of the hyenas, too. Tim helped Jason decorate a cake, and Jay suggested a photo to remember it.)

(On his own, Tim's taken his initial frog picture, a photo of his plant, and a photo of Damian sleeping on top of Bud, as far as Dick knows. Oh, and a photo of the photo of his parents, presumably as a back-up.)

Camera film he may or may not want isn't much of a present. He'll get some, but it's not good enough.

So. Photo. Film. The groceries Jay wanted. Wrapping paper. He'll start with that stuff, and keep thinking about the presents.

Maybe a computer?

"I'll catch up with you later," Brucie says when they're waiting in line at the camera store. And then he's gone.

Okay. It's fine. Brucie is a grown man, and he has a phone.

They're in the big city, almost two hours from home, not the smaller one Jay took Brucie to last time, and most of the people here speak English. He has Dick's number. It's fine.

It’s two hours before Brucie texts to ask where Dick is, and another thirty minutes before they reunite.

Brucie has so many shopping bags.

“Jay said you sucked at shopping,” Dick says before he thinks better of it.

“I suck at shopping for myself. Gifts, I can do.”

“Okay. So what’d you get?”

“Can we go to the car first? I think I’m going to drop something soon.”

Dick takes about half the bags. He’s been dropping stuff off at the car between stores—Brucie could have been, too, if he’d thought to give him the spare key. But he bailed so fast, Dick didn’t think of it.

Brucie shows him everything as they load it into the trunk. “So I got a couple of these little dig kits? Where you get out dino bones and cool rocks and stuff? He’s maybe a little old, I don’t know, but I thought it might remind him of his parents. And I got these books—I don’t know anything about them, but they all have the stickers on them that mean they won awards, and the lady at the store said they’d be good for a thirteen year old. Oh, and this one about frogs—I think he likes frogs. And some video games. And a console. And I found these stuffed hyenas that look just like Bud and Lou, so I got a couple for Tim, and then a couple more for whenever Damian’s birthday is. And some puzzle books, because he likes figuring things out. And this sweatshirt, because I thought it was fun. Um, I think that’s everything. Oh! And these temporary tattoos—Tim and Harley and I were talking a while ago, and I thought maybe they’d make my face less scary? Or he can just put them on his arms—whatever he wants.”

Okay. Well. They’ve found something that Brucie enjoys, is good at, and comes out of his shell for. And it’s birthday shopping.

It’s a lot of presents, but Tim does have four previously unacknowledged birthdays to make up for, so.

Dick’s got everything Jay wanted for the cake, plus the other groceries. He’s got the printed, framed photo, the new film, three different types of wrapping paper, a laptop, half a mental list of games and apps to download onto the laptop, and a few other small things—some his own idea, some suggested by the others at home. Some suggestions were vetoed, because Pam and Harley are still Pam and Harley, but he's got some good stuff.

Chapter 44

Summary:

Kate looks at her cousin's face on the screen. He's smiling that too-wide smile that means he's anxious, and planning to be obnoxious about it.

She didn't think she would see him again.

Damian wanders into the room, carrying his stuffed dog by the ear, like he usually does, and sits down on the same couch as Brucie, on the opposite end.

Brucie glances around the room—there's no one else here. He thinks they're in the kitchen and the yard. Damian is voluntarily sitting on the same piece of furniture as him, without anyone between them, or anyone else in the room to protect him if Brucie does—whatever it is that Damian's afraid he'll do.

Damian sets his dog down carefully in the exact center of the empty cushion between them.

"This is my dog. His name is Wilbur."

"That's a good name."

He nods. "Like from Charlotte's Web."

"Cool."

One of the hyenas—he thinks it's Bud—wanders into the room, and puts his head in Brucie's lap. Brucie pets him.

"We should watch a movie," Damian says.

"Charlotte's Web?" Brucie suggests.

"Yes, please."

It takes him a few minutes to figure out the TV and the DVD player. When he comes back to the couch, Bud's stolen his seat. Good thing there's two couches.

"You can—you can sit by me," Damian says. "But you have to sit in the corner. I wanna be by Bud. Me and Wilbur will share the middle cushion."

"Are you sure?"

Damian nods. He scoots over, rearranging so that the stuffed dog is still between him and Brucie.

He sits down. Damian watches the movie. Brucie watches Damian. He tries not to look like he is; he doesn't want him to be any more nervous.

Cass joins them after a few minutes. She sits on the other couch, and Damian looks a little less tense with her there. Dick wanders into the room about halfway through the movie. He looks around the room at them, frowning, and then walks out again. Tim comes a few minutes after Dick leaves, and sits down next to Cass.

It’s nice.

-

Dick told Bruce—Tim’s Bruce—that he would talk to Brucie as soon as he could. But Brucie is sitting next to Damian on the couch, and Damian doesn’t look like he minds at all, and Dick’s not going to interrupt that. Bruce can wait.

It’s over an hour later that he gets a good chance to talk to Brucie. He and Cass are still where he left them, playing some sort of card game—the kids have gone outside to play on Pam’s trampoline.

Cass sets down her hand when she sees him. Brucie does the same, and Dick sits down on the couch between them.

“So. Brucie. Would it be okay if we told Kate you were alive?"

"Um, I guess so. Why?"

"She's been looking for you."

"Now? It's been weeks."

"Well, we think she's been looking for you all along? It's been a really quiet search. You're missing, presumed dead, and she hasn't publicly said or done anything as Kate or Batwoman to suggest she doesn't believe you're dead, but she's been poking around. We just caught it now."

"Okay. But she's not going to believe you. She's not as gullible as me."

"I don't think it's gullible to believe the truth."

Brucie shrugs. Dick knows what he means, anyway; the multiverse is a tough sell.

"We have another Batwoman to talk to her. She's just waiting for you to okay it."

"From another universe?"

"Yeah. The one our little brother is in."

"Okay. You can tell her."

"Great. I'll call Tim. Thanks, Brucie."

-

Kate looks at her cousin's face on the screen. He's smiling that too-wide smile that means he's anxious, and planning to be obnoxious about it.

She didn't think she would see him again.

"Are you all right?" she asks. "Are you really in an alternate universe?"

"Yeah," he says, the smile shrinking to something a little more genuine. "I'm good."

"Good."

"They said you were looking for me."

"Of course I was looking for you! You just vanished."

The smile vanishes. "Sorry," he says. "I didn't think anyone would care."

Oh, Brucie.

She's a shitty cousin, isn't she?

"I care. Batwoman cares. She's been—"

"I know you're Batwoman," Brucie interrupts her.

"You know I'm Batwoman," she repeats.

"I didn't before. They told me, here."

Okay. Okay, that's good. If Brucie had been able to figure out her identity on his own, she'd be in trouble.

"I care," she says again. "I've been looking."

"Why? You were supposed to think I was dead."

"All your money vanished. And your things—"

"They packed a bag for me," he says. "I didn't—I didn't think—they're all smarter than me. I thought it would be fine."

"Whatever they packed up, they left replacements for. Your things weren't gone. They just—something was off." Too many clothes that looked brand new. All of his photos still in place, but hung straight, a feat Brucie is infuriatingly incapable of performing. "I thought, with the money gone, and then the will turning up—I thought—I hoped— that maybe you'd hired someone to fake your death, to get away from all the shit in Gotham. That's why I didn't argue, when Philip pushed to have you declared dead. I just wanted to confirm that you were okay."

He would have had to hire someone to pull it off, and she couldn’t be sure they’d see him to the other end safely. And there was always the possibility someone had forced or tricked him. But it would be so much healthier for Brucie to be out of the limelight and out of Uncle Philip’s way. She didn’t want to risk screwing it up for him by going public.

"I'm okay," he says.

He's so quiet. Not quiet the way he gets when Uncle Philip snaps at him, but the way he used to get for Alfred.

Alfred was the only person who could get Brucie to calm down, to be quiet without being miserable.

(Kate barely knew Alfred, but she misses him. Brucie bouncing off the walls at every family gathering is exhausting and annoying, but she hates the way Uncle Philip makes him just sort of wilt.)

He seems pretty calm, now. Not quite Alfred-calm, but close.

"I'm glad. Are you—"

A young Asian woman appears in the frame, and Brucie turns around to talk to her. A blonde woman joins them, and Brucie sets down the phone. The screen goes dark; he must have put it face down. The noise is a little muffled, but she can hear him talking to both women, and a second man's voice joining the conversation.

She could say something, and reclaim Brucie's attention. It's certainly not the first time he's gotten distracted and forgotten all about her; Brucie is very easily distracted. But she wants to listen for a few minutes first.

It’s been a strange day. She received a video call from an unknown number, and answered it to see her own face. She now knows that there is a multiverse, and that in most of it, her cousin is a super genius superhero.

She was skeptical, at first. Of all of it. But her alternate self had plenty of evidence. And when Kate was convinced, she’d been given another phone number, to see Brucie for herself.

She believed her other self about the multiverse. But it’s this muffled, half-overheard conversation that convinces her Brucie is all right, not any kind of prisoner or victim or pawn.

(Brucie is, unfortunately, very good at being all of those things. Last month he surpassed the world record for the highest number of kidnappings of a single person.)

He’s not calm anymore. But his voice doesn’t have that edge to it that it gets when he’s covering anxiety, when he’s acting up because all that energy has to go somewhere. He sounds like he used to sound when he was talking to Alfred about something, or when he and Kate were kids, and both in the rare right moods that they could actually have fun together.

She can’t quite make out the words, but Brucie and one of the women are going back and forth about something, both sounding happy—the woman sounds like she’s actually enjoying talking to Brucie, which Kate doesn’t see very often. The other two people add something occasionally, and nothing they say makes Brucie shut down the way he does sometimes.

It’s a long time before he shouts, “Kate!” and picks the phone back up.

“Sorry,” he says. “I got distracted.”

“That’s fine.”

“We’ll figure it out later,” the other man in the room says, and then he and both women walk out of frame.

“It’s almost Tim’s birthday,” Brucie tells her, “and he hasn’t had a birthday in forever, and it’s going to be a surprise, but we have to figure out how—it’s not important. Sorry.”

“And who is Tim?”

“There’s a couple kids here. He’s the oldest. Turning thirteen. It’s weird because I look like the guy who tortured them, but I think they’re getting used to me.”

“Tortured them?”

“Yeah. Do we have a Court of Owls? You should probably check if we have a Court of Owls.”

“Um, sure. I’ll look into it.” She glances at her watch. She was eavesdropping in the dark for a long time. She’s supposed to meet with a lawyer this afternoon; Uncle Philip is contesting Brucie’s will. Of course. “I gotta go, Brucie. We can talk later, maybe?”

“Okay.”

She sighs. "I can't believe you're leaving me alone with Dad and Uncle Philip. You're the only one in the family who isn't a depressed asshole; we need that energy for the holidays."

"Sorry," Brucie says.

"No, don't—I'm glad you're there. I'm glad you're happy. The tabloids might go out of business without you to report on, but that's no loss."

He nods. He’s quiet again, but not calm like he was.

She’s never been good at talking to Brucie. She’ll let him go talk to his new roommates; it sounds like they’re better at it.

“I’ll text you later, okay? Bye, Brucie.”

Chapter 45

Summary:

They don’t make it too much of a surprise, because Tim gets skittish. They don’t turn off any lights, or shout, or anything like that. They just wait for everyone to get home, and then calmly tell Tim that today is his birthday.

Tim stares at them all for a long moment, wearing one of his harder-to-read expressions. Dick doesn’t think even Cass has figured that one out yet.

Harley gathers up the kids and the hyenas while Pam starts the car. (This trip was only approved on the condition that Pam was the driver, which is so not fair; Harley is a great driver.)

"And nobody new will be here when we come home?" Tim asks.

"We will come back to exactly the same people we left."

"Promise?"

"Promise."

Tim gets into the car. Damian, still half asleep, climbs in after him. He'll be asleep again by the time they're on the road. It's early.

They'll come home to a birthday party, which Harley thinks is definitely better than coming home to a man with your torturer's face. She and Pam are on distraction duty, while the others get things set up.

She's a little worried about Damian. He's six, and traumatized, and has no real familiarity with the concept of birthdays. How is he going to feel about a day where Tim gets a million gifts, and he doesn't get any?

It would have been easier if Damian's birthday had come first. Tim would have understood better. But they can't deny Tim a birthday party for Damian's sake.

Jason's been reading Damian books all week about birthday parties, mostly from the perspective of party guests, so hopefully that will help. Harley's thinking, now, much too late, that maybe she should have talked to Damian about the birthday in advance. She didn't want him to ruin the surprise for Tim. But maybe it would be better to ruin the surprise than to ruin the party by having Damian confused and upset?

She glances at them in the rearview mirror as Pam drives. Tim is looking out the window, Damian asleep on his shoulder, the hyenas crowded around them.

She'll try to talk to Damian. They can't risk ruining Tim's birthday.

-

They have presents to wrap and food to cook and a cake to bake and a house to decorate.

"Oh, I can wrap presents," Brucie says.

"Do you know how?" Jason asks, and immediately regrets it when Brucie sort of wilts.

"I'm not terrible at everything."

"I know. I just—I've never seen my dad wrap a present in his life."

“I can wrap presents,” Brucie repeats.

“Awesome. I’ll be in the kitchen. Dick, Cass, that puts you on decorating.”

He starts with the cake, half listening to his family in the next room as he works.

"Brucie!” he hears Cass say. “Come over here and be tall."

"I'm tall everywhere."

“Can you hang this?” Dick asks. “We can’t reach.”

He must have helped; Jay doesn’t hear any more conversation for a few minutes, until Cass wanders into the kitchen.

“I can help cut things?” she offers.

“What happened to decorating?”

“Hung streamers. Blew balloons. Cannot blow any more balloons. Dick’s job now.”

“Okay. Hand me that cookbook—the one with the red cover. I’ll see what needs cutting, and you can start while I finish the cake.”

By the time the cake is baked and on the cooling rack, and all the food is cooking, Dick and Brucie have joined them in the kitchen. Great. They can help with the frosting.

-

Damian wakes up un the back seat of the car. They must have gotten to where they’re going; it’s only him and Harley left in the car.

“Hi, Dami. Tim is already out playing, and you can go find him in a minute. I just wanted to talk to you about something first. Is that okay?”

He nods.

“Great. So today is Tim’s birthday.”

“Like in the stories?”

“Yeah,” Harley says. “Like in the stories.” She looks sad. Damian doesn’t know why. “Do you remember that book Jay read you last night? About that singing crocodile?”

“Lyle.”

“Yeah. Lyle was sad because his friend had a birthday and he didn’t. I just wanted to make sure that you weren’t going to be sad. Tim is going to get presents when we get home, and we’ll have a cake, and foods that he likes. In a few months, you’ll have a birthday, too, and we’ll do all the same things for you. It’s just Tim’s turn first. Does that make sense?”

“Yeah. I get a birthday, too, though?”

“Definitely. It’ll just be a little bit.”

“Okay.”

“Do you have any questions?”

“Do I get to eat cake, too?” In the stories everyone gets cake, but he doesn’t know if that’s real.

“Yes. You get to eat cake.”

“Okay.”

“Tim doesn’t know today is his birthday—it’s going to be a surprise. So don’t say anything while you’re playing, okay?”

“Okay.”

“Great. Let’s go find your brother.”

-

Tim is a little nervous, because last time they went out to play far enough away they had to drive there, Brucie was at the house when they go home. But he’s trying not to worry. Brucie got dropped off when Dick was sick, and everyone else was gone. There are four grownups at home now to handle it if anyone else gets dropped off. And they said older Tim wouldn’t do that again.

Damian is being weird, though, and that’s making him nervous, too. But he’s not scared or upset weird, so probably it’s fine?

The jungle is even better out here than it is at home. No one lives here, so they aren’t keeping it nice and safe. There’s lots of fallen trees, and weird vines, and big piles of rocks to climb. Damian has to keep stopping climbing to push his sunglasses back up; Tim is glad he has the contacts. He pauses to pet Lou, and then pulls Damian up a little higher on their rock pile.

Pam is watching them, except when she keeps checking her phone. Harley stays with her for a while, but then she comes to play with them.

“All right, guys,” Pam calls from the tree she’s leaning on, looking at her phone. “Time to go home.”

It seems much too soon, but Damian starts climbing back down to the ground right away, so maybe Tim is wrong about how long they’ve been here? Usually he wants to play longer than Tim does.

“Tim, come on. We have to go home!”

Maybe he just misses the others. He gets clingy sometimes. Tim shrugs, and starts climbing down after him.

-

They don’t make it too much of a surprise, because Tim gets skittish. They don’t turn off any lights, or shout, or anything like that. They just wait for everyone to get home, and then calmly tell Tim that today is his birthday.

Tim stares at them all for a long moment, wearing one of his harder-to-read expressions. Dick doesn’t think even Cass has figured that one out yet.

“We have cake, and presents, and your favorite food,” Dick tells him.

“It’ll—it’ll be nice?”

“Yes,” Cass says.

“Why don’t we open one present now,” Jay suggests, “and then we can eat before doing the rest.”

“Okay.”

He opens the book about frogs Brucie got—Brucie really did do a good job wrapping, as well as shopping—and relaxes visibly after that. Dick wonders if the kids have had to open a lot of mysterious boxes of horrible things. Something for Harley to ask about in therapy, probably.

Things go well, with one safe present revealed. Tim keeps the book in his lap when they go to the table, though he’s too well behaved to actually read while he's supposed to be having dinner with his family.

He opens the rest of his presents slowly, taking a long time to carefully study each one, while Damian stands behind him, bouncing with excitement and trying to hurry him up.

Both the kids eat way too much cake, and eventually fall asleep on the couch, faces covered in temporary tattoos, surrounded by toys, while a new movie plays in the background. Jason carries Tim to bed, and Dick carries Damian.

Notes:

We will hear more about the birthday next time.

Chapter 46

Summary:

Finally, finally, the table is cleared, and Tim can start digging out his dinosaur.

It's gonna be a T-rex. A very small T-rex. This is so cool. He doesn't think his parents ever got to dig up a dinosaur.

Notes:

Bonus chapter because I'm sad my long weekend got cancelled, and the comments will cheer me up.

Tim wakes up in his bed, which he’s pretty sure is not where he fell asleep. He wanders out into the living room, bringing along the stuffed hyena he found in his bed. He’ll have to decide which toy is Bud and which is Lou—they look the same. Maybe he can make them little collars.

Most of the grown ups are there. Brucie is still covered in tattoos. Tim doesn’t remember putting that many on him upside down—he’s going to blame that on Damian. Cass comes around the corner, and she’s still covered in tattoos, too.

Tim wonders if they have any left.

All his presents are stacked up next to the coffee table. He starts to pick them up.

He was a little nervous about opening things, at first, because he kind of remembers presents, from Before, but the only boxes he remembers opening After were Owlman's mail. And that wasn't bad usually, but there was a day when he and another Talon were going through the packages together, and the other Talon got a bomb.

He didn't survive. Tim got burned pretty bad, standing next to him, but that healed okay.

He knows there aren't going to be any bombs here. He even knows that whoever sent that bomb didn't mean to blow up the Talons. They probably wanted to kill Owlman, and didn't know he had a bunch of zombie kids opening his mail.

He still worried, opening the first box. But once nothing exploded, opening things was fun. He knows Damian wanted him to go faster, but Damian can open things fast when it's his birthday. Tim wanted to enjoy every moment of having a birthday party, and that meant taking his time.

“Taking things to your room?” Harley asks. She still has a couple tattoos, too.

Tim nods.

“Want some help?”

“Okay.”

Harley helps him set up the new toys on the bed and the dresser, and put the new books on the shelf. She has tape, so he can put all his new Polaroids up on his wall. He took lots of pictures yesterday. It was fun. There was so much new film, he didn't even have to worry about saving it for the right thing.

He sets up the new picture of his parents next to the first one.

There’s a tattoo on his arm, too. He thinks Damian put it there.

“I should shower.”

“Do you want to shower?” Harley asks.

“Not yet.”

“Okay. Let’s get you breakfast.”

Pam makes them all eat so much fruit for breakfast—to make up for how no one ate anything healthy yesterday, she says (Which isn't even true. They had carrots with lunch)—and it takes forever for them to finish.

Finally, finally, the table is cleared, and Tim can start digging out his dinosaur.

It's gonna be a T-rex. A very small T-rex. This is so cool. He doesn't think his parents ever got to dig up a dinosaur.

Damian watches for a while, but then he gets bored and leaves. That's okay. Tim will play with him later. He has to get his dinosaur, first.

He's gonna get his dinosaur, then he's gonna play with Bud and Lou and Damian, then he's gonna read his frog book, then he's gonna try the computer.

He's never used a computer before. He remembers watching while his mom bought plane tickets, and while his dad played solitaire. But Talons don't use computers.

Jason comes to sit by him just as he's getting the first bone out.

"Having fun?" he asks.

Tim nods without looking up. He's almost got it.

"Good. Brucie's good at presents, huh?"

He looks up. "Brucie got me the dinosaur?"

"Yep. And the tattoos. And a whole bunch of other stuff."

"Oh."

The only things Owlman ever gave him were pain and fear.

Brucie got him a dinosaur to dig up. And he let them put tattoos all over his face last night. He even just sat there and waited while they were working on being brave enough first. Tim kind of wants to know which bunch of other stuff was from Brucie. But he needs to get his dinosaur first. He's not moving from this spot until he finishes or someone makes him.

Jason watches him work for a few more minutes, then wanders away. Tim keeps working on his dinosaur.

-

It takes them a few tries, but Cass figures out how to time her jumps so she can send Damian flying so much higher than he can jump on his own.

Damian really likes the trampoline. Except that the hyenas can't jump with him. He complains about that part a lot. But the hyenas don't look like they really want to be on the trampoline, so Damian is not winning that fight.

Their trampoline is much greener than normal ones, but Cass thinks it's just as bouncy. She doesn't have lots of trampoline experience. She bounces Damian higher and higher, until he finally gets tired, and they can lay down on the trampoline and rest.

"Did you have fun yesterday?"

Dami nods. "I like cake. We should have cake more."

"Ask Jason."

"Kay." They lay together for a while. "Cass?" he asks.

"Yeah?"

"When is it my birthday?"

"Dunno. Let's go find out."

Her plan is to ask Jason, but then she thinks he might not know. The two Tims have different birthdays. So if Jason tells them when this world’s Damian was born, that might not mean anything for her Damian.

She texts Tim, instead, and spends some time coloring with Damian while she waits for an answer.

He draws all of them. He draws their family, all the time, which for him means him and Tim, her, Dick, and Jason, and the hyenas. Sometimes he includes Harley and Pam. Sometimes he includes his mom. This is the first time he’s drawn Brucie, right between Bud and Lou. All of the non-hyenas in the picture are covered in little splotches—she thinks those are the tattoos they played with last night.

She puts the new picture on the fridge. She’ll tell everyone about it later. She doesn’t think she should make a big deal about it in front of Damian.

Tim texts back with a date. Cass and Damian mark it on the calendar together, then he goes to play, and she keeps texting Tim. He has cat photos for her. She has hyena photos for him.

-

Brucie is on the floor with Bud, half-watching some movie Dick left on for Damian, and occasionally tugging on his end of the giant rope in Bud's mouth, when Tim sits down right next to him.

Tim and Damian both spent a lot of time really close to him last night. Touching him, even. But that was the tattoos.

(Tim put one of Brucie's hand, first. And when he didn't do anything scary about that, Damian tried the other hand. It took them a couple hours and multiple slices of cake to work their way up to the ones on his face.)

Maybe Tim wants to put on more tattoos? But he hasn't washed off these ones yet; there's not much space for more.

(It's a good thing he bought the really big set.)

"Do you want to see my dinosaur?" Tim asks.

"Sure." Brucie always wants to see dinosaurs.

Tim hands it to him, and Brucie lets go of Bud's rope so he can hold it really carefully. Tim's been working on this for hours, digging it out then putting the pieces together. Dick made him stop for lunch, and he started again as soon as the table was cleared.

"It's really cool," he says. "You did a good job."

"Thank you," Tim says. "I'm going to put it in my room, now."

Brucie hands it back. Tim leaves, and comes back a minute later without the dinosaur. He sits back down in the same spot, so close to Brucie, and takes over the tug-of-war with Bud.

Tim is much better at it than Brucie. He's just not strong enough to be a challenge for a hyena. That doesn't bother him; he's pretty sure it's normal for hyenas to be stronger than people.

(He wonders if Tim realizes how strong he is. Maybe he'd be more comfortable around Brucie if he realized he could probably break his ankle with one hand?)

Bud wins the first round, and Tim wins the second. Bud wins again the third time, and Tim collapses onto the floor, almost touching Brucie, laughing.

Chapter 47

Summary:

"Apparently, Talon and Duela were talking this morning, and Talon mentioned Owlman's wife. No one else knew Owlman had a wife."

Dick is happy to get an unexpected call from Tim, until he opens with, “Okay, this one totally isn't my fault!”

"Tim, what's going on?"

"We need you to take in another person from the multiverse."

"Tim—"

“I didn’t start it. It wasn’t even my idea.”

He sighs. "Okay, who is it, and why do they need to come here?"

"Because she's your Damian's mom."

"You found Talia?"

"I didn't find her. Well, technically I did, but it wasn't my idea to look for her."

“All right. Tell me everything.”

"Apparently, Talon and Duela were talking this morning, and Talon mentioned Owlman's wife. No one else knew Owlman had a wife. So Duela called the other Dick she knows, and he called Red Hood Jason, and he called Bruce for help. And Bruce and I have been researching since then. Damian and Jay were helping for a while, but they had a thing. Also, I met Talon and Duela. They're cool."

“They were married. How involved was she with the Owlman thing?”

“Not at all, as far as we can tell. We’re not sure if she was even willing to be there. Talon liked her. No one else in Gotham knew she existed. And she ran as soon as she knew she was pregnant. She doesn’t seem dangerous. And you don't have to worry about more trauma for the kids; Talon says she was gone before Owlman got Tim. She’s with the League now, but not willingly. She’s been there since Owlman took Damian."

"We can't just bring another person here. I need to talk to everyone. We promised no more surprise roommates."

"So go ask. But it's gonna be a mess if they say no. She's Damian's mom. He was kidnapped; she didn't give him up willingly, and she's probably gonna want him back."

"I'll call you back when we've talked."

"Fast," Tim says. "We're on a schedule. Have to rescue her today, while Ra’s and a bunch of his guys are out."

He hangs up. He finds Jay and Cass, and pulls them into his bedroom for a private conversation. "They found Damian's mom. As far as they can tell, she's not evil, she tried to protect Damian from Owlman, and she's in trouble. They want to send her here."

"They want Talia al Ghul to live with us," Jason says.

"Yeah. So she has access to Damian."

Jay shrugs. "Okay."

"Okay?" Dick repeats.

"It'll be weird. But if Damian has a living mom who loves him, I want him to have her in his life."

"Okay. Cass?"

"If the kids say yes."

"Apparently we have to decide fast. Tim says there's a narrow window for extraction.”

"On it." Jason leaves the room, and comes back in a minute with both kids.

Damian is holding an open marker, and looks annoyed about the interruption, and what if—what if Tim is wrong? What if something goes wrong? What if Talia is evil, or they can't rescue her, or she just doesn't want him? How can he offer this kid a mom, without being 100% positive he can deliver?

"Our friends from the multiverse know a lady that needs a place to stay, and we're wondering how you guys feel about having her here," he says.

"Do we know her?" Tim asks. "Or a version of her?"

"No," Cass says.

"Is she nice?"

They don't know.

"Probably," Jason asks. "We haven't met her yet. She should be nice, and if she's not, we'll make her leave again."

"I don't mind," Tim says.

"Can I finish my picture now?" Damian asks.

"Are you okay with her coming?" Dick asks.

"If it doesn't keep me from coloring."

"Okay, yeah. Go finish your picture."

They split up to consult the rest of the adults. Dick gets Pam, who is completely indifferent.

"I don't even live here," she says.

"You definitely live here, Pam."

"All right, but it's not my house. You can do what you like, and if I don't agree I can leave."

"Well, are you going to leave if Talia comes?"

"I'm not planning on it. Unless Harley wants to."

Jay and Cass report success with Bruce and Harley. Dick calls Tim back.

"Finally."

"It's been less than twenty minutes."

"She's been a prisoner for over three years! And now is the best possible time to get her."

"Okay. Everyone approved it. I can come pick her up. How long do you think it'll take to get her? Should I head out to the meeting place now, or wait a couple hours?"

“We’re gonna need you to help extract her, not just pick her up.”

“Really? The three worlds’ worth of vigilantes already on it aren’t enough?”

“Two worlds. Red Hood and his Nightwing. Bruce, Kate, Talia, Selina from here. Not enough to take out the League of Assassins.”

“Okay. I’m sure Jay and Cass will be up for it.”

“Pam and Harley, too.”

“We can’t all come, Tim.”

“That leaves Brucie with the kids. We need as many people as we can get, and everyone else in Hood’s world is busy. Duela and Talon are willing to help, if we really need them. But she's been retired for years, and he's severely traumatized, so—"

"Let me talk to the others. Again."

-

Brucie was a lot more enthusiastic about Damian getting his mom back before he found out it involved him being alone with the kids for several hours.

They still only kind of trust him. And he's still not good at being the only responsible adult in the house, not good at being responsible for himself, much less other people.

"Are you guys sure you'll be okay here?" Dick asks.

Tim nods. Dami nods. Brucie nods.

"Okay. Call if there are any issues. Kids, listen to Brucie. We'll be back in a few hours."

All five of the other adults leave.

Okay. He's alone with the kids, and he's officially in charge of them. That's—that's sort of terrifying, but he's sure it'll be fine.

He's been helping Jason in the kitchen more, and he's fairly confident he can operate the oven and stove without setting anything on fire, but they'll probably have sandwiches for lunch, just in case.

As long as nothing goes really, horribly wrong, it should all be worth it when the others get back.

The most important thing he has to remember is not to tell the kids it's Damian's mom the others are picking up.

-

They’re bringing Talia here. Here.

Jason thought he was never going to see Talia again. He was—okay, he didn’t feel great about not seeing her, but he thinks he felt better about not seeing her than about seeing her? It’s—it’s all so weird.

She’s not his Talia. But she is Damian’s, and Damian needs her.

It’s gonna be fine. He’s living with his dead dad. He’s living with two supervillains and their pet hyenas. If he can handle not-Bruce, he can handle Talia. It’s gonna be fine. It’s gonna be totally fine.

He makes Dick drive to the transfer point, and he makes Cass sit up front, so he can stay in the back and check all their equipment and not talk. Dick only tries to start a conversation twice before Cass sees something in Jay’s body language and makes him stop.

This is going to be fine.

It’ll be the first time the three of them have done any vigilante stuff since they rescued Tim and Damian. One of the very few times the three of them have all worked together on this kind of thing. So that part will be good. Fun. He likes working with his family. He likes working at all—it’s not that he doesn’t like being around the house, being safe, taking care of the kids, but he goes a little stir crazy sometimes.

He’ll have to work with another him, and another Bruce, and another Talia besides the one they’re rescuing, too, but it’s fine. Everything will be fine. She’s not his Talia.

Chapter 48

Summary:

Talia hears shouting, and pulls herself up to look out the narrow, barred window, the only part of her current room above ground. What she can see, most days, is people's feet. Even that is enough, today, to tell her the base is under attack.

Talia hears shouting, and pulls herself up to look out the narrow, barred window, the only part of her current room above ground. What she can see, most days, is people's feet. Even that is enough, today, to tell her the base is under attack.

She has no weapon. Every time she finds a way to use new objects for fighting, her father confiscates them. Many things have been confiscated, these last few years. The deadliest item currently in her possession is a toothbrush. She hasn't even found a way to sharpen the handle into a point yet.

Her arms ache, and she has to drop back down from the window.

She doesn't really need weapons—she's excellent at hand-to-hand. But so are the men her father assigns to guard her. And she has no idea what skills the attackers have. Impressive ones, certainly, if they're holding their own against a whole base of ninja. And excellent or not, Talia is out of practice.

She checks the window again. Less feet now, more bodies on the ground. All her father's men. She can't tell, from this distance, if they're dead or alive.

The intruders likely don't know the Demon Head's daughter is locked in a cell in the basement. If they take what they want and leave, she'll be fine. But if they burn the base down—

If Talia was leading an attack on the League of Assassins, she would absolutely burn the base down.

She studies the bars on the window. But even if they weren't sturdy, she has no chance of pulling them loose while also hanging from the window sill. She looks to the door, but the locking mechanisms are all on the outside. There's not even a knob or a handle inside anymore.

There's no way out of this room. She knows that—she's tried enough times. But she can hardly sit on her cot and wait to die.

She's still searching in vain for some way out when her door flies open, revealing a masked woman.

"Finally," she says, voice oddly familiar.

Talia relaxes slightly. The woman has swords on her back, but makes no move to draw them, and she isn't in a fighting stance.

"We've come to rescue you," she says. Then she touches a hand to her ear, and tells whoever is on the other end of her communicator, "I have Talia."

Talia tenses again. If the woman hadn't said her name, she would have believed it, would have believed that some heroes might attack her father's base, and rescue any prisoners they found. But the woman knows her name. The only people left who know her name are loyal to either her father or Owlman. And she has no interest in what Bruce might consider a rescue.

"Talia," the woman says, and she pulls off her mask to reveal Talia's own face.

She takes a step back without meaning to, cursing herself for the display of weakness.

"I'm either a clone, a time traveller, or from an alternate dimension, right?" the second Talia says. "But whatever I am, I'm you. That makes me more trustworthy than anyone loyal to Father, doesn't it?"

"And what are you?"

"Alternate dimension," she says. "Did Father tell you Owlman was killed?"

"You're—you're certain?"

"I'm certain. I know you've been through horrible things, Talia. And I know trust doesn't come easily. But I can take you to Damian."

Talia steps forward. "If you are lying, I will torture you to the brink of death, heal you in the Pit, and repeat the process until my son is in my arms."

The other Talia smiles. "Then it is a good thing I'm not lying. Grab anything you want to keep. The others are waiting."

"The others?"

"We built a team with superheroes from three dimensions to find you. You and I are the only Talias here, if that's what you're wondering."

She has nothing to pack. Everything that mattered was taken from her, either by Father or by Bruce. She follows the other Talia across the base, noting as she goes that all the downed ninjas are breathing. Definitely superheroes, then—the only people in the world foolish enough to leave enemies alive.

They collect the other Talia's comrades as they go, all of them masked. They end up across the base. Two men leave, with quick goodbyes to the others, vanishing into nothing. This does add credence to the alternate dimension claims.

"We're waiting for two more," the other Talia tells her. "They're catching the same ride as you, or we would let you leave without them."

"And where am I catching a ride to?"

"When Owlman was killed, the children were sent to different homes across the multiverse, to people who could protect and care for them. We didn't know, yet, about you. We only found out this morning. Damian has been in his new home for several months now. We're sending you there to join him."

She waited so long to get her son back. And now she's expected to share him with useless heroes from another dimension?

The other Talia can, apparently, read her mind. "He's safe. He has a family he's lived with for several months, one he loves and trusts. You wouldn't take that away from him."

No. She wouldn't. "Who will I be sharing my son with?"

One of the men, the one in blue, removes his mask.

Bruce's first Talon. Smiling. Healthy. Older.

Human.

"You're—you're not him."

"I'm not."

"Is he—is he well?"

"He is. He told us about you."

She nods.

"My name is Dick. This is my brother Jason, and my sister Cassandra." Two more of the group remove their masks; the woman waves at her. "Harley and Pam are—doing something stupid to your dad's base, probably. They're sort of family friends. We have Damian at home, and another rescued Talon, a little older, named Tim. And—and we have Bruce."

"Bruce," she repeats, ice creeping up her spine. She shouldn't—she shouldn't have gotten her hopes up.

"A Bruce. From a different dimension. He's—he's nice. He's not Owlman, or even Batman. Just a guy. Really nice, not a threat at all."

"If he hurts my child—"

"He won't."

Before they can discuss it further, two women come running up, one in a ridiculous clown outfit, one in a familiar green one.

"Pamela," Talia says.

"That's me. Though not, I think, the one you mean."

"We need to go," her companion says.

"Harley," Dick says, "what did you—"

"Don't worry, no one's dead or nothin'. But your guys are waking up."

"All right," the other Talia says. "Good luck, Talia." She hugs her, quick and awkward, then she and the man and women with her, the only ones still masked, vanish just as the men did earlier.

"Ready, Talia?" Dick asks.

"Ready," she lies.

A moment later they're standing in a clearing in the woods, beside a rusty mini van. She pushes down a wave of nausea. Dimensional travel, it seems, is hard on the stomach.

"It's a bit of a drive home," Dick says. "Our security system messes with the universe hopping tech. Jay, you wanna drive?"

"Yeah. Just—Talia doesn't get shotgun, okay? I just—can't, yet."

"Shotgun," Cassandra says. "Dick, Talia, middle. Harley and Pam in back."

Talia gets into her assigned seat. This is all so strange. She didn't even grab a weapon on her way out of the base.

She's out of the base. Out from under her father's thumb, for the first time in over three years.

Damian. Damian is waiting for her. If she can believe them.

Her baby. He must be nearly seven by now. Will he remember her? What will Bruce have done to him?

She glances at the man called Dick, at his smiling, human face.

Damian will be a Talon. That much she can be sure of. He will have been tortured and tormented by the man who should have loved him most in the world.

Her baby.

She could kill Owlman a thousand times, and never repay him for what he's done.

Dick tells her that Damian likes drawing and coloring and a stuffed dog named Wilbur. He tells her Damian has a photo of her—not truly her, but an alternate self that looks just the same—which sits on his bed with his toys during the day, and is moved to the nightstand when he sleeps.

The clown woman interrupts Dick's list of Damian's favorite foods to lean forward and empty her backpack into Talia's lap.

Her backpack is full of priceless antique jewelry.

"We didn't have time to kill your shitty dad, so we robbed him instead. Consider this his involuntary apology for betraying you and the kid."

It’s a long drive. They ask her questions, extremely personal questions for complete strangers. And she answers them. They have given her freedom, have promised to give her her son, and for that she owes them honesty.

They want to know how she came to be married to Bruce.

"We were involved, when we were young. He was training under my father. I was—I was sixteen. He was twenty one. I was very much in love with him. He invited me to come along, when he went back to Gotham. But I was very young. I wasn't ready.

"We maintained correspondence. He visited, a few times. Brief visits, mostly, and he never let me visit him. When I was twenty four he came back for over a month. Our engagement was formalized. I knew that it was largely a business deal with my father. But I was still infatuated, and I was certain he was better than anyone else my father might sell me to. We didn't set a date. It was agreed that I would not join him in Gotham until he had rebuilt his forces after the Justice League's attack. I wanted to go immediately, but I was overruled.

"For two years, he visited often. Then he stopped, quite suddenly, and I saw little of him for the next two years. Until our wedding."

She stops there. Her love story had quickly descended into nightmare. She doesn’t want to relive it. Not now. Not yet.

No one pushes her.

Dick takes out his phone, and finds a photo of Damian.

She starts to cry almost as soon as she sees him, the image blurred by her tears before she can even make out the details.

Her father would be ashamed of her. So weak. So emotional.

Her father has betrayed her. His opinions don’t matter.

"I should never have left,” she says. “Bruce didn't want a child to raise. He would have let me do as I pleased with Damian, at least—at least until he was older. Bruce only agreed to take Damian for a bargain with my father. If I hadn't run, they never would have made the bargain."

"What was the bargain?" Pamela asks.

"Bruce would raise Damian, and make him a Talon. When he was in his prime, Father would take him, and transfer his essence into his body, achieving a new level of immortality. In exchange, Bruce would have access to the Lazarus pits, forever."

"He might still have made the deal."

"Father only knew how Talons worked, only had the idea, because I told him. If I hadn't said anything to Father, if Bruce was there from the beginning, if he wasn't so angry with me, if—if he saw how I loved Damian—"

"Talia—"

"I know. I know. I have always loved men who were monsters. And they've made my son one, too."

"They tried," Cass says. "They failed."

Chapter 49

Summary:

"Did you hug me once?" he asks.

"I hugged you lots of times."

He nods, looking very serious. "I only remember one. You should do it again."

The drive to their home takes eternities. It takes no time at all. She’s out of the car as soon as it parks in the garage, entering the house on Cassandra’s heels, and he’s there. He’s there.

He's so big. So big. Her baby is a little boy, and he's—

He's not a monster. But he rather looks like one.

She knew what Bruce would do to him. She tried so hard to—

It doesn't matter. It's over. They're both here now.

They're both here, and she's a stranger to him. He's not the toddler that was taken from her. He's a little boy with a brand new family, one that was here for him when she couldn't be.

How can she even begin to build a relationship with a boy who probably has no memory of her? A boy who was tortured by her husband, when she wasn't there?

The older Talon is standing in front of Damian. Bruce is standing a few feet away, and that's—that's something she'll have to deal with, eventually. But she can't rip her child away from the man who stole him, or the monster guarding him, because he knows them, and she's the intruder here.

"She looks like my mom," Damian says to the other boy, and it's the first time she's heard his voice in nearly four years.

"She is your mom," Dick says. "We rescued her, and she's going to be staying with us now."

"She's—she's safe?" the other boy asks. "She's not like Owlman?"

"I'm nothing like him," Talia says.

He stares at her with golden eyes for a long, long moment, Damian peeking out from behind him. Then he takes one small step away. Damian glances between him and Talia, looking small and uncertain.

"Okay, Dami," Dick says. "Let's meet your mom."

He comes and leads Damian across the room to her. Cassandra crouches down to speak with the other Talon.

"Hello, Damian," she says. She lowers herself to sit on the floor, so she's only a little taller than him. He stares at her for nearly as long as the other boy, and she doesn't know what to say. She gives herself a moment to mourn the beautiful brown eyes he was born with.

"Did you hug me once?" he asks.

"I hugged you lots of times."

He nods, looking very serious. "I only remember one. You should do it again."

"I can do that."

His shape and size have changed, but he still feels so right in her arms. Her baby. She has her baby back.

She doesn't want to let go, and no one is making her, yet. She slides an arm under his legs, and stands, marvelling again at how big he is, how his legs dangle.

"Tim," he says, "look. I have a mom."

The other boy smiles at him, which has a very humanizing effect.

"Talia," Dick says, "this is Tim and Brucie. And the hyenas are Bud and Lou. Dami can tell you which is which."

It is at this point that Talia notices the wild animals in the room.

Damian squirms out of her arms and back to the ground, running right toward the wild animals. He turns to face her, a foot or two away from the hyenas. "Aren't you coming, Mom?"

All right. Hyenas. Well. They can't be any worse than Bruce.

-

"Any trouble?" Jason asks Brucie, while Damian introduces his mom to Bud and Lou.

"Lou peed on the rug. I didn't know how to clean it, so I just put it outside."

"Well. That sounds like a job for Harley."

“It was fine, otherwise.”

“Good. Um, hey. Did we tell you Talia’s your ex?”

“Owlman’s ex?” he asks. He’s pretty sure he would remember if she was his ex.

“Yeah.”

“You didn’t.”

“Right. She hates him. But the kids came around, so I’m sure she will too!” Jasons frowns. “Um. Did we ever tell you that Owlman was Damian’s dad?”

He thinks about it for a minute. “Don’t think so.”

“You seem pretty chill about it for someone we didn’t tell.”

“I do know what I looked like when I was six. There are lots of pictures. I figured it was just too obvious to mention.”

“No, we just forgot. I can’t believe we forgot. That’s really bad.”

“So both of Damian’s parents are here and alive, pretty much.”

“Yeah.”

“And neither of Tim’s?”

“Shit. Yeah. Hey, I need to talk to Dick. Tell Harley about that carpet?”

“Sure. Oh. We broke a lamp, too.”

“Anything sharp on the ground?”

“No, I cleaned it.”

“Great. We’ll get a new one eventually.”

-

Dick finds Tim in his bedroom, later. He sits on the bed beside him.

"Are you okay, Tim?"

"I'm okay."

"You know, it's okay to be sad. It's even okay to be jealous."

"It's not—it's not fair."

"Yeah. I know. I'm sorry."

Tim shrugs.

"Maybe—maybe we could find a version of your parents for you to meet?" He's not handing over custody of Tim to any version of the Drakes; the only versions who cared half as much as they should have about him are dead. But maybe if he could have, like, video calls or something, with some semi-decent versions. Maybe the Drakes older Tim sees sometimes.

Tim shakes his head. "It's not—she's his real mom. She isn't like—like Bruce, for you. I don't want something like that. I don't want someone who just looks like my parents. I want my parents. And they're gone, and it isn't—it isn't fair."

"I know," he says again. "I'm sorry."

"I'm glad Dami gets her. I just—I'm just sad."

He risks wrapping an arm around Tim's shoulders, ready to pull away quickly if he stiffens or flinches. But Tim relaxes into his side, instead.

"How about I arrange for you to see the first Talon?" he offers.

Tim pulls away slightly to look at his face. "Just—just me? Not Damian?"

"Just you, this time."

"Not to be fair. To be safe."

"Do you think Damian wouldn't be safe with him?"

"Wouldn't feel safe. He's too little to remember when it wasn't bad."

"Okay."

"Just—just on the phone, though? The video phone?"

"If that's what you want."

He nods, then sinks into Dick's side again. "That's what I want."

-

She sleeps poorly, despite the use of Cassandra's bedroom. It's the safest she's been in years. Possibly the safest she's ever been, with her husband dead and her father a universe away. She should be sleeping well.

Damian introduced her to both hyenas, and then to every toy he owns, and to his houseplant. He showed her all of his drawing, and the photo of her holding him—a photo she has no memory of, borrowed from an alternate counterpart.

He's adorable, and so sweet, and he isn't—he isn't hers.

She failed to protect him. These people rescued him, and cared for him, and then they rescued her, too. She has no right to be jealous or resentful. She should just be grateful.

He's her son.

She's a stranger. And he seems happy enough to see her, but he's surrounded by people he loves. People he's drawn over and over again, though he's drawn her a few times too. People he talks about constantly, people he looks to any time he's unsure of anything. A family.

She doesn't want to share his affections. She certainly doesn't want to fall below several other people in his affections.

She can't just take him and leave. He's not hers, anymore. Hasn't been hers for a long time. He belongs here.

Jason and Cassandra are in the kitchen when she comes out; the rest of the household is still in bed.

“Hey, Talia,” Jason says. Cassanda waves.

“Good morning.” She studies Jason’s face more closely than she has before, without Damian to distract her, and she wonders. The age difference between them is larger than it was for Dick. She’d known a child, so different from the man in front of her. But it could be him. Not him, but a version.

She doesn’t know how to ask, or whether he would even know. It’s unlikely the child has survived all these years; most of Bruce’s Talons didn’t last long.

“We’ll have breakfast when everyone is up,” Jason says. “For now, let’s see about getting you a bedroom.”

He shows her a few options, apologizing that they’re so small, assuring her that walls can be knocked down when they find the time. This building, he explains, used to be a clinic. Most rooms have sinks. All have built in cabinets. One has a window.

She doesn't care about the size of the room. She's lived in her father's cell, in roach-infested motel rooms, in the saddest of studio apartments, over the last seven years. Anywhere clean and safe is amazing. But the window—she would very much like a window.

"Okay," Jason says. "We'll look at what we've got around the place for furnishings after breakfast, put together a list of what we'll need to buy you. I know the built-in cabinets are ugly, but we can repaint them, and they'll work as a dresser. We can dismantle them and get you something nicer eventually, but it's a whole project, and we haven't even expanded Brucie's room like I promised yet.”

She doesn't mind the built in cabinetry or sink. She would like a large bed, or two small ones, so that Damian could spend the night with her sometimes. But this is a new situation, and the last few years have been hard. She has her window; she doesn't feel ready to make further requests.

They return to the kitchen. Dick is setting the table, while Cassandra slices fruit, and Tim watches her intently. Damian is sitting on the countertop beside the cutting board, swinging his legs, eating pieces of fruit with his fingers.

"Mom!"

He jumps off of the counter and runs to her, then stops inches away, looking uncertain. She kneels down to hug him.

"Good morning, Damian."

When she stands back up he grabs her hand with his sticky little fingers, and tugs her toward the table.

"You sit next to me," he says. "You and Tim."

After breakfast, she changes out of Harley's borrowed pajamas, into Pamela's borrowed day clothes, and sits on the couch, holding Damian in her lap, as he watches a cartoon and explains to her the plot.

He's so grown up. She's missed so much.

Tim is nearby. Tim is always nearby. She thinks he doesn't trust her with Damian, which is ridiculous, because she is Damian's mother, and Tim is a small undead assassin.

He is, she supposes, more or less her stepson. She’ll need to bond with him. Later, after she’s bonded with Damian.

Chapter 50

Summary:

Tim stares at Talon. Talon stares at Tim. Tim doesn't know what to say. What do you say to someone who saved your life, and killed you, and hurt you, and took care of you, and spent six months dead and frozen because Owlman broke his brain for trying to be nice?

Dick calls Red Hood. Red Hood calls his Dick. That Dick calls Duela, who speaks with Talon, then calls back, the whole process repeating in reverse. After about an hour, Dick has Duela's phone number, and instructions to call her and discuss it further.

He calls Duela. They exchange pleasantries, and he hears a voice that's almost his in the background, saying something not quite loud enough for him to understand.

"Yeah," Duela says. "Hey, Dick, can we switch to video?"

"Sure."

It's the first time Dick's actually seen Duela Dent, and she isn't what he was expecting, from the little information Tim and Red Hood Jason had passed on. She looks like a very normal person, in sharp contrast to the Talon hovering in the background.

He takes a cautious step forward, putting his chin on Duela's shoulder, still behind her.

"You have two," he says.

"Yeah. Tim and Damian."

"I do not know which one Damian is."

"The littlest."

"You have the baby? He's safe?"

"He's safe. He's sitting on the couch with his mom right now."

"Ow-Owlman's wife?"

"Yeah. We went and rescued her yesterday."

Talon nods. "But I only talk to Tim?"

"For now."

"Okay. I'm ready."

He doesn't really look like he's ready; he's still hiding behind his girlfriend. But maybe he'll be more comfortable with Tim than he is with Dick.

"Sure. I'll just go get him." He sets down the phone.

The boys are on one couch with Talia; Harley and Cass are on the other.

"Hey, Tim, do you want to make that phone call?"

Tim follows him out of the room, with one last anxious look at Talia. When Dick picks his phone back up, Talon is the one holding it on his end, with Duela visible in the background, so that's good. He doesn't think Tim wants to talk to Duela.

"Do you want me to stay here?" he asks Tim. "Or do you want to be alone?"

"Alone."

"Okay. You can take the phone to your room if you want. Just bring it back when you're done, and let me know if you need anything."

Tim nods. Dick passes him the phone.

-

Tim doesn't let himself look at the phone. Not yet. Just a quick glance to see it's a video call, then he holds it to his chest so he can't see the first Talon, and the first Talon can't see him.

(Everyone else has names now, Dick told him. But the first Talon is still Talon. Tim doesn't know why you wouldn't want your own name, but that's Talon's business.)

He goes to his bedroom. He lays down the photos of his parents, the first one and the new one from his birthday, so no one can see them, just in case. He puts his spider plant on the floor, and his stuffed animals, so no one can see them, either. He sits down on his bed, and holds out the phone so he can see the little picture.

He is wearing less silly clothes today. He has a pair of glasses pushed up onto his head, not over his eyes. There is a lady in the room with him, and when she sees that Tim is looking at the phone again, she kisses Talon on the cheek and walks away.

Tim stares at Talon. Talon stares at Tim. Tim doesn't know what to say. What do you say to someone who saved your life, and killed you, and hurt you, and took care of you, and spent six months dead and frozen because Owlman broke his brain for trying to be nice?

"You're safe?" Talon asks.

"Yes."

"The baby is safe?"

"Yes."

"The woman that came yesterday. She seems fine? Safe?"

"So far."

"I didn't know the baby was hers. I didn't know they didn't know about her."

"She's—you know her? How? Who is she?"

"Owlman's wife."

Tim drops the phone.

"Tim?" Talon asks, voice muffled by the carpet.

He picks it up. "Dami's with her right now. He's sitting in her lap! I have to—I have to—"

"She's not like him."

"Are you—are you sure?" You can have a baby with someone without knowing they’re evil, maybe, but how do you not notice when you’re married?

He nods. "She didn't—most people didn't realize we were just kids, at home. I don't think we realized we were just kids."

Tim remembers being just a kid. But he carved his memory into his skin, and the first Talon helped him. He doesn't know what the others remembered.

"She realized. And she left. Not right away, but not long after. Probably as fast as she could, after figuring out where to go and how to keep him from following."

"She realized," Tim repeats. "But she didn't—she didn't help." That's not fair, he thinks, even as he says it. No one helped. Not really. Not until here. She helped her baby. She kept him safe for three years. She probably didn't know how to help the rest of them.

"She couldn't fight Owlman. No one could fight Owlman. Not the whole Justice League."

"What's a Justice League?"

"They used to be heroes. They used to fight Owlman. There were so many of them, and they had superpowers. And we killed them."

"Oh."

"You and the baby are safe. Have you talked to the others?"

"No. Have you?" It's weird, talking to him. Having a conversation with him. None of them had dared to just talk to each other for a long, long time.

"No. But Duela makes sure we get updates."

"Duela is the lady who kissed you?"

"Yeah."

He smiles. Tim tries to remember if he's ever seen him smile before. If he's ever seen any Talon smile, before they came here and Damian was safe enough to be happy.

He should maybe ask about the others. But as long as they're okay he isn't very interested.

"I visited," he says. "When you—when you were frozen. In that other world. They showed me, to prove that—that the you here wasn't really you."

“I’m sorry,” Talon says, and Tim doesn’t know what he’s apologizing for.

“Are you—are you really back there? In our—in our world?”

“I am. My family is here.”

Tim nods. “I want—I want to go now.” Damian has a mom, and kind of a dad, and Talon has a family, and it is so weird, talking to him, being safe to talk to him, and everything is so much, and he’s tired.

“Okay,” Talon says. “Bye, Tim.”

The video cuts off, and Tim gives the phone back to Dick. Then he goes back to his bedroom, and puts all his things back where they belong, except for the pictures of his parents, which he brings with him to bed.

-

The difficulty with getting Talia's room set up is that she's not willing to be parted with Damian for long enough to make any decisions. Which Jason figures is reasonable; she hasn't seen him in years. But he'd like to get Cass back into her own bedroom, and Talia into her own clothes, as soon as possible.

Showing her the options goes okay. He does not think about the fact that she's Talia al Ghul. She's Dami's mom and she needs a bedroom. The sooner she settles in, the sooner he can start avoiding her until he's ready to actually deal with his feelings.

Damian is sleeping on the couch, curled into Talia's side. Talia and Pam are making awkward small talk. Dick is sitting on the floor outside Tim's room, where he'll hear if anything goes wrong on the Talon removal phone call.

"Cass, Harley, can you go through storage and take pictures of anything you think Talia might like?" He thinks, of the people not currently occupied, Brucie might be better than either of them at identifying things Talia would like; Cass and Harley are both...eclectic. Talia, in his experience, is classy, and Brucie at least knows what that looks like. But he thinks Talia will be opposed on principle to anything Brucie picks out.

While they work on that, he googles his Talia's current alias for wardrobe information.

It isn't going well.

He should have gone digging through storage, and let someone else do the clothes shopping.

"Hey, Brucie? You've hung out with a lot of models and stuff, yeah?"

"Yeah."

"Great. Can you come tell me what it's called when the neckline does this thing?"

He's not having Brucie pick anything, he's just having him describe things so Jason can enter them in the search bar. That's probably fine.

Once he's got a few options up, he hands the computer to Talia. Cass comes back to the room, a concerning amount of spider webs in her hair.

"These are lovely," Talia says politely.

"She doesn't like them," Cass reports.

"I can wear anything," Talia says.

"You don't like them," Cass repeats.

"They look like something my father would dress me in," she admits.

"We'll come back to the clothes," Jason says. "Cass, what have you got? Where'd Harley go?"

"Walking the hyenas." She unlocks her phone and hands it to Talia. "Decorations. For your room. You pick what you like."

"If you don't like any of it, we'll buy new stuff," Jason adds, because apparently this Talia is a lot less used to getting her own way than the one he knows. "Just, if you go to new websites, make sure they can ship to here."

She's just started going through the photos when Damian wakes up.

“Damian,” she asks, “what kind of clothes do you think I should wear?”

-

Her father dressed her in elegant, structured things, mostly dresses, mostly green. Bruce dressed her in elegant, flowing things, mostly dresses, mostly white. When she was on the run, with Damian, she wore what she could find and afford, mostly jeans and t-shirts that didn't fit well, mostly polyester.

The idea of having control over her own life, for the first time outside those terrifying few years on the run with a baby, is strangely daunting.

She will not make plans based on Bruce's—Brucie's—preferences; other than that, she lacks the energy to care much. Damian's preferences, she decides, will be a good guide.

Damian's intention, it quickly becomes clear, is to dress her in soft things. His most frequently asked question, as they scroll through clothing websites together, is "What will it feel like?" She looks at the photos, and she reads the materials, and she makes her best guesses.

"What colors do you like?" she asks him.

"What colors do you like?" he asks.

"I asked you first."

He scrambles out of her lap, and returns quickly with a very large box of crayons, which he dumps out onto the couch. She watches, amused, as he sifts through them for several minutes before presenting her with a handful.

"These are my favorites," he says.

"These are very nice colors. Let's see if we can find some clothes that match."

"But what about your favorites?" Damian asks.

"Well. Let's see."

She picks out a few crayons, and offers them to Damian.

He nods. “Good colors,” he says.

Chapter 51

Summary:

"Sacrifices must be made, Talia. But it is not all bad. You must trust me. You do trust me, don’t you?”

“Of course,” Talia lies. Sacrifices must be made. Her father likes to say that, too. Funny—it’s never people like Bruce and her father who actually make the sacrifices. They just benefit from them.

Notes:

So this chapter is 100% Talia-POV flashback.

Marrying Bruce has not been what she expected.

He seldom lets her leave the house. He says Gotham is too dangerous. The first time she suggested they move, he only told her that he had a duty to save his city. The second time she suggested it, he became angry. She does not dare to suggest it a third time.

The Talons make her uncomfortable. Bruce explained that they are monsters, that their childlike appearance is a defense mechanism. This does not make them less unnerving. He cautions her to avoid them when he is not there; they obey him, but his control is not absolute, and he will not have her risk her safety.

This rule is much easier to obey than the one that restricts her to the house. She does not want to be near the Talons. Fortunately Bruce keeps all but the oldest—or the one who appears the oldest, at least, the only one that does not look like a child—out of their living area, more often than not. That one, he often likes to have near at hand.

He stands there, silent and unmoving, until Bruce asks something of him. He watches Talia with golden eyes, his expression blank and never changing.

She hates having his eyes on her when Bruce—when Bruce—

He’s always so angry. He was never angry like this when he visited her, before.

This marriage has benefited her father. She can’t ask him to take her back. It would be—

She wanted this. She wanted Bruce. It isn't exactly what she expected, but she knows how much he has going on, how those criminals in their bizarre outfits cause chaos, how much he lost to the Justice League while they were still engaged, and how he still struggles to rebuild. It will get better. It will.

And then he brings in the child.

A little boy, perhaps seven or eight years old, filthy and too-thin and terrified, screaming as Bruce drags him into the house and drops him on the floor.

“Talon!” he snaps. “Get ready.”

The oldest Talon appears out of nowhere, and he and Bruce disappear into one of his private rooms together, leaving the boy on the floor.

Talia sets down her book, and goes to crouch down beside him. He flinches away when she reaches to touch him.

“I’m sorry,” she says. “I won’t hurt you. You’re safe.”

He shakes his head. “He’s—he’s going to kill me.”

“He won’t. I know Bruce has a temper, but he won’t—you’ll be safe now. I’ll talk to him.”

He shakes his head again.

“Come up on the couch with me. I’ll get you some water.”

He follows her, shakily, to the couch. She goes to the kitchen for the water, and tries to prepare herself for the absolute fit Bruce is going to throw when he sees how dirty he's getting the couch.

He drinks the water slowly, still shaking.

“I’m Talia. What’s your name?”

“Jason.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Jason. Do you want me to call your parents?”

He shakes his head. “Don’t got none.”

She thinks about asking who else she can call for him, but then looks again at his clothes and his face and the tiny, tiny hands holding the glass of water, the bones in his wrists.

He’s homeless. There’s no one to call.

Why did Bruce bring him here? Was he intending to—to help him? Did he just not explain, just frighten him by accident? Bruce never has been good at communicating clearly.

“Can you tell me what happened?”

“I—I didn’t know it was his. I wouldnta tried to take it if I knew it was his. And he saw me, and I—I recognized him, and I tried to run. I tried to get to Robinson Park, to the Plant Lady, but I wasn’t fast enough.”

“Who is the Plant Lady?”

“She—they say she keeps you safe. From Owlman. They say he can’t get into the park. If you get to the park you’re safe. But I wasn’t fast enough, and now I’m gonna die and be a zombie slave.”

“Jason,” she says, “I don’t—I don’t know what’s going on, but I’ll talk to him, okay? I’ll take care of it.”

“You can’t help me. He’ll just kill you, too.”

“Bruce isn't going to kill me.” She sees him coming back, and goes to meet him, pulling him into the next room. His Talon stands in the doorway, waiting, and Talia would prefer he wasn’t there at all, but at least he’s not approaching the child.

“What is it?” Bruce asks.

“That little boy. He thinks—he thinks you’re going to turn him into a zombie slave, Bruce!”

He frowns. “An oversimplification.”

Talia can only stare at him for a long, horrified moment. That “zombie slave” is an oversimplification means that “zombie slave” at least vaguely resembles the truth.

“Bruce—”

He grabs her wrist. “This is what must be done to protect my city, Talia. Would you question my methods?”

She looks down at his hand. His grip is gentle, now, but she knows how easily he could snap her wrist. She’s never thought before that he might. It would be—it would be too far, even in one of his moods.

“He’s a little boy,” she says.

“He’s a criminal. A strain on the system. And now he will be a tool, one with a purpose. He will have food, and a dry place to sleep. Sacrifices must be made, Talia. But it is not all bad. You must trust me. You do trust me, don’t you?”

“Of course,” Talia lies. Sacrifices must be made. Her father likes to say that, too. Funny—it’s never people like Bruce and her father who actually make the sacrifices. They just benefit from them.

She’s not as strong as Bruce. He has a small army of Talons. And she only half understands what’s happening. She can’t save Jason.

She goes back to the couch. She takes the glass of water, and hugs him, and hates herself. She watches Bruce drag him away, the Talon following, and hates herself more. She listens to him scream, and cleans the couch, and hates herself more than she thought it was possible to hate anything.

The screams stop. Bruce comes out, and sees the cleaned couch, and kisses her. He leaves. She sits back down, and she hates, and hates, and hates.

The Talon comes out, carrying a small, limp form that can only be Jason. Talia stands, and comes closer, and sees that it is definitely Jason, and also definitely a Talon.

“Jason—”

The Talon’s face goes confused and alarmed and pained, just for a moment, then resumes the blankness she’s used to. “Don’t call him that,” he says.

Jason looks miserable and in pain and at least half asleep. He winces and squeezes his eyes shut at the sound of their voices, and doesn’t open them again.

“It’s his name.”

“He doesn’t have a name. He’s Talon now.”

“Jason,” she says again.

The Talon shifts Jason to his other arm, a few small inches farther away from her. “Shut up!” he hisses. “You’ll get us all in trouble, but our trouble will hurt worse than yours. He’s little. He can’t take much more.”

“Talon,” she says instead, realizing as she says it that it isn’t a name at all, that he must have one, too, one she doesn’t know, one Bruce doesn’t use.

“You’re trying to be kind,” he says. “But it’s cruel, really. It’ll make things worse. Don’t speak to him. Don’t even look at him. You’ll only draw Owlman’s attention.”

“He—he’s just—”

“If he’s lucky, he won’t survive. If you really want to help, you’ll kill him. Decapitation—nothing else works. If you can’t do that, leave him alone.”

He carries Jason down to the basement, where all the Talons stay.

Jason is a Talon.

Jason is a child.

They’re not monsters who look young as a defense mechanism. They’re children. They’re all children.

Her husband is kidnapping and torturing children. He’s turning them into monsters, into weapons.

She should leave.

She can’t leave. She has to stay here, has to watch. She won’t kill Jason. She can’t. But there must be something—something that would actually help. Something she can do.

The oldest Talon is not a child. Has he been here since he was? How long has Bruce been—

Talons die all the time.

How many children has her husband killed?

The sight of Bruce makes her nauseous. She ignores it, and continues on as if nothing has changed. Nothing has, not yet. She’ll bide her time until it can.

The oldest Talon watches her, silent, the way he always does, but it feels different.

Months pass. She sees Jason for the first time since that night, broken enough by now, she gathers, to be trusted outside the basement. He is silent, and terrified, and obedient, and he doesn’t seem to recognize her. Bruce clearly expects her to be impressed.

The nausea returns. It takes her some time to recognize the difference, and longer to do anything about it.

She convinces Bruce to take her out. They walk to a restaurant he likes, Talia claiming a need for fresh air, for exercise. Halfway home, she says she needs badly to use the restroom, and they stop at a drug store.

She steals the pregnancy test there.

It’s positive. Of course it’s positive.

She thinks of all the little Talons in the basement, and knows she has to leave. She can’t save them. She can’t save any of them. There isn't time. But she can save her baby.

Robinson Park, Jason said.

She washes the pregnancy test, and keeps it on her person always. She can’t risk Bruce finding it, can’t trust him not to dig through the trash, can’t trust it not to clog up the plumbing and be found if she flushes it.

She doesn’t know Gotham. Bruce hasn’t let her. He’ll find her before she’ll find the park.

She waits until she’s alone with the oldest Talon, an experience she hates just as much as she always has, for different reasons now.

It’s a huge risk. It’s the only chance she has.

“Can you tell me how to get to Robinson Park?” she asks him.

He does.

A few weeks pass before she can make her escape, before Bruce seems busy enough with whatever it is he does.

There’s no public transportation in Gotham, and asking someone to drive her is too big a risk. She knows her husband owns this city. She has to walk.

The park is overgrown with massive trees and vines. Glowing eyes stare out at her.

“Why have you come here?” asks an echoing voice.

“I have heard you protect children.”

“You are not a child.”

“I carry one.”

“You belong to the owl man.”

“I do. I hope that my child will not.”

The eyes disappear, and the trees part in front of her. She steps forward warily, and they close again behind her.

She’s in a beautiful, open place, greener and brighter than anything she’s seen in Gotham, and a very ordinary-looking, red-haired woman stands in front of her. Her eyes aren’t glowing. There are children playing behind her.

“My name is Pamela,” the woman says.

“Talia.”

“How far along are you?”

“I don’t know. I couldn’t risk him finding out.”

“Will he come looking for you?”

“Yes.”

Pamela frowns. “Well. You can’t stay here, then. I’ll get you moved on in a few days. You’ll take three children with you.”

“Children?” Talia repeats. She has no idea how she’s going to take care of one child. What on earth will she do with three more?

“Not to keep. They can’t all stay here. I send a group out of Gotham when I can, but I have to wait for an older child who can escort them. Two of these three have been here for months, and none of them are old enough to send out alone, to be in charge of the others.”

Talia looks around the park. There are at least six children here. Some look to be in their mid-teens, at least—she wonders how old they need to be to act as escorts, while still being young enough to count as children.

Pamela follows her gaze. “Those ones stay here. The ordinary children, I send on. The Talons, I keep.”

“They’re Talons?”

“They used to be. Owlman knows I’m curing them when I can catch them; he keeps making it harder. But I’ve managed, so far. They’re very traumatized. My contacts outside the city can’t handle them.”

Talia nods. She can’t help Jason, or any of the Talons. But someone can. Someone does. If they can get far enough from Bruce for Pamela to grab them, she can help.

At least she’s not leaving them completely alone.

Three days later, Talia and three small children leave Robinson Park through a tunnel system. It’s a long, long walk, with many breaks for short legs. It takes a few days, but Pamela’s sent them with food and water, and they manage.

The tunnel lets them out in Bludhaven, where Talia follows Pamela’s instructions to a long-abandoned zeta tube. She types in the authorization, and they all come out in Star City, where they wait outside the tube until Pamela’s contact, notified of the tube going off, comes to collect them.

She leaves the children there. She cuts her hair, and uses the cash she stole from Bruce to buy new clothes, food, prenatal vitamins, and a bus ticket. She needs to get out of the city. The smaller the place where she settles, the safer she’ll be. She needs somewhere without dozens of cameras.

She makes it. She has her baby. A year passes, and another, and she buys a cheap cake she can barely afford, and wraps presents from the dollar store, and she’s so lonely. She’s so lonely.

She writes to her father, and he writes back. He apologizes for misjudging Bruce, for leaving her in that situation. She is wary, but slowly, slowly, she learns to trust him again. She tells him about his grandson. She tells him about Bruce’s army of zombie slaves.

When Bruce comes for her, a year after they began their correspondence, she knows exactly who to blame. She has been so, so stupid.

Bruce takes Damian, and leaves her. An hour later her father comes, and explains the deal he’s made.

She didn’t think she could hate anyone or anything as much as she hated herself, the day Bruce brought Jason home.

It turns out she can hate her father even more.

Notes:

So at some point - probably in the eventual longer Duela and Talon story - we'll get into the details of how Pam went from being someone Gotham kids knew would protect them to being someone the Talons were terrified of, but basically in the time between getting Jason and getting Tim, Owlman continued to make it harder for her to cure them until the process that used to cure them ended up painfully and permanently killing them instead. At which point she stopped doing it, but not before some of the Talons witnessed the horrible death and reported it to the others.

Chapter 52

Summary:

Mom says yes, because Mom always says yes to Damian. Even though he doesn't think she likes the hyenas very much, either. Which is almost as weird as not liking Tim. But Damian loves her anyway. He's sure she just needs time to get to know them.

Cass watches.

Bringing Talia home was the right thing. She knows. But there is stress in the house again. The kids were comfortable with Brucie, and things felt calm and safe again, and now it's gone.

Talia is so quiet. Her body language is so loud.

She doesn't seem to feel anything much about Cass and Harley, unless Dami is being really clingy, and then there's some jealousy-sadness, but she thinks that is normal. With Dick and Jason and Tim, there's guilt-sadness-revulsion-confusion, and it makes Cass think Talia must have known Talon Jason, too. Dami makes her sad and guilty, too, but also she loves him so much.

The big problem is Brucie. Which makes sense. Every time she looks at Brucie, there's hate-fear-hate, then remembering, then dread-confusion and more fear.

And Brucie likes Talia, and definitely knows about at least some of the bad things she feels every time she looks at him, and it's making him sad.

And Talia makes Tim nervous, because even though they are all here, and make sure that Tim also gets to be a kid as much as he'll let them, he mostly thinks that taking care of Damian is his job. Except he also thinks taking care of Damian is his mom's job, and he doesn't know where that puts him.

It’s a problem. It’s lots of problems. But it’s not as bad as when Brucie got here. They just need time.

She goes to find Jason. He's stressed. Needs distracting.

-

He has a mom. A real live mom, not just a picture.

It's not his fault he has a mom, but he still feels bad, because he knows it's not fair. He has a mom and a dad, even if he's not quite sure about Brucie being his dad. Tim doesn't have a mom or a dad. But maybe Damian can share his, and then he won't have to feel bad.

He really likes having a mom. It isn't very different from having a Dick or a Jason or a Cass or a Pam or a Harley, but he likes it.

Mom likes to pick him up and carry him around, which he thinks maybe he's too big for, but he doesn't really mind. She likes to play with him and color with him and read books to him. She doesn't like Tim and Brucie, he thinks, which makes it hard to share her with Tim.

He worries about that. Tim is the best. Everyone should like Tim.

He understands not liking Brucie, because Brucie looks so scary. He can't help looking scary. But soon probably Mom will notice he's really nice even though he looks scary.

He doesn't understand not liking Tim. He knows that he and Tim look scary, too, for normal people. But Mom likes him, and he and Tim look the same. So that can't be the reason.

She likes Tim more than she likes Brucie, at least. Damian knows he's her favorite, and he thinks probably Pam is her second-favorite. But he needs her to like Tim more, so that they can share.

Maybe they just need to spend more time together.

"Harley," he asks, "can me and Tim walk Bud and Lou?"

"If you take a grown-up. I can't come right now; I have a meeting with Brucie."

Damian nods. He knows she has to talk to Brucie; that's why he picked now to ask.

"Mom? Will you walk Bud and Lou with me and Tim?"

Mom says yes, because Mom always says yes to Damian. Even though he doesn't think she likes the hyenas very much, either. Which is almost as weird as not liking Tim. But Damian loves her anyway. He's sure she just needs time to get to know them.

-

They’re walking the hyenas. Tim knows the hyenas don’t really need to be walked—they run around outside wherever they want all day. “Walking the hyenas” means that Harley needs to get out of the house, or thinks someone else needs to get out of the house, or that Damian wants an excuse to go farther from the house than usual.

But this time Damian doesn’t just want to play outside. Damian is Up To Something. Because they’re going with Talia.

The other grownups must trust her, if they’re letting her take them so far from the house. They’re probably right—they were right about Brucie.

He’s not scared of her. She’s not scary. But she—she makes him feel scary. When Talia looks at him, he remembers he’s a monster.

Damian and the hyenas run ahead, into the jungle, and that leaves just Tim and Talia walking together, and that’s—that’s not good. Tim runs to catch up with Damian.

“Mom is slow,” Damian says. “Let’s climb a tree while we wait.”

They do, while the hyenas sniff at things on the ground, and Tim tries to figure out why he’s here with Damian and his mom, why Damian wants him here when he has his mom, why they’re walking with Damian’s mom if he’s going to climb trees instead of actually being with her.

“Mom!” Damian shouts when she gets closer. “Mom! We’re up here! Come climb with us.”

Talia makes her way up the tree slowly. Damian waits for her to catch up. Tim keeps going.

“Look how high Tim is,” he can hear Damian saying below. “He’s really good at climbing trees.”

They finish climbing the tree, and Tim sits on the ground with Bud and Lou for a minute.

“Tim is really good with Bud and Lou,” Damian says. “They really like him.”

They find a big pile of rocks to climb around in.

“Be careful,” Talia says.

“Don’t worry,” Damian says. “Tim will take care of me.”

Okay. The thing Damian is up to is convincing Talia that Tim is cool. Tim isn't sure it’s working.

Talia watches them as they cross the pile of rocks to the stream on the other side, the hyenas following. Talia walks around the rock pile. Damian starts to go into the water, but Tim tugs him back, and makes him take off his socks and shoes first.

“Come in the water with us, Mom,” Damian says.

“I’m fine out here. How long do hyena walks usually last?”

They’ve been out for more than an hour, Tim thinks. Maybe two. Usually Talia doesn’t mind doing whatever Damian wants for as long as she wants. Maybe it’s different this time because they’re usually at the house, but probably it’s different because Tim is here.

“Until we get bored,” Damian says.

“What about lunch?” Talia asks.

“Or until then,” Tim says. “Is it lunchtime?”

“It is.”

“We’re having cookies after lunch,” Damian says, and wades to the edge of the stream as fast as he can, splashing Tim so much.

Talia hauls Damian up onto the shore, then reaches like she’s going to do the same thing to Tim, which makes no sense, and he flinches back, almost losing his balance and falling into the water.

“Tim!” Damian shouts.

“I’m okay.” He gets out of the water by himself, and takes off his sweatshirt to dry his feet before putting his socks and shoes back on. He gives the sweatshirt to Damian, and watches as Talia helps him get his shoes on, and stands between Bud and Lou, waiting.

He shouldn’t be here, with them. Talia’s not his mom.

She tried to touch him. Why did she try to touch him?

He goes back as fast as he can, Talia and Damian somewhere behind him, and then they have to eat lunch, but as soon as it’s done he goes to hide in his room.

-

After lunch, after Tim running to his room like the Joker’s on his heels, and Damian settling in at the table with a coloring book, Talia corners Harley in the hallway.

"You're a therapist, right?"

"Um. Sort of?"

"Great. Give me some therapy."

Okay, well. She's already providing therapy for Tim, Damian, and Brucie. What's one more?

(The older kids desperately need therapy, too. But probably not from her. Talia is easier because they're not really friends yet, and they don't have a weird history as sort-of enemies. She doesn't mind doing it for the kids, because they're kids. Doing therapy for Brucie is a little weird, because they are friends.)

She brings Talia to her office.

"So. What's the problem?"

"Dick and Jason look like children I abandoned, knowing they would be tortured by my husband. I'm sure Cass does, too; I just didn't have any memorable encounters with her. Tim is a child that I—I didn't abandon him, he wasn't there yet. But if I had stopped Bruce, instead of just running, he would never have touched Tim. And I feel so guilty, and I hate looking at them, annd I hate myself, and I know he's just a child, but I can't forget how dangerous he is. And I think he’s afraid of me, and I hate that too. And I'm so jealous of all of them—all of you—and the months you had with Damian that I didn't, and the trust you've built that I haven't. And I hate Bruce so much, and I know he's not the same person, but he has the same face, and every time I see him I'm so angry and afraid, and I just want to kill him, but I can't because he hasn't done anything wrong."

"Okay," Harley says. "Well. You're a mess."

"And you have a terrible bedside manner."

"You're not in bed."

"Don't you have anything helpful to say?"

Harley leans forward. "Look. I'm a criminal psychiatrist who lost her license due to criminal insanity. You get what you get."

"Criminal insanity?"

"Yeah. Now let's work through some shit. Tim first, I think." Everyone else is grown-ups, and they can handle Talia having complicated and possibly unfair feelings about them. Tim is a kid—an extremely traumatized kid, who's been notably stressed since Talia got here. As long as Talia is committed to not actually murdering Brucie, Tim is the priority.

"Tim first," Talia agrees. "I can see how important he is to Damian."

"You know he would never hurt Damian, right?"

"But he could."

"He could. And Damian could hurt him too. They're both Talons. They have hurt each other before, often, and badly. Always because Owlman made them. But since I've known them, Tim has considered it his responsibility to protect Damian."

"He shouldn't have to. He's a child."

"He doesn't have to. We're working on that. But the only way Tim would ever hurt Damian is if he thought it somehow prevent someone else from hurting him worse."

"Why would he—"

"It's a Talon thing. Your lovely husband used to torture them and pit them against each other for entertainment. Fights to the death were common, since they don't stay dead. Apparently Dick especially had a knack for killing the others quickly and painlessly, before Owlman could make it hurt."

"They don't stay dead?" She looks shocked.

"I'm sorry. I assumed you knew."

She shakes her head. "How many—how many times has Damian died?"

"Only once since coming here," Harley assures her.

Talia does not look reassured.

"He fell out of a tree."

"My baby died on your watch."

Harley decides explaining that she personally hadn't been present at the time won't help anything. "Your baby has the self-preservation instinct of a six year old who knows he's functionally immortal. We're working on that, too. Brucie cried when it happened. The kids found that very moving."

"You're—you're sure he's different."

"Would your husband have cried over a dead child?"

"No," she admits.

"Well. There you go."

They sit in silence for a moment, Harley trying to decide if she should redirect back to Tim, or keep her talking about Owlman. Of course, it's all connected, really.

"Would you find it helpful to speak with an older Talon? Someone who was with Owlman and Damian while you weren't—while none of us were—and isn't thirteen?"

"Maybe. Who?"

"Dick remembers you. He's the reason we knew to come get you. I can find out if he's willing to talk."

"All right. I think that would be useful."

"Great. You and I will talk more after that."

"Thank you," Talia says, and leaves the room.

Well. Harley is going to count the impromptu session as a success. Talia came right in showing more confidence and personality than she has since she got here—she's been polite and accommodating in a way Harley suspects doesn't come naturally to her, given what she knows about other Talias. She gave Harley a thorough list of the things she's struggling with. Harley was able to share some important information about Talon healing factors and some of what Owlman did to them. She thinks Talia understands that Tim isn't a threat to Damian, but they'll definitely come back to that. Not bad, for a revoked license and no prep time.

Chapter 53

Summary:

Her husband is dead. Dead and gone, beyond all the pain she wishes to inflict on him. Her position here is not as tenuous as it could be, but she is new, and only welcomed because of her relationship with Damian. She cannot be violent and unstable.

Notes:

Bonus chapter because I didn't want to have another week where all you get is Talia POV. (Every time I go into her head I get stuck there for at least a thousand words.)

Dick gives her his tablet, the screen for a video call pulled up.

"We'll get you your own phone next time someone goes into town," he says. "And a tablet, or laptop, or whatever you want. I still need to get Tim's phone set up for the multiverse, too. Anyway. You've got mine for now. He goes by Talon, not Dick. There's a good chance his girlfriend will be there too; her name is Duela. He's older than Tim and Dami, but he was with Owlman for much longer, and he’s been consciously free of him for less time—he was dead for several months after the rescue. He remembered you, and he's the reason you got rescued. Be nice."

She doesn't know why he would think she wouldn't be, and she wonders, not for the first time, what the Talia of this world is like.

"I'll be nice," she says.

Dick nods, frowning slightly. He leaves her alone in her bedroom to make the call.

Talon answers on the first ring. He'll have been waiting for her; the call had to be planned in advance. They didn't want to spring anything on him.

Talia's slightly surprised he was willing to talk to her. After all, she married his torturer, failed to treat him like a person, and ran away, leaving him to seven more years of suffering.

She'd described him to Harley as a child, but she knows he's only a few years younger than her, was technically an adult for the entire time she knew him.

He looks younger now, and more human, than she's ever seen him before, despite being several years older. His clothes are too big, his hair is a mess, there are glasses slipping down his nose, and he's leaning so close to the woman next to him he's practically on top of her. He looks frightened.

It's been a long time since anyone's been afraid of Talia. She doesn't like it.

"Hello, Talon," she says.

"Hi."

"Hey," the woman with him says. "I'm Duela. You're Talia?"

"I am."

"Talia," Talon repeats, and a little of his tension seems to ease. He wasn't supposed to address her, she remembers. He wouldn't be sure what to call her. But if his girlfriend calls her Talia, he can too.

She wonders, briefly, how a Talon gets a girlfriend, then decides it's none of her business.

"I'm sorry I left you there," she says. "I'm sorry I didn't stop him."

Talon shrugs. "You protected the baby. That's more important. I—I didn't know he was your baby."

"Could you tell me what it was like for him? Only he and Tim really know, here, and I don't want to ask them; they're so little."

He doesn't answer right away.

"Talon," Duela says softly.

He shakes his head. "No. I can—I can do that."

"Are you sure?" Duela asks.

He nods.

"It's awful," Duela tells Talia. "You can't be angry at him, you can't hold anything he says against anyone but Owlman, and if he doesn't want to talk about something, you can't push him. If I think you're upsetting him too much, I'll hang up on you."

"I understand," Talia says.

"It was—I don't remember some of it so well. Owlman got—mad at me. Things got—bad. In my brain."

"Just tell her what you can, T. And you can stop whenever you want."

He nods again. "When he first came, he cried and cried and cried. Owlman didn't like that."

Talon gives her an overview of the three years he spent with Damian. Talia can tell he's leaving out of a lot of details. She can also tell that any more would be asking too much of him. He's gone stiff and expressionless, his voice oddly flat, and occasionally he shudders. Duela is wrapped around and behind him now, her chin hooked over his shoulder, her arms loose around his waist.

Talia very carefully does not react to his confession of murdering her child daily for weeks, or to the face Duela makes when he says, "And then Owlman figured out I was—I wasn't—there was...there was a lot of screaming, and then I don't—I don't remember, but I didn't do that anymore."

She doesn't react to stories of small children fighting to the death, then coming back to life and doing it again, and again, and again, until her husband is bored. She doesn't react to her realization, in the middle of these stories, that Tim has almost certainly killed Damian multiple times. She doesn't react to stories of Bruce punishing their toddler for not knowing how to do things he was never taught to do.

She doesn’t react to the realization, when he pauses and shudders again, that she’s asking Talon to relive all his own trauma, that she’s not treating him any better than she did years ago, that she’s a horrible person and always has been.

She doesn’t react when Talon tells her he talked to Tim, and Tim was worried that she would be a threat to Damian—to her baby—because she was married to Owlman.

Talia is the master of not reacting. She can’t risk spooking Talon and losing this source of information. Not for her anger, not for her guilt. She is the eye of the storm. She is calm. She does not react.

Talon finishes with a confused, disordered account of the multiversal attack on Owlman.

“That’s all he knows,” Duela says. “Hasn’t seen your kid since, and he already told you about the other kid. Maybe we’ll do this again sometime.” She reaches past Talon—to end the call, Talia thinks—and he shifts to block her.

“I’m fine.”

“You’re not.”

“I am.”

“Your therapist—”

“Isn’t the boss of me.”

Duela sighs. “Okay. Can we table this and talk more on another day? Maybe after you stop shaking?”

“I think that’s a good idea,” Talia says. “Thank you very much, Talon.”

“Bye, Talia,” he says, sounding almost genuinely cheerful. “Take good care of the kids.”

“Tell your Dick he owes us a photo,” Duela says. She reaches past Talon again, and this time he lets her end the call.

Talia makes sure the call is disconnected, takes a breath, and turns to punch a hole through the wall.

She hasn’t done that in years. Not since Father reinforced all the walls in her cell. It hurts more than she remembers.

She is an adult. She is a mother. She is better than this.

Damian has given her a number of drawings, which now hang on her walls. She moves one to cover the hole.

Her husband is dead. Dead and gone, beyond all the pain she wishes to inflict on him. Her position here is not as tenuous as it could be, but she is new, and only welcomed because of her relationship with Damian. She cannot be violent and unstable.

She returns the tablet to Dick, and passes along Duela’s message.

“Oh, yeah,” he says, “Talon wanted a picture of the kids. Thanks for reminding me.”

Talia decides that she has no right, at this stage, to decide where in the multiverse her child’s image is spread. Then she decides that it doesn’t matter anyway. Talon had three years with Damian that she did not; why should she deny him a photo to remember him by?

She checks on Damian, briefly; he’s leaning against one of the hyenas, watching Tim do something on his laptop. He doesn’t need her right now. She retreats to her room, and tries to gather her thoughts.

Tim has likely killed Damian before. But then Damian has likely killed Tim, or tried to; she doesn’t have incredible confidence in his abilities, small as he is.

Talon has killed Damian, many times. She remembers him holding Jason, angry at her because the kindness she wanted to offer was a threat.

She doesn’t understand the world the Talons lived in. She never will. She has to accept that they were doing the best they could. Tim is no less innocent, and no more dangerous, than Damian. And they love each other.

Damian says Tim is his brother. So she’ll try to treat him like a son. She knew the day she got here that she—it’s just a little harder than she’d realized it would be. She thinks he’s a little scared of her, and that isn't helping.

Actually seeing the Talon version of Dick again has made it much easier to separate the two of them in her head. She doesn’t think she’ll have the same opportunity with Jason, doesn’t think she wants to, for his sake or her own. She promised to protect him. She didn’t deliver. She doesn’t want to take either of them back to that moment.

She shouldn’t need to see him to make the distinction. That Jason was under ten. This one is over twenty.

She’ll work on her reactions to the others. And she’ll deal with her feelings on Bruce later. Tim first.

Chapter 54

Summary:

Mostly she just ignores him, which is fine, because he’s used to being ignored. But every time he talks to Damian, or looks at Damian, or stands too close to Damian, she looks really upset, even if she doesn’t say anything about it. And Damian likes him a lot more than he used to, so he keeps on talking to him and standing by him, not all the time, but too often for Talia, and Brucie isn't going to be mean to a little kid and make him sad just because Talia’s ex-husband sucked.

Talia doesn't like him. It...bothers him, more than the kids not liking him did. He can't help being a version of Bruce Wayne. But traumatized little kids can't help being scared.

Maybe grown-ups can't help being scared, either. Maybe Brucie's many, many kidnappings and near death experiences have made him too chill about things normal people can't be chill about, and he's not being fair. But it bothers him.

She’s really pretty. And she’s really good with Damian. And he’s used to people not liking him. He knows he’s stupid and obnoxious and only tolerable because he’s rich. Or—he was. It’s different here. But usually people don’t like him because of him. Talia doesn’t like him because of someone else. It has nothing to do with him at all. And that’s—it’s not worse, exactly. But it’s new, and he doesn’t like it.

Mostly she just ignores him, which is fine, because he’s used to being ignored. But every time he talks to Damian, or looks at Damian, or stands too close to Damian, she looks really upset, even if she doesn’t say anything about it. And Damian likes him a lot more than he used to, so he keeps on talking to him and standing by him, not all the time, but too often for Talia, and Brucie isn't going to be mean to a little kid and make him sad just because Talia’s ex-husband sucked.

Dick collapses onto the couch next to him. His shirt is wet.

“Bud is a menace,” he reports.

“What happened?”

“He rolled in some gross, dead thing. Did not like being hosed off.” Dick shifts closer, twisting so he’s touching Brucie, but not with any of his wet spots. “You know, my dad dated Talia when I was a kid.”

“What was that like?”

“Oh, I hated her. Dunno if it actually had anything to do with her—mostly I was jealous B spent so much time with her. I was an angsty teenager, and we were fighting a lot, and it felt like he was choosing her over me.”

“Was she a lot like this Talia? Or is it like—like me and Batman?”

Dick shrugs. “They’re more alike than you and him. I haven’t seen her as much since I was a kid, but I’ve heard things from Jay, too. They were close for a while. She’s—less confident than the Talia we knew, maybe? I’m trying to think how to put it. She’s not—the Talia from here knows what she wants, and she does what she wants, and she doesn’t care what anyone thinks. And I don’t think she really feels guilty about—anything, really.”

“So this Talia is nicer?”

“Yeah. She—you know how she’s obviously jealous that all of us have good relationships with Dami, even though she already does too?”

Brucie nods, even though he didn’t; he thought she just didn’t like him having a relationship with Damian.

“The Talia I knew, if she felt like that, she would take Damian and leave. She would make sure none of us could see him again. It wouldn’t matter than we cared about him, or even that he cared about us. It would only matter that we were a threat to their relationship.”

“So we got the good Talia.”

“Yeah. The good Talia, the good Bruce. We got pretty lucky.”

“I don’t think I’m the good Bruce.”

“Better than the last one Talia and the kids knew, right?”

“Well, yeah. I’m not the worst Bruce.”

“You’re—I won’t say you’re better than my dad, because he was my dad, and I loved him, and he's dead. But he wasn’t always—sometimes he—just, you’re good, Brucie. You’re so good.” He stands abruptly. “I need to change into something dry.”

-

Jason finds Talia in the kitchen, doing the dishes. (He can't imagine his Talia ever doing dishes. Logically he's sure she must have, at some point in her life—everyone does dishes. But he can't picture it.)

She's been avoiding him. Which is actually kind of nice, because it saves him the trouble of avoiding her. But she's been here for a while now, and she's going to be here indefinitely, so they should probably get used to each other.

"Cass thinks you must have known another version of me," he says, taking a clean pot from her to dry.

"I did, briefly. He was very young, and very afraid, and I failed him." She pauses, closing her eyes for a moment, then hands him the next dish. "He saved me. And Damian. Showed me what my husband really was. He saved me, and I couldn't return the favor."

"He's safe now. I've never met him or anything, but Tim—not the Tim you know, another one—keeps track. He's safe, and he's happy, and he has a family."

"Good," she says. "I'm glad."

They work quietly on the dishes for a few minutes.

"You knew another version of me, too, didn't you?" Talia asks.

"Yeah. She—um. I thought we were family. She thought I was useful. Until I wasn't."

"I'm sorry."

He shrugs. "It wasn't you."

"I hope that I would not have done the same thing. But I cannot say for certain."

"If you had—the Talia here had a lot more options than you did. Not that—Ra's is absolutely the worst, here, and she's trying to protect her Damian from him, but she has so much more power than you did. She didn't have to hurt me. I see how you are with—with all of us, and I think, if you hurt me, it would be because you thought you had to, to protect Damian."

"I would do anything to protect Damian."

"Yeah, well. He needs that. Just remember you don't need to protect him from any of us."

"Bruce..."

"He's not Bruce. He's Brucie, and he's harmless. The kids like him, and he's good for them."

"Good for them how?" Talia asks.

"He's not—well, it's not that he's not traumatized. He's definitely traumatized. But it's—I dunno. More normal trauma, maybe? The rest of us are former superheroes, or former supervillains, or both. Brucie's just—a guy. We're fugitives, and the kids are zombies, so they don't exactly get a lot of chances to meet new people. I think it's important that they get to interact with someone who's had a more normal life."

"I hate looking at him."

"You'll get used to it. The kids did."

-

She should have found them by now. She should have found them months ago. Years ago.

She's not magic. She's just good with computers. There are eight billion people in the world, and she's looking for three. It's not a needle in a haystack; it's a needle somewhere in a hundred acre hay field.

She doesn't even know if they're together. She knows Tim and Dick weren't together the last time there was a sighting, after the Arkham breakout, but she has no idea if that's still the case, or where Cass fits into it.

They're smart. They know how to hide, even from her. She taught Cass how to hide from her. Dick will keep any internet traffic secure, and Tim if he's well enough. Cass isn't likely to even use the internet. If they're in an area without a lot of cameras she can hack into—even if they are in an area with cameras. She can't hack into every camera in the world. She doesn't even know what continent they're on. They haven't checked in at any of the designated emergency meeting spots, haven't tuned into any of the emergency frequencies, in years. Which makes sense, because they don't know if any of it is secure anymore. They probably don't know anyone is looking for them.

She knows Alfred doesn't think she's trying hard enough. But Alfed's priority is his grandkids, and Babs loves Dick and Cass and Tim, but her priority is the whole damn world. The amount of time she spends every day keeping metas out of jail, coordinating with heroes across the world, preventing alien invasions—she was never meant to be an alien-fighting vigilante. But they're down a lot of powerhouses, a lot of resources.

Vigilante activity may not be outlawed everywhere—only a few countries followed America's lead. But a lot of the people the whole world relied on were American, or affiliated with America, and they were hurt or angry or afraid, and they left. They've got no Kryptonians, no Amazons.

She's learned how to hack into sixteen completely unfamiliar kinds of technology so she can stall out spaceships before they can enter earth's orbit—the Lanterns take them from there. If the Lanterns needed to land they would, but Barbara can handle it, so they don't.

She's handling it.

She's tired. She's so tired. And they're almost at a breakthrough. She can feel it. So Alfred will have to wait. She needs him here, anyway. As soon as they finish this project, she can turn all her attention to finding them.

Chapter 55

Summary:

"I feel like I shouldn't be trusted to build things," Brucie says.

"We're not doing any real building," Harley says. "Mostly un-building. Wanna help me smash some walls? It's fun."

“Oh. I’m good at breaking things. I’ve broken my left arm eight times!”

Dick and Jason have declared a construction day. Brucie and Talia both need work done on their rooms. This means the kids and the hyenas need to be out of the house for several hours. The difficulty is who to supervise them, since Talia gets so touchy about Damian.

"I can watch them," Pam offers, because she also doesn't want to be anywhere near the construction, and Talia seems to trust her.

(The kids are terrified of the Plant Lady. Talia describes a version of Pam who rescues children—including Talons—and helps them escape Gotham. But if Owlman was lying to the Talons about her being dangerous for them—Pam doesn't think Tim, at least, would just believe what Owlman told him without some evidence. There must be more to the story than Talia or the kids know. Maybe Talon and Duela can figure it out.)

"Great," Dick says, "but I don't think you should be the only one supervising two kids and two hyenas all day."

Pam's first choice for co-babysitter—well, her first choice would be Harley. Her first choice for everything is Harley. But Harley loves construction. Or at least pre-construction, where she gets to break things before rebuilding. Pam's second choice would be Brucie. He's good with the kids, and almost certainly bad with construction, which means he won't be missed at the house. And he doesn't argue with her. But Talia is never going to agree to that.

"I—I could go," Talia says. "I don't think I'll be much use here."

"You don't want to make sure we get your room right?" Dick asks.

"As long as I still have my window, you can do whatever you like."

They load up the car, and go to the same ruins they visited the day Brucie came.

"And you promise there will be no extra people this time?" Tim asks, again, as they load the hyenas into the car.

"I promise," Dick says. "Only bigger bedrooms."

"If there are extra people, they better be my parents. The last two were both Damian's. He has enough parents now."

"No more people," Jason says. "I'm calling it. We're at capacity."

"There's like a dozen more exam rooms we could use," Dick says.

"Okay, we're not at physical capacity. We're at emotional capacity. I cannot handle any more people."

Pam is also at emotional capacity. "If there are any extra people when we get back," she tells Tim, "I'll feed them to a carnivorous plant."

He considers this for a moment, then nods and turns to get into the car. Pam follows him.

Talia is sitting in the back, presumably because she can't bear to be more than six inches from Damian at any given time. Pam has Tim move to the front seat so she feels less like a chauffeur. He's thirteen; that's old enough. He's probably not heavy enough, but she tells herself the undead thing should cancel that out.

Most of the drive is occupied by Damian describing to Talia, in great detail, every animal he's ever seen.

He's very cute. Pam is very glad to get out of the car.

-

"I feel like I shouldn't be trusted to build things," Brucie says.

"We're not doing any real building," Harley says. "Mostly un-building. Wanna help me smash some walls? It's fun."

“Oh. I’m good at breaking things. I’ve broken my left arm eight times!”

"Eight times? Brucie! Without even fighting any crime?"

"Well, the third time I was fighting off kidnappers—that's a crime."

"I thought you cooperated with kidnappers, usually."

"I do, usually. I should have, that time. I—I know it's one of the reasons people think I'm so stupid, but I am the most-kidnapped man in the world. I know what I'm doing. I'm bad at getting people to like me long term, but I'm good at getting people to like me for a couple hours, and kidnappers who like you are safer. But these guys—they felt different. I got scared."

"What happened?"

"Green Arrow and Black Canary rescued me after a couple hours. Weird—we were nowhere near Star City. They dropped me off at the hospital, for the arm and the concussion. Oliver Queen was in town for the same reason I was—a meeting or a party or something, I don't remember. But he found out what happened somehow, and he came and sat with me until Alfred could pick me up. Which was also weird, because Ollie can't stand me."

"Hm. Well. You wanna hit the wall with my giant mallet?"

"Yeah."

-

Harley and Brucie are in the next room, knocking down walls, and everyone else is gone, which makes this the first time in weeks that Dick, Jay, and Cass have been alone together for more than a couple minutes at a time.

"So," Dick says. "What do we think?"

"About Talia?" Jay asks. "Seems like it's going fine. I like her."

"Sad," Cass says. "But getting less."

"I'm worried about Tim," Dick says. "And Brucie."

"She's warming up to Tim. Brucie—Brucie's a grown-up, and she's not actually doing or saying anything. They'll be fine."

"This is nice," Cass says. "Just us."

"Yeah, well. We have work to do. Dick, hand me that scraper? No, the big one."

-

Pam looks down at Tim, sitting on a broken-down stone wall beside her as Damian and the hyenas crawl all over the ruins, and Talia follows a few feet behind.

"Don't you want to play?" she asks him.

"Not by myself."

"Why not with Damian?"

"He's playing with his mom."

"I bet he'd be happier playing with both of you."

Tim shrugs. Pam leaves it, for now; she's not good at people, or emotions, and one of the other adults will know how to handle this, later.

Talia joins them after a few minutes, sitting on Tim's other side. "Is it because he's a six year old or because he's a Talon that he never gets tired?" she asks.

"Probably both," Pam says.

"Hm. Tim, would you mind going with him for a while? I can't keep up anymore."

He sits up straighter. "Really?"

"If you don't mind?"

Tim nods once, sharply, then stands and runs in Damian's direction.

"First I'm going to convince him that I'm not trying to steal his brother," Talia says, "and then I'm going to convince him that we can both be around him at the same time."

Pam nods. "He's not—he's not scared of you, exactly. It's something else."

"Something else," Talia agrees. "I'm working on it."

-

Cass has been declared the Least Useful, after Brucie turned out to have a knack for spackle.

"It's hard to do wrong," he says.

"Well, Cass managed."

"You gave Cass a bigger hole to patch," Dick says. "Would that make a difference?"

"I dunno, I'm not the spackle expert," Jay says.

"Well, who is, then?"

"Brucie?" he suggests.

"You're the one who actually read the directions, Jason. I think that makes you the expert."

"I read them too," Brucie says.

"I don't suppose you did, Cass?"

She shakes her head.

"Well then," Harley says. "How long does the spackle have to dry before we can paint it?"

Jason looks at the instructions again. "A while. Let's get the floor cleaned. Did we ever find that extra linoleum?"

“I’ll get it,” Cass says. “Don’t paint without me.” She’s much better at paint than spackle. And it’s fun, too.

-

They stay out for hours. The kids run around until it's time to eat, and then run around again after. The hyenas take naps. Pam alternates between examining the foliage and reading a book.

Talia watches the boys, mostly. Damian will come find her occasionally, to show her something or just to hug her quickly before he’s off again.

She would like to be running around with him. But she would also like Tim to feel less threatened by her, and she thinks that asking him to spend time with Damian in her place is helping with that.

She should have killed Bruce. Before he touched Tim, before he found Damian. She should have killed him the moment she realized what he meant to do to Jason.

Her father trained her, and trained her well. She is an excellent killer. But one of her favorite things about going to Bruce was that she wasn’t expected to kill anyone anymore. That she could just live, without constantly fighting.

She’d been so stupid, and frightened, and out of practice. She should have fought. She should have killed him.

Bruce’d had a small army of zombies, loyal to him even if they didn’t want to be. He’d taken out a whole team of superheroes, with superpowers. She never would have succeeded.

She wishes she had tried.

They stay until the sun begins to set. Pam calls the hyenas, and packs the car, and leaves it to Talia to collect the children. They’ve been quiet for a while now, out of sight at the other end of the ruined building. Talia had wanted to follow, to check on them. But she knows they’re much more durable than normal children, and knows that if she’d gone just to check on them, Tim would feel she didn’t trust him to watch Damian.

She does. She trusts him. But he’s barely thirteen. And he’s had three years with Damian that she hasn’t.

She just needs to give him some time to get used to her, to get comfortable with her. And then he won’t feel like he needs to give her space whenever she’s with Damian, and the three of them can spend time together, and it will be better. She just needs to give it time.

Tim is sitting on a fallen pillar, swinging his feet. He looks up when she approaches, frowns, and then jumps down and runs toward her.

“Is everything all right?”

“Gotta be quiet. He fell asleep.”

So his energy isn't quite limitless. Good to know.

“Show me where? I can carry him back to the car.”

Tim takes her to the little corner her son has tucked himself into, not far from the pillar. She picks him up, and she and Tim walk back to the car together.

-

They wait until the kids are in bed to actually show Talia her new room. It was hard, knowing what to do for her. It’s always hard to know what to do for Brucie, too, but at least Brucie was right here and could be convinced to weigh in a little. They had to guess everything for Talia.

She looks at the new, larger bed, with the trundle for that Jason ordered and picked up last time he was in town, for if Damian wants to sleep with her. The light purple walls, the new curtains, the fluffy rug that Damian actually picked out for her, based on the photos Dick showed him. They took out some of the built-in cabinets, and repainted the others. They took down all Damian’s drawings from her walls (revealing a concerningly fist-shaped hole behind one), but they haven’t put them back up—she can decide where she wants them to go in the expanded space.

It looks good. Jason knows it looks good. He also knows that his Talia wouldn’t have been impressed.

“It’s perfect,” she says.

Notes:

FYI I'm going to start sharing a non-Bat story next week—more info at iowriteswords.tumblr.com. I've been working on this for a few months, and have about four months' worth of chapters with weekly posts. It's about one of the few things I'm more obsessed with than Batman, and I'm really excited to share it with you!

Chapter 56

Summary:

“Dami is six,” Cass says.

“Yeah?”

“He’s been a Talon so long. Too little to remember before. Being a Talon is normal for him. Curing means worse eyes, worse ears, worse reflexes, worse healing. Would be—weird. Scary. Feel like losing something, not getting better.”

“Have you thought about a cure?” Talia asks, when the kids are in bed and Brucie’s left the room to take a phone call.

(She knows he’s different. She knows. She still doesn’t want to discuss anything important in his hearing.)

“For what?” Jason asks.

“The Talons.”

“Oh. We haven’t talked about it, at least. Dickie?”

“Tim—our older brother Tim—thinks the Talon healing factor helps with trauma recovery.”

“If anyone in the multiverse knows how to do it, they haven’t shared with the rest of us,” Jason says.

“Pam could do it,” Talia tells them. “The Pam in my home world.”

“I don’t know how,” Pam says. “I might be able to learn, but it could take years.”

“Dami is six,” Cass says.

“Yeah?”

“He’s been a Talon so long. Too little to remember before. Being a Talon is normal for him. Curing means worse eyes, worse ears, worse reflexes, worse healing. Would be—weird. Scary. Feel like losing something, not getting better.”

“They’ve all been Talons since they were pretty young,” Dick says. “Would it be the same for all of them?”

“No one is getting de-Talonized without informed consent,” Harley says. “But it wouldn’t hurt to know what it takes. Maybe Talon and Duela could reach out to their Pam.”

“I’ll ask,” Dick says.

Brucie wanders back into the room then, and they drop the subject, probably knowing how Talia feels about talking in front of him.

She doesn’t want to take away things that Damian is used to, senses and abilities that he relies on. She hadn’t been thinking about it like that. All of the kids Pam rescued had probably been Talons for much less time, or at least been old enough to remember not being Talons.

She doesn’t want to mention de-Talonizing to Damian—or to Tim—and risk them thinking that she thinks they need to be fixed, that there’s something wrong with them. She didn’t mean—she just wants them to be all right.

-

She calls her cousin when she can. He answers right away.

“Kate?” He sounds really surprised to hear from her. She’s really not a very good cousin. Of course, he could have called her, too. But he wouldn’t have. Because he knows he annoys her.

Shit. Such a bad cousin.

"Brucie! I'm sorry it's been so long. I meant to call you sooner, but I had a...situation."

"Is everything okay?"

"Yeah, I just—you were right about the Court of Owls. And now I have six Talons."

The Court kept them in stasis pods when they weren't using them. And the stasis pods were rigged with bombs. Out of about thirty Talons, six survived the Court realizing they were done and trying to cover their tracks. Five of them had been out of the pods. The sixth had a bomb that glitched; he lost an arm, but he wasn't blown to pieces like the others.

The youngest Talon looks about seventeen. The oldest claims to be over two hundred and fifty, though he looks about thirty. (Given what her new multiverse contacts have said, he's likely telling the truth. All of the Court's records were destroyed, and none of the members who were arrested are talking.) All of them are traumatized and brainwashed. Bloodshed has been avoided only because they've decided that Kate is their new leader. Or possibly their new owner.

"Thank you for leaving me the manor," she says. "I've moved in with them—it's big enough and far enough out of town for no one to notice."

"Just make sure Uncle Philip doesn't put it on the tour list again," Brucie tells her.

"Right. That would be a disaster." She knows Uncle Philip's done that at least six times. Brucie has handled it by calling the tourist agency, occasionally after some harmless pranks. The Talons would likely handle it with murder.

She needs to change the locks ASAP. (Why did Brucie never change his locks?)

She tells Brucie what she knows so far. One teenager, five adults. Two women, four men. Someone in the multiverse—she didn't catch who—is going through various Court of Owls records trying to find the names that none of them remember. So far she knows the youngest is named Dick, though he isn't answering to it yet.

"I know a Dick," Brucie says.

"Tell me about him?" Kate asks. Listening to Brucie ramble about his new friends for a while sounds so nice right now. She just needs a break from all the trauma happening in the house.

He's only been talking for a few minutes when she hears a crash downstairs.

"Shit. I gotta go, Brucie. I don't know what that was, but I'm sure it's not good. I'll call you again when things calm down a little, okay?"

Another crash. She hangs up without waiting for an answer.

-

“No.”

“Duela—”

“No. We’re not talking to Pamela Isley.”

“Could Talon—”

“You’re not talking to him. Not today.”

“Did something happen?”

“Besides years and years of torture, trauma, and abuse?”

So. Something probably did happen, and she doesn’t want to talk to Dick about it. Which is fair, since they’re basically strangers.

“Okay. Would he like to talk to Tim? If Tim’s up for it.”

“Maybe. I’ll ask him.”

“I’ll ask Tim.”

They both come back a few minutes later with successes to report.

“Great. I’ll give the phone to Tim.”

“Thanks. Um. Dick?”

“Yeah?”

“I don’t trust her. She wasn’t here. She wasn’t fighting Owlman with the rest of us. Not when I left, and not while I was gone. She had actual superpowers, she could have helped so much, and she didn’t. I never met her. I never even heard of her. But Talon won’t go near Robinson Park.”

“Do you think she was lying to Talia?”

Duela sighs. “The Talons were—vicious. They had to be. But it was really hard for people to see them, to see what they did, and to understand that they were still just kids. Still the same kids. Some people thought they were possessed. Some thought the children were dead and gone, and something else was occupying their bodies. I’m sure she did cure Talons, and I’m sure she took good care of the kids they turned into. But I wouldn’t trust her with a Talon she couldn’t fix, and I wouldn’t trust her not to try to fix a Talon without asking first, and I wouldn’t trust her not to risk the life of a Talon in the process of trying to fix him, and I certainly wouldn’t trust her with my Talon, who’s a grown man, when literally the only information we have about her is that she likes children and fixes Talons. What if the Talons she cured were new? Most of them have died dozens of times. Talon’s died hundreds. If they’re not undead anymore, what if that just leaves them dead?”

“Okay. We’ll set aside the Pam thing for now.” She’s got a lot of thoughts about it for someone who’s had Talia’s information for twenty minutes. And she’s there, in the same world. She has a better sense of the risks than he does. “Maybe sometime we can get another Pam to try to talk to her, but yeah, you and Talon should stay away. I’ll grab Tim.”

-

Talon doesn’t look good. He looks so tired, and he’s sort of twitchy. He’s wearing a shirt that looks like it’s made of three different shirts put together.

“Are you okay?” Tim asks.

Talon smiles at him, and it doesn’t look quite real. “I’m fine. Long couple days. Is Talia still being nice?”

“Yeah. Except she doesn’t like Brucie.”

“Brucie?” Talon asks.

Does Talon not know about Brucie? Tim looks at his tired eyes and fidgety fingers, and decides now is not the time for him to find out. He’ll just worry. “Yeah, he lives with us. Do you wanna see my plant?”

“Sure.”

Tim didn’t hide his things this time. He shows Talon the plant, and the pot, and how the plant has babies that Pam says will need new homes soon.

“Are those your parents?” Talon asks. “Behind the plant?”

“Uh huh.”

“Did I kill them?”

“No, Owlman did.”

“Oh. Good,” Talon says, but that’s okay—Tim knows what he means.

He shows him the other pictures, too—the ones he took—and then he asks, “Why is your shirt weird?”

Talon looks down at himself. “I borrowed it from my mother-in-law. A lot of her clothes are like this. It’s because there’s three of her.”

“Three of her?”

“Yeah, but they’re all in the same body, so they each decide what one third of the body looks like. Sometimes they can all agree on one thing, but a lot of her shirts look like this.”

Tim thinks that’s really weird, but he doesn’t say anything, because that would be rude, and also he's literally a zombie.

“There are so many pieces of clothes in this house. Duela thinks we should take up quilting with all the scraps.”

He gets quiet again, then, and a little spacy. Tim tries to think of something that’ll make him feel better again, and ends up rambling about Bud and Lou for a few minutes, because Bud and Lou are the coolest. Someone comes into the room with Talon—Tim can hear their footsteps through the phone, even though he can’t see them, and Talon looks off to the side for a minute, then turns back and smiles at Tim.

“I gotta go, okay? Thank you for talking to me, Tim.”

Notes:

Talon does know about Brucie, but he was described as "a nice version of Owlman," and Talon probably knew at some point that Owlman's name was Bruce, but he's not feeling well enough to put it together right now. Something did happen, and we will get more information in a future chapter.

Reminder that my new story is starting, and you can find more information and links on iowriteswords.tumblr.com!

Chapter 57

Summary:

"You need a vacation," Tim says.

"You need a vacation," Tim says, frowning at Dick through the screen.

"I don't work."

He rolls his eyes. "You parent baby zombies, and keep Talia, Harley, and Pam from killing anyone. That's work. But mostly I just meant you need to get out of the house for more than couple hours."

"Not a lot of vacation destinations are safe for fugitives with baby zombies."

"You could all come here," Tim says. "I mean, not here, here. Not Gotham. But Bruce owns property all over the place. We'll find something remote. I'll meet you there. Bring Dickie along. Maybe another grown-up if you want? Talia? Selina?"

"I'll talk to the others. But that sounds really nice, Tim. I'm sure we can make something work."

Tim wants to see him in person. And not just for a couple hours—for a few days, at least.

He hasn't seen Tim in person since that other Jason took him to that other Gotham. Tim hasn't willingly seen him since before the Joker.

His brother wants to see him.

Cass is on board, of course. The kids don't seem to understand the concept of vacation, but they're not opposed to the idea. Talia goes where Damian goes. Brucie is weirdly hesitant, and Dick is pretty sure that's either because of Talia, or because he's not sure about encountering the other him. Pam and Jason are indifferent.

Harley doesn't want to go. Which Dick did not expect.

"You love Tim. You miss him."

"I do. And I was a very bad caretaker during a very bad time in his life, and I don't think spending several days with me would actually be good for him."

"He'll be sad," Dick says, knowing that it's not fair, and that Harley is probably right, and not caring, because he doesn't want Tim to be sad for this reunion he's been waiting years for.

"I'll come along, hang out with him for a few hours, and then come back here while the rest of you stay," she offers.

"The three of us can move some money while you're gone," Jason says. "We've still got all those sketchy duffels to deal with."

"You don't want to come?"

"He's not my brother, Dick. I'm sure he's great, but he's a stranger, and I need a vacation with a little more action."

Dick calls Tim back. Jason and Pam are staying, Harley is mostly staying, and the rest of them are on board.

-

“So they’re our brothers, too?” Damian asks.

“Kind of,” Dick says.

Damian frowns. How can someone be kind of your brother?

“Older Tim is our brother,” Cass says. “Doesn’t have to make him your brother. Like how Talia is only your mom.”

“Okay,” Damian says, even though he thinks Mom should be Tim’s mom, too. She stopped being weird about it, but now Tim is being weird about it instead. “We’ll be home before my birthday?”

“Two weeks before your birthday.”

“And Jay and Pam and Harley will be back too?”

“We’ll be back in time for your birthday,” Jason says.

“Okay. I guess we can go.”

“It’s gonna be fun, Dami. You’ll have a great time.”

-

Cass is nervous. It’ll be the first time she’s seen Tim in person since she went to Hong Kong. It’ll be the first time she’s been away from Jason for more than a few days since she met him. (She hasn’t been away from Dick for long since finding him again, either, but it’s—different. She knew Dick before, and sometimes they were together, and sometimes they weren’t. She and Jay have always been together.)

They decided against extra grown-ups, against Tim’s grown-ups. Two Bruces is way too many Bruces for Talia and the kids. Tim and Brucie feel weird about Selina. Alfred would just hurt too much, for her and Dick and Brucie. And Talia is—Dami already has two parents, and Tim has zero. Giving Dami three parents, even for just a week—not fair.

She finishes her packing, and takes her bag to the car. Harley is driving them to the transport spot, then driving back after she spends some time with Tim.

Talia is walking back and forth outside the garage, radiating stress and stress and stress. Cass looks at her, then over to Pam.

“Tim and Damian went into Brucie’s room five minutes ago,” Pam whispers. “I’m surprised she’s just pacing.”

Brucie and the boys come out soon. There's an upside-down giraffe on Brucie's left cheek.

"What's that?" Dick asks.

"I gave him a tattoo," Damian says. "So the other kids will know he's not scary."

"Oh. That was...very thoughtful, Dami.”

Dami nods, then goes to stand by Talia. They are just waiting for Harley and Jason before they can go. Cass doesn’t know what’s taking so long—neither of them is even going, really.

“They probably got distracted, planning for tomorrow,” Pam says. “I’ll find them.”

She does, and everyone says goodbye to Pam and Jay and the hyenas, and then they’re on their way. There’s just enough seats in the car for all of them—Cass sits in the back with Tim and Damian because they’re the smallest.

She thinks Talia would have liked to sit in the back. But Tim is not ready to be that close to her for that long. On the drive back, maybe.

Talia is trying hard. She’s inviting Tim to do things with her and Damian, talking to him and asking questions and trying to be nice. Tim is just…confused, mostly, Cass thinks. He doesn’t understand why Talia is being nice to him. But Cass doesn’t understand why Talia being nice to him is any different from anyone else being nice to him. Maybe Harley can figure it out when they come home.

She’s going to see Tim. Her Tim, her first Tim, her first baby brother. Really see him, not just through a screen. She’s going to touch him, to hold him. Soon. Soon.

-

The magic, or whatever it is, dumps them out on a beach, in front of a house he thinks he remembers. He must have been little, when he was here; his parents are in the memories. He wonders if he still owns it—or owned it, before he fake died. He was never good at keeping track of all the property.

Dick checks his phone, frowning. “They’re running a little late. Picking up groceries. But Tim told me where to find the key, and how to turn off the alarm.”

“Can I stay out here?” Tim asks. “I’ve never seen a real beach before.”

“I can stay with him,” Brucie offers. He’s not ready to be inside this house yet.

“Me too?” Damian asks.

Talia glances between Brucie and Damian. “The four of us,” she offers. “Unless you need us inside?”

“No, you’re fine,” Dick says. “Just put on some sunscreen. I don’t know how sunburn works for Talons, but there’s no reason to find out.”

Talia stays with Damian, and Brucie stays with Tim. He’s not sure if that’s because Tim is avoiding Talia, or because Tim knows Talia is avoiding Brucie.

Tim and Damian will have more fun on the beach together. But they’ll be here all week; it’ll be easier to have fun together with different adult supervision. Brucie follows Tim down the beach. Dick must have known the kids would want to be out here right away, because they were already dressed for it, with shorts and sandals, Damian’s sunglasses, and Tim’s special contacts. Brucie was not dressed for the beach, because he’s in charge of his own wardrobe, and didn’t think about it. He takes off his socks and shoes. His pants are going to get wet and sandy, but he doesn’t really mind.

Tim walks along the water for a while, then sits abruptly and starts playing with the sand. Brucie sits down beside him.

“Will you help me make a sandcastle?” Tim asks. “I always wanted to make a sandcastle.”

It would be easier with a bucket and a shovel. But they can make a fancier one tomorrow. They work on the castle for several minutes before Damian runs over, dropping to the ground almost on top of Brucie.

“Brucie, Brucie, look! I caught a crab!”

He looks up at Talia, rushing to catch up with Damian. “That’s awesome,” he says, and hopes Talia won’t be too upset that Damian just ran away from her, to him.

Tim sits up and leans forward to look at the crab. “Good. He can live in the sandcastle.”

“We’re building a sandcastle?”

“Yep.”

“Brucie, hold my crab,” Damian says. He passes it over, then joins Tim on the castle. Talia reaches them, and sits on the ground between Brucie and Damian.

“Would you like to hold the crab?” Brucie offers.

“No, thank you.”

He doesn’t say anything else. He has no idea how to talk to Talia.

The crab is probably bored, walking back and forth across his hands. He moves it to his left hand, and uses the right to build a fence out of his discarded socks and shoes. Talia sees what he's doing, and adds her own shoes and the kids’ sandals to the fence. They don’t speak, but it’s the friendliest Talia’s ever felt.

By the time the kids are ready to move the crab from the shoe fence to the sandcastle, there’s a car pulling up to the house.

“Should we—” Brucie starts.

Talia shakes her head. “Let them have their reunion. We’re fine here.”

Notes:

Reminder that the first chapter of my new project is now available - link at iowriteswords.tumblr.com

Chapter 58

Summary:

He’s so, so different from the last time they were really together. She knew he would be—they’ve had lots of video calls—but it’s still so much. The last time she was right here next to him, he was still the age little Tim is now.

Notes:

Since there is eventually going to be a part 4 in the main universe that covers the same time period, some of the beach scenes will also be covered in that story. For that reason, we're not getting older Tim POV, younger Dick POV, or the Tim and Harley scene here - those will all come later.

Tim’s gotten taller. That’s the sort of thing you don’t notice on a video call.

He’s twenty. He’s an adult, and Dick has mostly missed the last third of his life.

He seems so much better than last time Dick saw him in person. He hugs everyone, and introduces little Dick, and that’s all they get for now, because Harley isn't staying—the two of them run off for their reunion, leaving Dick and Cass with Dick’s younger self.

“Can I meet the other Talons?” Dickie asks.

“Sure. They’re on the beach.”

-

Dick and Cass come out to the beach with buckets, shovels, and a Talon.

Tim knew that there was going to be a Talon from a different world, and that he was going to be another version of Dick, but Tim’s age. They told them all that. But actually meeting him is weird.

He’s nice, though, and he helps with the castle, and it’s way easier with the buckets.

“This is boring,” Damian says, when the castle is getting really big. “I want to look for more crabs.”

“Brucie and I will go,” Cass says. Tim pauses construction to look up at the grown-ups. Is Talia gonna let Damian go somewhere with Brucie and without her?

She has been sitting next to him for a long time now. Maybe she’s getting used to him?

“All right,” she says after a minute. “Tim, where do you want the next tower?”

“Oh. Um, over here, maybe?”

“Like this?” she asks, getting it started.

“Yeah.”

“I think Dickie and I are going to find some shells and stuff,” Dick says. “To decorate. Does that sound okay, Dickie?”

“Sure.”

And then Tim is alone with Talia, which isn't—bad, exactly, but it’s weird.

He’s pretty sure Dick left him alone with her on purpose.

“How big do you want to make the castle?” Talia asks him.

“As big as we can.”

“All right. Are your eyes feeling okay? With the sun?”

He nods. “My contacts are working. Damian’s eyes probably hurt by now, though.”

“We’ll have to get him inside soon, then. How do you feel about another tower over here?”

“Okay.”

They don’t talk more, but it feels—it feels okay. She’s being nice. To him. Without Damian even here. The others come back, soon, and Dami leans up against Talia and closes his eyes, and the rest of them keep working on the castle, until Harley comes out and says goodbye.

-

Cass is patient. So patient. She waited years to be in the same room as Tim again. She can wait another hour or two.

It feels unfair that Harley gets time first. She knows it’s only because Harley gets less time, because Dick and Cass will have Tim all week, and she won’t. But Cass got one hug, and then Tim left with Harley, and now she has to wait at least an hour until she really gets to be with him.

She gets to know little Dickie a bit, and sticks with Brucie so Talia doesn’t have to worry about Damian playing with him. It takes forever and ever and ever, but finally Harley comes out to say goodbye to them, and Cass can go in the house and find Tim.

He’s so, so different from the last time they were really together. She knew he would be—they’ve had lots of video calls—but it’s still so much. The last time she was right here next to him, he was still the age little Tim is now. He’s still short but taller, and too skinny, and his face is always smiling a little with the Joker stuff that never came out of his system, and he holds himself funny like he doesn’t know what to do or how to be with them, which makes sense because Cass doesn’t know what to do or how to be with him, either. It’s been so long.

“Missed you,” she says, and his stuck-on smile goes big and real, and they put away the groceries he brought, the two of them and Dick, and they don’t talk much for a while, but that’s okay. Cass isn't much good at talking, anyway. She just wants to be around him.

-

“So I’ve got a car full of stuff for Tim and Talia,” Tim says, while he and Dick are setting the table. Talia cooked. Cass and Brucie are getting the kids into the house and at least slightly cleaned up before eating.

“What kind of stuff?” Dick asks.

“Stuff we rescued from Owlman and Ra’s al Ghul.”

“Okay, who exactly is ‘we’ in this situation? Because I thought Bruce—please tell me you weren’t actually dealing directly with Ra’s.”

“Oh, no, Ra’s is dead.”

“Dead?”

“Yeah, he came to Gotham looking for Talia, and Talon killed him. Then Duela threatened the League into shipping over all Talia’s stuff. So Talia and I—my Talia—went over there and went through that, and anything left at Owlman’s house, and anything left from Tim’s house, and grabbed anything we thought other versions of ourselves might want. It’s a good thing Bruce sent us on the private jet—luggage would have cost a fortune flying commercial.”

“I’ll help you carry it in after we eat,” Dick offers. “That’ll—that’ll be really great. For Tim, especially. We’ve been worrying. With Dami getting both parents back—and Talon is the only other Talon he’s talked to, and he got his parents back too. I asked him if he’d like to meet other versions of his, but he said no.”

Tim glances around, and then pulls Dick into the nearest bedroom—the one they’ll be sharing with Brucie—and closing the door, even though the kids are all outside again, well out of hearing range.

“He shouldn’t meet any Jack and Janet Drake. The ones I know now—they’re nice to me, and they’re good with their Tim, but they have no idea how to handle kids, or trauma. And they’re—I don’t want him to meet some other version of them, and start really thinking about his versions, and realize things that are only going to hurt him.”

“Like what?”

"They were in the Court of Owls, Dick. And we still don't know exactly what the Court was up to, pre-Owlman—moralities are mostly reversed in Gotham, but Owlman did inherit a couple hundred years' worth of Talons, so I doubt they were good guys."

"Tim's parents were Owls."

"I don't know details! It might have been just, like, a rich-person social thing, where a lot of them weren't aware what was actually going on. They definitely didn't support Owlman. I think they really loved Tim, and they did their best to take care of him in a bad situation. I don't think they were evil the way Owlman was evil. But I'm not sure they were good people."

"We're not telling him this," Dick says.

"Of course not. And we're not introducing him to any other Jack and Janets, because none of them will live up to his memories, even if they are really nice, and he'll just be sad. His parents died for him. He has nothing but good memories of them. Because he had to fight for every memory he kept—of course he hung onto the good things. And he doesn't need that to be messed up by imperfect people with their faces. They’re dead, so it won’t hurt anything for him to remember them fondly.”

“Okay. No other Jacks and Janets—he didn’t want them, anyway. There’s nothing in the car that might make it clear they were—”

“Of course not. I went through everything.”

“Okay. Good.”

He’s not going to keep a secret like that from Tim forever, but he’s only thirteen—barely thirteen. It’s a problem for when he’s older.

-

It’s easier, here. Maybe it’s the location—something that isn't theirs, isn't home for anyone—or maybe it’s the extra people. Maybe it’s just the novelty of a vacation, something Talia’s never had in her life.

The additional Talon—also Dick, but they call him Dickie—is chatty and curious and always in motion. He doesn’t have any of the wariness she sees so often in Tim, and even occasionally in Damian. He darts around the room, asking questions and showing off the shells he’s found. All of the new people are versions of people he knows, and he seems to have decided that makes them friends.

The additional Tim—they’ve been dubbed Big Tim and Little Tim, and Big Tim seems quite pleased about this, since apparently he's two inches shorter than the other Tim in his world—is quiet and sharp and not quite suspicious, but he doesn’t seem truly bothered by any of the new people.

Her Tim seems more comfortable around her here. A little wary, still, but he seemed less tense when they worked on the sand castle than he usually does, around her. He didn’t abandon the castle to avoid being alone with her, at least.

She wants so badly to have a good relationship with Tim, but there’s not much she can do about it at this point, not until he wants to have a good relationship, too.

Brucie is…

The moment Damian caught that crab, he was running straight to Brucie. Because he knew that Brucie would enjoy seeing the crab, than he would want to hold it and tell Damian how cool it was. Because Damian trusts Brucie, and knows him.

She tries to imagine a child dumping a sandy, squirmy, little creature with pinchers into her husband’s hands, and can’t. No child would dare.

She’s trying, with Brucie. She’s trying.

That upside-down giraffe on his cheek, smeared and faded after a long day on the beach, is oddly helpful. She thinks it’s less the giraffe itself, and more the knowledge that Damian put it there. Put it there, specifically, as a sign to new people that Brucie was safe.

She finds herself rather stuck with him at dinner. Dick and Cass have bracketed Tim—big Tim, their long-lost brother, and the three of them are talking, loud and fast and happy, about something Talia can’t follow, while the three Talons huddle together at the other end of the table, talking at a volume too low for anyone but Talons to hear. (The talking appears to be mostly Dickie, Tim looking thoughtful and Damian intrigued; Talia suspects he’s up to something, but she thinks some harmless, little-boy mischief will be good for Tim and Damian.)

“Damian is really good at catching crabs,” Brucie says. He sounds a little nervous, like he's not sure he should be talking to her, but doesn’t think he should be ignoring her either, and she turns all her attention to him. She can be polite and even friendly with a man who is not her husband for the length of a single meal.

“He is. I was worried that first one would pinch him, but I think it did and he just didn’t notice. I suppose that’s Talon thing?”

“Must be. They definitely hurt for me.” He holds out his hands, which are covered in little red pinch marks.

“Oh no. Did Cassandra get pinched that much?”

“She didn’t catch so many—she was distracted.” He pauses. Frowns. “Not very distracted. She would never let anything happen to Damian!”

“I know.”

He smiles at her, and it’s not a smile she recognizes. Bruce never smiled at her quite like that.

She isn't certain how to maintain a conversation with him, and isn't quite motivated to try; she’s relieved when Dickie asks him a question, and she can stop talking without being rude.

After dinner, Tim—big Tim—gives her a suitcase full of things which, he tells her, Duela threatened the League of Assassins into sending to her, and which he found in Bruce’s house.

“Also, um. Your dad is dead? Sorry.”

“He’ll be back.”

“From decapitation and cremation?” he asks.

“Tim,” Dick hisses.

“Sorry,” Tim says again.

“No, it’s fine. He was—he was a monster, and he won’t be missed. Do you know what happened?”

“He came after Talon and Duela. Talon…handled it. Duela handled the aftermath.”

“Good,” she says, and means it. She regrets, a little, that she wasn’t able to kill her husband or her father herself. But she’s glad Talon got to do it. Although probably killing Bruce would have been much more meaningful for him. Or maybe Talon isn't the sort of person who feels better after committing a murder, considering all the murders he was forced to commit. Regardless, she won’t mourn her father, not after the last three years. She thanks Tim, and retreats to her bedroom to go through the suitcase.

There isn't much of value to her from the League. Everything that mattered before marrying Bruce, she took with her. Everything that mattered after Bruce, her father left in the apartment where he found her.

Well. Almost everything. There’s two of Damian’s outfits, one tiny pair of shoes, a battered board book, a blue sippy cup, a key ring, and a pair of earrings that she was wearing the day she left Gotham, and never got around to throwing away. Nothing important. The keychain is a small purple elephant, which she picked out because Damian was, at that time, very into elephants. The book is Good Night, Gorilla.

Damian probably doesn’t remember Good Night, Gorilla.

She’ll have to read it to him again.

Best of all, there are four photos of Damian. She took dozens—one of the first things she’d bought when she left was a cheap camera, and she’d printed out all the photos and kept them in a drawer near her bed. She doesn’t know what happened to the others. But she has these. Two from when he was very small—she’d guess under six months. One of him a little older, in his high chair, frowning down at his plate, something green smeared across his face. One that must have been taken shortly before she lost him, one where he looks just as she remembered him, all those miserable years in the League, holding a toy car in one hand and pointing at the window with the other. (There’d been a very large bird outside, and he’d been very excited. She remembers taking several photos; most showed the bird, but this one doesn’t.)

She has no idea why her father kept these things. And now she’ll never know.

She’s glad he’s dead. She is.

The only other things from the League—the only things truly from the League—are a long, elegant knife—a family heirloom—and three more photos. One of her as a very small child, with her brother and sister, who she hasn’t thought of in years. One of her, a little older, in the middle of a training session with her father. It’s blurry, and she’s surprised he kept it. The last photo is of her and Bruce on their wedding day.

She’ll keep the picture with Nyssa and Dusan. The others she’ll deal with later.

The rest of the things must have been rescued from the house. Things she had to leave when she left Bruce. Some jewelry. Some clothes. Several more photos—she feels ill, looking at their smiling faces together, and sets them aside quickly. Odds and ends from her bedroom—a few books, a glass bird, a music box. The little jewelry dish where she kept her wedding ring when she took it off for the night. (The ring itself was pawned very shortly after she left Gotham, along with the gold necklace she’d been wearing; she’d kept the earrings because they were worthless, something she’d convinced Bruce to buy her from a street fair on their honeymoon.) An art print that had hung on her wall. A charming little alarm clock she’d kept on her nightstand because she liked it, and not because she’d used it to wake up in the mornings. The little plastic succulent Bruce had given her, because she could never keep real ones alive.

She’s glad he’s dead, too. She is.

Notes:

We are winding down. I'm guessing there'll be a total of about 70 chapters; I'm currently working on chapter 66. Since we're getting close to the end, I'm going to go up to twice weekly updates.

Chapter 59

Summary:

He dodges what would have been a nasty hit, takes a step back, and holds up his hands.

"Speedy?" he asks. He is so glad he sent Harley away before things got bloody.

The thing is, Jason likes committing crimes. He likes fighting people and sneaking around and doing things he's not supposed to do. It's fun.

It's not that he doesn't like being safe at home with his family. But he misses the excitement. So, given the choice between continuing to hang out with his family at a different location, and going with Pam and Harley to do some sketchy stuff, he's going for the sketchy stuff.

They're not planning to hurt anyone. If they do, it'll probably be bad guys. They just have to turn a bunch of gemstones and dirty money into something they can use, without drawing attention. Which means a lot of travel, dealing with small amounts at a time.

It's been so long since Jason got to travel, since he got to go any farther from home than the city, for any longer than a couple hours. (Except for when they rescued Talia, and before that the kids. Getting the kids was kind of a nightmare, but he really enjoyed fighting the League of Assassins.)

They've spent a few days in a few big cities in Asia, and have made their way into Europe, before someone attempts to arrest them.

"I'll handle it," Jason says, because he doesn't trust them, especially Harley, not to murder a government agent. Not that Jay's entirely opposed to the occasional murder, but in this situation it's going to cause more problems than it solves.

He waits for Pam and Harley to slip out, checks his gun, and creeps forward to get a better look at the guy.

It's just one guy. Has a gun. Probably doesn't know who he's dealing with, if he's here alone—he's following them because they're fencing shit, not because two of them are Harley Quinn and Poison Ivy.

Jay is pretty sure killing him won't be necessary. He'll knock him out, and they'll go in and out of a few countries before trying to offload anything else. No big deal.

Until he goes to knock the guy out, and it turns out lone gunman is also a martial arts expert. And then Jason gets a good look at his face.

He dodges what would have been a nasty hit, takes a step back, and holds up his hands.

"Speedy?" he asks. He is so glad he sent Harley away before things got bloody.

"Not lately," Definitely-Speedy says. "Who's asking?"

"Robin."

"There hasn't been a Robin in over six years."

"Yeah? And how long since there's been a Speedy? Baby heroes grow up."

Roy shakes his head. He hasn't relaxed at all, he's still ready to fight. But he looks so sad. "Not Robins. Except for Nightwing, and I know you're not him."

Jason reaches up slowly to take off his helmet. Roy doesn't react. Well, it's been a long time, and they were never close. Recognition was a long shot.

He is so glad there's no one else in this building.

"I'm Jason Todd. I didn't stay dead. I'm living with Dick and Cass."

"You got proof?"

"I've got a lot of photos. And the Titans Tower access codes for all three of us. And Dick's codes for the Watchtower, before it was destroyed. I know the secret identities of most heroes. I can tell you all about my death; I don't think anyone else would know that."

"Right. Let's start with those access codes."

-

"Since when does Robin use guns?" Roy asks.

They're sitting on the floor, weapons down. Jason is searching his phone for good photos to share—he doesn't want to show anyone but him, Dick, and Cass. He is not prepared to explain the Talons. Or the supervillains. Or Brucie.

"Since when does Speedy?"

"Since I got a kid to support, and government agencies started paying big for people they can pretend not to know used to be vigilantes. The bow makes it harder to pretend."

Jason nods. "I started using guns when I stopped being dead. Oh, here's a good one of the three of us." He hands over his phone.

Roy studies the photo for a long moment. "You, Dick, and Cass. Is Tim—"

"He's alive. Doesn't live with us, but he's okay. It's a long story. Dick and Cass are actually with him right now."

"Good."

"Dick really misses you."

"He just completely vanished. Oracle hasn't found anything."

"He's not as good with tech as Babs, but he knows how to cover our tracks. If you give me your number, I'll have him call you when we meet back up."

Roy gives him a number. Jason doesn't share his. If he gives his number to Roy, Roy will give it to Babs, and Babs will use it to track him. And he knows Roy and Babs are friends. He's pretty sure Dick and Cass wouldn't mind being found, by them. But there are lots of people in their house now, and he can't make that choice for all of them.

"You're in touch with Oracle," he says. "Do you—do you have updates about any of the others?"

"Supers and Atlanteans haven't been seen in ages. There's been some Amazon sightings, mostly here in Europe, but no one's been in contact. A lot of the un-powered vigilantes are doing stuff like this; like I said, the pay is good. The Lanterns are around. They don't land on-planet much, and never in the US, but I know they've stopped a few alien invasions. If anyone has contact with Superman it's them. Wally is dead—you knew that—and Barry moved to the future or something? Jay Garrick is mostly retired. There are still speedsters around, working in a few different countries, but none that were ever League-affiliated. Starfire is in space somewhere. Raven's working outside the States, where Luthor can't touch her—a lot of people are. Zatanna. Connor—my brother, not Superboy. Beast Boy and Cyborg are with the Doom Patrol; they're based abroad now. Ollie's on the lam—pops up somewhere new every few months. I think Canary is with Oracle right now. Um. Who else? Kid Devil was a friend of yours, right? I think he's retired. Captain Marvel is mostly retired, but he pops up abroad sometimes. There's—there's just so many of us, you know? I'll tell Dick about anyone I've missed."

"Sounds good," Jay says. "I should probably go. Pam and Harley were expecting me to knock you out and catch back up—they're probably worried."

"Pam and Harley?"

"Um. I promise we're not doing anything bad?"

Roy stares at him for a long moment. "Okay. I'm not arresting Dick's dead little brother. Get out of here. Tell him to call me."

-

Roy waits until Jason is gone, then makes a call on the secure line his employers don't know about. "Hey, O? You been keeping track of Harley Quinn and Poison Ivy?"

"Not since we were sure they didn't have Tim."

"Maybe you should look into it. I think they've been in contact with Nightwing."

Robin is too complicated to explain right now; he'll catch her up when he's home again. Tomorrow, if he rushes. But if Jason's seen them, Dick probably has too. And maybe he can get a location out of Dick, later, but for now it's a place to start.

-

Tim sits on his bed in the room he’s sharing with Damian and Dickie. (Dick says this is a real house, not a mansion or a converted medical facility, so it has a normal amount of bedrooms.) (A normal amount of bedrooms is three, apparently. One for boys, one for girls, and one for kids.) Dickie and Dami are both out playing, so this is a good time for the box.

Big Tim says the neighbors saved some stuff from the house, after. Just in case there was someone who wanted it, someday.

Tim doesn’t even remember the neighbors, and he doesn’t think that’s because of Owlman—he doesn’t think they were close to the neighbors. So it was really nice of them to save things, and to give them to other Tim. (He told them Dad was his uncle.)

There’s nothing big, because that would have been too hard to save, and nothing that’s worth any money, because his parents sold all that before they died.

There’s a bunch of loose photos. Some paperwork. A big, tattered scrapbook that he’ll wait to open until he’s seen the whole box. A knitted blanket in lots of bright colors. A stuffed triceratops he thinks he used to sleep with. Six books—three picture books, a kid’s chapter book, and two grown-up books. A disposable camera with four pictures left on it. He doesn’t know how many already-taken pictures that is, but hopefully they can get them out of the camera.

He finds big Tim in the kitchen.

“Tim? Can you—can you look at my box with me? Can you tell me what things are?”

“Sure,” he says.

They sit on the bed together, and go through the things again. And big Tim gives him the memories he doesn’t have.

The blanket. “Mom’s aunt made that for her. She died before we were born. Mom always hated it—said it was garish—but she kept it around anyway because she loved Aunt Maria.”

The books. “Mom gave Dad that book on their first anniversary.”

The photos. “Those are Dad’s college roommates, and that’s our grandma, and that’s Mom’s best friend from high school.”

“Tim?” Tim asks when they’ve looked at everything else, and started flipping through the scrapbook.

“Yeah?”

“Are they—are they dead for you, too?”

“Yeah.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.”

“Do you have this stuff?”

“No. It’s in your world—your new world, my old world—but it’s too dangerous to go into Gotham for something like that right now. It’s probably in police custody. But I’ll get it back someday.”

“Oh. Do you—do you want to keep some of this stuff?”

“No. This stuff is yours. I know another Tim I can bug for photos—our lives diverged differently than yours and mine, so we have more memories in common. And I’ll get my own stuff back someday.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sure.” He turns his attention back to the scrapbook. “That’s Mom—yeah, Mom’s hair used to look like that. Apparently it was cool back then. This is her graduation. I’m not actually sure what this picture is from—I don’t think anyone in the family ever had a dog. He’s cute, though.”

Tim leans into Tim’s side, and listens to him talk, and feels closer to his family than he has since Mom tucked him in that last night.

Chapter 60

Summary:

Sometimes he makes her miss her husband. The good moments. (There had been good moments.) But mostly, it's getting easier to remember he's an entirely different person.

A better person.

Damian has decided he approves of Vacation. He wasn’t sure at first, because it meant leaving home, and Bud and Lou and Jay and Pam and Harley, and meeting new people. But everyone promised it was only for seven days, and the new people are okay.

One of them is Tim, and he’s not as good as Damian’s Tim, obviously, but that’s still a whole extra Tim. The other one is Dick, but Tim-sized, and that’s weird. But he's better at playing with them than big Tim, and he's a Talon, too. He has lots of fun ideas, like Climbing on the Roof But Don’t Tell the Grown-Ups, and Our Whole Bedroom Can Be One Giant Blanket Fort.

They aren’t scared of Brucie at all, which is good because Damian likes Brucie, now, and he feels bad that Brucie scares people without even doing anything. And they gave him and Tim special un-hearing aids their dad made so loud noises wouldn’t hurt their ears so much.

Tim and Mom are getting more comfortable with each other, and so are Mom and Brucie, and there are so many cool animals on the beach, and he likes how the sand feels on his feet, and he gets to sleep in a bunk bed. In the top and bottom, because there’s two top bunks, and two bottom bunks, and only three of them in the room, so there’s an extra for him to try both. (Tim picked a bottom bunk, because he says it feels safe, like a cave. Dickie picked a top bunk, because he likes to be up high.)

Vacations are definitely good. But the next time they have one, they have to make everyone else come. Damian misses them.

-

Dickie seems a lot more comfortable around him than last time they met, probably because Dick isn't upsetting his brother, this time. He likes to follow him around and collect memories—something Dick wishes Tim could do more for his younger counterpart, too, but their lives deviated too soon, probably deviated before Tim was even born. Dickie has a decent supply his own memories, but he wants more. And usually when Dick starts a story, he'll remember some of the details on his own; he just needs a jumping off point.

It's good to talk about the circus. He hasn't gotten to talk about the circus to someone else who was there since—he doesn't know. More than fifteen years, probably.

-

"Sorry I kidnapped you."

Brucie looks up; he didn't realize older Tim was in the room. "That's okay. I like it better here."

He's been sharing a bedroom with Tim for a few nights now, but they haven't really talked. Which makes sense, because Tim is here to see his siblings, and he already has a better Bruce at home. He knows the only reason he's in this room with Dick and Tim, instead of Cass, is because they can't leave him and Talia alone together.

"I thought you would," Tim says. "They needed—it was stupid, how I did it. But they needed someone like you. And you needed someone like them."

Dickie runs into the room before Brucie can figure out how to answer. "Tim, Tim, Tim!"

"Yeah?"

"Dami doesn't know how to do a backflip. I'm gonna teach him, but he doesn't have contacts so we can't do it outside because his glasses will fall off and it'll hurt his eyes--it's really bright today."

"So you want to clear a space inside the house?"

"Yeah."

"Okay. Brucie, you wanna help us move some furniture?"

"Sure."

"I can do it myself," Dickie says. "Just needed permission."

"We'll help," Tim says, and he and Brucie follow Dickie out of the room.

"Can you do a backflip, Brucie?"

"Nope."

"Do you wanna learn? I could teach you, too."

Brucie thinks about it for a moment. "I think I'd better not." He'd rather not break his arm again.

Dickie shrugs, then runs ahead.

Tim and Brucie both stay and watch, after the furniture is moved. All three of the kids are bouncing off the walls; it looks like a lot of fun.

Dick joins them, after a while. "Dickie is good for them," he says.

Tim nods. "Yeah. I hoped he would be."

When they're finished flipping around the room, Damian wanders off in the direction of Talia's room, and the remaining Talons want to go back to the beach. Brucie looks over at Dick and Tim—older Dick and Tim—and decides they probably need more bonding time without interruptions from kids. Cass, too, wherever he is.

"I can take them," he offers. If Damian's not coming, Talia should have no reason to be upset.

-

Tim slips into the room, coming to sit on the couch so quietly Dick doesn’t notice until he’s right next to him, their arms brushing.

They sit together for a few minutes, watching the kids play some game on the floor, little Tim hovering over Dami’s shoulder to explain the rules.

“I miss having a big brother,” Tim says.

“Isn’t Jay older than you?”

“By, like, a year. And we both had a couple years where our development was kind of stalled, so we don’t always feel as old as we technically are, and it’s just—weird. He doesn’t feel older than me, usually. Or not enough older to count.”

“You always have me. Even if I’m not there. And you can visit whenever you want.”

“Yeah, I know.”

He leans closer, and they sit in silence for a few minutes.

“What are they playing?” Dick asks.

“Some card game Dickie’s friends at school taught him.”

“How’s that going? You said he was doing full days sometimes?”

“Three days a week, yeah. How’s school going for Tim and Damian?”

“School,” Dick repeats slowly.

“You are homeschooling them, right?”

“Um. I forgot?”

“You’re as bad as Bruce. How did no one in your house think of that? At least we only had Bruce and Alfred to forget. And Alfred was dealing with, like, the massively increased workload.”

“Well, Cass never went to school, and Jay died before he could finish school, and Harley is…you know, Harley. Pam isn't really involved in the parenting stuff, and Brucie wasn’t gonna think of it, and Talia’s still sort of adjusting to Damian not being a toddler, so. I guess it was my job to handle that?”

“I’ll send you the program Jay and I use. I think it has elementary level stuff, too. Oh, and I have masking tech if they want it. Forgot to give it to you with the ear plugs.”

-

They fall quickly into a routine. Dick, Cass, and the older Tim stay up late to have time to themselves, and consequently sleep in. All three of them are careful to spend plenty of time with the kids when they’re awake, but Talia knows how important their limited time together is, so she tries to entertain the kids when she can.

She makes breakfast, because Brucie can only cook with very careful instruction, and the other adults generally aren’t awake yet. She and Brucie take the children out to the beach, where they’re eventually joined by the others. They all go inside for lunch, and generally stay there for an hour or two before the kids want to go back to the beach. A couple of the adults will accompany them, and the rest will entertain themselves. Dinner. Another walk on the beach. A game, a movie, or both. Bed for the children. Brucie and Talia make themselves scarce so the others can catch up. Sometimes one or both of them wind up on the beach again. Sometimes Talia retreats to her bedroom and reads for a bit. She goes to bed before Cass comes back to the shared room, and they do the same thing the next day.

It's a pleasant routine, but it results in a lot of time spent with Brucie. She doesn’t think it’s deliberate, just the natural consequence of being the only two adults present who aren’t trying to cram several years of lost time into a single week.

She’s left the older kids in Brucie’s care for ten minutes—ten minutes—so she could wrangle Damian and reapply his sunscreen after an impromptu swim.

He’d spotted an interesting fish, and he’d been off, into the ocean—he doesn’t even know how to swim! Talia doesn’t know if drowning can kill—he’s fine. He didn’t go that deep, and Cass was after him immediately, before Talia had fully registered what was happening.

Cass had carried him back, hugged him tight, and handed him to Talia, then hovered there, awkward, for a minute before going to change and dry off. Talia thinks she hadn’t wanted to leave him, but had wanted to give Talia the opportunity to do some parenting.

She dried him off, and reapplied the sunscreen, and tried to explain the importance of not running into the ocean unsupervised without sounding upset—she’s noticed how very careful the others are, any time the kids do something they shouldn’t, so she’s trying to be careful, too, even though she’s still terrified.

So. It’s been ten minutes. Ten minutes of Brucie alone with the two older kids, while she dealt with Damian, Cass dried off, and Dick and Tim worked on dinner. And here is little Tim, most definitely not with Brucie, dragging two large garden shovels from the direction of the garage.

Why is he not with Brucie? Why is he unsupervised, ten minutes after his brother ran into the ocean?

She’s overreacting. She knows she is. Damian is six. Tim is thirteen. Tim can handle walking around the side of the house by himself. Brucie didn’t do anything wrong, letting him.

She takes a breath, and another. “What are you doing?” she asks Tim, because those shovels really are massive.

“We’re gonna build a sand castle,” he says.

“Another one?”

He nods. “An us-sized one. Do you want to help?”

“I’d love to. Your brother and I will be along in the minute. Do you need help carrying the shovels?”

“No, I’m strong.”

“All right. We’ll just be a minute.”

Tim walks away, and Talia continues the sunscreen application. Damian’s been…quiet. She hopes she was careful enough.

“All done,” she says. “Are you ready to go play again?”

He nods. “We’re gonna build a castle?”

“We are.”

“Are you mad at me?”

“No. I’m just worried. We’ll find a safer body of water for swim lessons. But for now, no going in the water unless there’s an adult with you.”

He nods again. “Is big Tim an adult?”

Big Tim is twenty. It’s a gray area. “Were you planning on going into the ocean alone with big Tim?”

“No. Just wondering.”

“I’ll think about it and get back to you. Let’s go build a sandcastle.”

Tim and Dickie are both digging like mad when they arrive. Cass must have swapped places with Dick in the kitchen, because he’s here now, too, helping Brucie construct a very large tower. Damian races over to throw himself into the hole being dug out; Talia follows more slowly to help the other adults.

“Damian okay?” Brucie asks her.

She nods, and he smiles at her.

His familiar face is still off-putting, but he doesn't use it the way she expects. She doesn't quite understand how two identical men can have such different expressions.

Brucie is—

Sometimes he makes her miss her husband. The good moments. (There had been good moments.) But mostly, it's getting easier to remember he's an entirely different person.

A better person.

-

"I'll go out with the kids," Dick offers when Cass is dry and changed. "You can help Tim with lunch."

She nods, and wanders into the kitchen, and presses herself close to Tim, who sets down his spatula and turns to hug her.

Her heart is still beating too fast; she can feel it in her chest. Dami doesn't know how to swim. Dami doesn't know how to avoid things that hurt him, because Dami spent his whole life being told it didn't matter if he hurt.

She doesn't know what happens to a Talon who drowns.

She doesn't want to know what happens to a Talon who drowns.

Tim lets her go, and slides over the cutting board, and they make lunch. Because somehow, in the time they were apart, they both turned into grown-ups, people who do things like cook and clean and make sure littler people go to bed on time.

She had to learn him, again. It wasn't hard, but it was weird. When their little Tim got here, he was hard to read because she was used to her older Tim. But now, she's used to little Tim. And he's changed, too. His body language isn't quite like it was. She thinks some of that is just him growing up, and some of it is the torture, and the Joker. Little things she didn't pick up on through the camera, when she couldn't see his whole body.

Today there's the angle of his body that means "I'm glad to be with you, I want to be closer to you." There's the little twitch of his mouth that means he's mostly happy, the tension in his wrists that means he was scared for Damian, too, the way he holds his shoulders that means he's concentrating on doing something right—making the food, she thinks.

Her heart slows down, and the tension in Tim's wrists eases.

They don't talk. On the phone—even on video—it feels like they need to be talking. In person, silence feels better. They can just be; she doesn't have to overthink, hardly has to think at all. Just her and Tim, together, like they should be.

-

They have to go inside for food before they can finish the big castle, but they go out again after eating.

“We should sleep in it tonight,” Dickie says, because Dickie really does have the best ideas.

“Can we?” Damian asks.

The grown-ups—all of the grown-ups are here together, helping with the castle—look at each other. Except Brucie, who is still trying to help Tim decorate the last wall.

“It’s far enough from the shoreline,” Dick says.

“Not by themselves,” Talia says.

“Have you decided if big Tim is an adult yet?” Damian asks her.

“Tim’s twenty,” Dickie says. “B says that’s an adult unless he's in trouble.”

“Talia?” Cass asks.

“If Tim stays with them. As long as they don’t go out on the beach in the dark. They stay in the castle, or they come back to the house.”

“Deal,” big Tim says. “Let’s find some blankets. You coming, little Tim?”

It’s just getting dark by the time the last non-Tim grown-up leaves. Damian is glad Mom decided he's an adult. He’s still a Tim, too, and that makes him feel less like an adult. Or maybe it’s because he’s only barely an adult.

Either way, he doesn’t make them go to sleep, or anything boring. He snuck lots of snacks out with the blankets, and they eat sugary things, and big Tim and Dickie tell stories until Damian falls asleep. He doesn’t know what happens after that, except that when the sun is out Mom picks him up and carries him to the bunkbed, and then he sleeps again until lunch.

-

They’re almost out of time.

They stayed up most of the night last night, pressed close on the couch together, Cass and Dick on either end of a Tim sandwich.

It’ll be okay. They’ll see him again. And they’ll talk to him more. He’s not the way he was when they first found him. He wants to be with them again now. She can see it all over him. He doesn’t want to be with them all the time, but that’s not because of them—it’s because he wants to be with lots of other people, too, and because he's growing up and has his own life to live. It’s okay. It’s normal.

She’s going to miss him so much. Her first brother. Her Robin.

But this isn't like those phone calls in the beginning, always afraid that this time would be the last time they ever had, that he wouldn’t call back next month. Always knowing from his body that he didn’t want to be there, really, that he was only calling because he thought he should. It’s different now. She knows this won’t be the last time.

They’ll come here again—maybe not this place but this world—and Tim will come to them. They’ll meet the rest of his new family, someday, and he’ll meet Jason for real. They’ll have more time.

But this time is still over, and it still hurts.

“I’ll call you when our plane lands,” Tim promises, and then it’s over, and he’s gone.

Notes:

Warning: do not sleep in a sand castle. I’ve been told it’s very dangerous.

Chapter 61

Summary:

It doesn’t take long for Talia to join him. Damian doesn’t return.

“Alfred Pennyworth. I thought you were dead.”

“Better men than your father have tried.”

One more task for Barbara, and then he’ll be on his way.

Technically Alfred Pennyworth is a wanted man. But no one is looking very hard anymore, at least on this side of the pond, and he’s always been better at subterfuge than his son.

He uses Barbara’s codes to get into the building. He doesn’t need them, but they do speed things up a bit, and he knows how much the children like to feel useful. He took the spells from Zatanna and young Billy for the same reason.

The hardest part of the mission is knocking on the door, knowing who’s likely to answer.

Damian Head.

Damian al Ghul.

Damian Wayne.

His grandson. The child he learned of from the tabloids, the child his son never got to meet.

Though he’s hardly a child anymore. Older than Jason—well, older than they’d thought Jason would ever be. That’s a piece of information he hasn’t fully processed, yet.

He looks so like his father at this age.

“Hello, Damian. Is your mother available?”

The boy studies him for a long moment, eyes narrowed, and then nods sharply. “Wait here,” he says.

He turns and walks deeper into the apartment; Alfred steps fully inside, pulling the door shut behind him. It doesn’t take long for Talia to join him. Damian doesn’t return.

“Alfred Pennyworth. I thought you were dead.”

“Better men than your father have tried.”

“I’ll admit I’m glad they’ve failed. What do you want?”

“We need to talk about your employer.”

She shakes her head. “I won’t turn on Lex. He’s the best protection Damian has. He's kept my father away for six years."

"He had Bruce killed."

She shows emotion for the first time since she’s walked in, something devastated and furious and confused, flashing across her face and gone again in seconds.

“I assume you have proof?”

He hands her the flash drive Barbara prepared. It has all the financial records, all the details of the deal Luthor and the Joker had made, evidence of all the other crimes they know Luthor’s committed, and contact information for Oracle.

She takes it and pockets it silently. He knows she’ll do the right thing. Not for the world, but for Bruce.

“He’d have loved Damian,” Alfred says.

“I know.”

“Good luck, Talia.”

He leaves without waiting for an answer. He has a plane to catch, and three more grandchildren to find. They’ve narrowed it to six possible locations, in a hundred mile range. (It was remarkably easy once they started looking at Harley Quinn and Poison Ivy’s movements; they’ve been sighted in the same area so many times over the last few years, and the last time they left, they left in the company of a man matching the description Arsenal gave them for Jason.) Alfred will handle the rest of the search himself. Barbara has aliens to conspire with.

-

Getting home is a bit of a production. Dick doesn’t really want to go home—going home means leaving Tim, and it will be days yet before Jay gets back. But Tim and Dickie have a flight to catch, and there’s no point in lingering at the beach house without them.

Well, it is still a beach house.

But Damian wants to get back to the hyenas.

The others left the van hiding at the multiverse drop point so they can drive home—they really need to find a way to hop universes from home without shorting their cloaking tech, because abandoning a vehicle in the jungle for a week is not ideal.

Pam grew plants over the van to hide it, and it takes well over an hour to dig it out. It would be easier if they weren’t trying to avoid damaging any of the plants, but Pam would probably know, and they don’t need her mad at them.

She did a good job. He never would have guessed there was a car there if she hadn’t said exactly where she was putting it, and if it hadn’t beeped when he hit unlock on the key fob. But on the other hand, she did a really good job. It’s been a long week, and he just had to say goodbye to his little brother, and he doesn’t know when they’ll be in the same universe again, and the kids have been so hyper all day, and he’s tired. If she had done a worse job, they wouldn’t have to do so much work right now.

Damian falls asleep on the ground at some point in the van extraction, and he doesn’t wake up when Talia picks him up and buckles him in.

They get back to the house, and Dick checks all their alarms while Cass whistles for the hyenas the way Harley taught her. They’ve been loose in the jungle all week, which Harley said would be completely fine, but Dick did worry, a little.

They come running immediately, and they seem happy to see everyone. Lou bowls over Brucie, and Bud licks Damian until he wakes up and makes Talia put him down so he can play with them.

Cass unpacks and starts a load of laundry, and Talia starts dinner, while Dick checks all the houseplants on the list Pam left. Brucie watches the kids and the hyenas, and Talia leaves him to it, which is an improvement from a week ago.

He’s so tired, and he misses Tim more than ever. But the vacation was a great idea.

And maybe—Jason texted. Jason ran into Roy Harper. So maybe Dick can have a friend back.

-

Cass fiddles with the masker, watching Tim closely for how he feels while Dick explains it.

“Would I still need my contacts?”

“Yes. The masker just changes how you look; the contacts are to protect your eyes from the light.”

“If it came from Big Tim, why didn’t Dickie have one?”

“Dickie does have a masker, but he prefers not to wear it. He never wears it at home, and people in his world know he’s a Talon, so he doesn’t have to wear it in public, either; he only does if he wants to avoid standing out or being noticed. This world doesn’t know about you and Damian, and it’s not safe for them to, so if you were going to go out in public, you would need to wear either the masker or makeup.”

Tim nods, biting his lip. Dick looks to Cass, and she isn't—she isn't sure. Usually she’s pretty good at reading him. Maybe the week of two different Tims, with two different body languages, is throwing her off.

“Will Damian want it?” he asks.

“I don’t know,” Dick says. “We haven’t asked him yet.”

“Will we go out in public?”

“We can, at some point. We don’t go very often, but we can take you if you want.”

He glances over at Cass, quick, then turns back to Dick. “What if I don’t want?”

“Well, you’re probably going to have to go out in public, someday. But you don’t have to right now. And you don’t have to be in public to use the masker.”

“Would it—would it take away my scar?”

“No. It would only make your skin and eyes a more usual color. And it would only work while you were wearing it and had it turned on. It wouldn’t make any permanent changes.”

He glances over at Cass again. He looks stressed and uncertain and she’s not quite sure why.

“You don’t have to use it,” Cass adds. “But you can if you want to.”

“Can I—can I think about it?”

“Of course,” Dick says.

“Can I go play now?”

“Of course.”

He leaves. Cass gives the masker back to Dick.

“Well,” he says. “That went…okay, I think.”

“Okay,” she agrees, and stands up.

“Where are you going?”

“Playing. It’s trampoline time.”

-

Since Tim is thirteen now, and Pam set up the emergency rescue plants, he and Damian are allowed to play outside alone, as long as they stay close to the house. They have a butterfly net and a clear box with air holes, and they’re catching frogs.

They get a really good one, with spots on, and Tim runs inside for his camera. “Don’t move,” he tells Damian, because Damian isn't supposed to be out alone, really, but it’ll just be a few seconds.

A few minutes, after Talia stops him. But it’s okay. He’s right where Tim left him.

“Your mom says lunch in twenty minutes,” he tells Damian.

“She could—she could be your mom, too, if you wanted. We could share.”

“I’m not sure I want her to be my mom.” Talia is nice. But Tim has a mom. She may be dead, but she’s still his.

“Maybe she could be your big sister instead,” Damian suggests. “Like Cass.”

“Wouldn’t that make me your uncle?” He wants to be Damian’s brother, not his uncle. That’s weird.

Damian frowns.

“She can be family, okay?” Tim offers. “Just family.”

“Okay.”

They go back to frog catching. And then the car comes.

Tim’s heard it coming for a few minutes now, but they don’t know exactly when the others are coming home, so he thought it was just them. Now he can see the car, and that’s not their car.

“We need to go inside right now,” he says.

“But my frog—”

“Now, Dami.”

Damian drops his net and follows him back to the house.

“There’s a strange car coming,” Tim reports, and everyone goes tense.

“Tim, Dami, stay with Brucie and Talia,” Dick says.

Cass runs outside. Dick grabs his sticks from the locked room and follows her. Dami huddles close to Talia on the couch—she hugs him, kisses his forehead, then picks him up and puts him in Brucie’s lap. She goes to the locked room, too—Dick left it open—and comes back with a gun.

“What’s going on?” Damian asks. “Is there a bad person in the car?”

“We don’t know yet,” Talia says. “Brucie, could you…”

“Yeah. Tim, Dami, come with me to the bedroom. We can play a game.”

“Uno?” Damian asks.

“Sure. Let’s play Uno.”

They hide in Brucie’s bedroom and play Uno and pretend not to be scared, for a long time, until finally Dick comes in. He doesn’t have his sticks anymore, and he’s smiling.

“You guys wanna meet your grandpa?”

Chapter 62

Summary:

Tim lets go of his hand and runs forward to poke Alfred, hard.

“You’re real,” he says.

“Well, that is certainly good to know. I’ve always wanted to be real.”

Cass stands in front of the house, waiting.

There shouldn’t be a car. Their alarms should have gone off long before Tim saw a car.

By the time it pulls over, Dick and Talia are both with her, and Talia has a gun. It must be one of Jason’s, so it’ll have rubber bullets, but rubber bullets can kill if you use them right. So they have to keep Talia from killing whoever this is, on top of everyone else.

No one should be here. No one’s ever come this close. They’re much too close to convince there aren’t people living here, and Cass doesn’t know how to keep her family safe, except for letting Talia kill someone, and she is not going to let Talia kill someone.

Alfred steps out of the car.

“Well,” he says. “You’ve certainly both gotten better at hiding. I’m sorry it took me so long to catch up; there were some issues with British Intelligence. Miss Talia, I certainly didn’t expect to see you again so soon.”

“I’ve never seen you in my life,” Talia says.

“How odd,” Alfred says, and everything about him, every face he makes and every word he says and every way he moves, is real and right and him, and Cass runs forward to hug him.

Dick drops his escrima sticks and comes to hug him too. Cass looks back at Talia—she doesn’t look like she’s going to shoot anyone.

Alfred must have seen other-her recently. Cass really hopes other-Talia doesn’t know where they are.

“Well,” he says when he’s finished hugging them. “I believe we all have some things to explain.”

“Yeah,” Dick says. “How’d you find us? Why didn’t our alarms go off?”

Cass looks at him again, and realizes he’s still a little suspicious, even though he hugged him. She guesses he can’t see, the way she is, how definitely Alfred he is.

“Barbara was able to track you down after Jason met Roy Harper, and he reported Jason was travelling with Harley Quinn and Poison Ivy. I’m afraid they’re not nearly as careful as the rest of you. And various friends of Oracle sent me on my way with a fair bit of magic to keep me under the radar—I suspect that allowed me to bypass your alarms. How did Jason survive, and who is this woman who looks so very much like Talia al Ghul?”

“Didn’t,” Cass tells him. “Jay died. Came back. No one knows how.” She leaves the rest of the explaining to Dick. He looks less suspicious, now. Harley and Pam accidently giving them away makes sense. And the first thing he asked about was Jason. He’s definitely their Alfred.

“Pull into the garage, and we’ll help you unload the car. I’ll tell you everything once we tell the others it’s okay.”

Alfred parks the car, and gets back out with only one small bag. “Magic, again. They were quite eager to help. People have been very worried about you.”

“I can take it,” Dick says, and does. “Alfred, this is a version of Talia from another universe. She lives here. We also have her version of Damian, an alternate version of Tim who once spent a couple months with a fake version of you in a virtual reality thing, and—um.”

“Brucie,” Cass says, because Dick is afraid to.

“Yeah. Brucie. He’s from a different alternate universe. He was never Batman. His version of you died saving him from the Joker.”

“Oh dear,” Alfred says, and his voice is calm, but his body is confused and very sad.

“Yeah. Talia, this is our grandfather, Alfred Pennyworth. I’m just—I’m just gonna grab Brucie and the kids. I’ll be right back. Oh! The kids are kind of zombies. Don’t freak out.”

He leans over to hug Alfred again, quick, then runs into the house with his bag. Cass hugs him again, too, and they follow him.

Alfred is here. Alfred is home.

Barbara—she isn't ready to think about Barbara. Barbara faked her death, and didn’t tell Cass she was faking. Dick said that Barbara didn’t want to distract her while she was on her mission in Hong Kong, but finding out that Barbara was dead was much more distracting than finding out she’d faked her death would have been. And Cass—she hasn’t had any contact with Barbara since then. And it just—it still hurts, and it doesn’t make sense, because she thought—she thought Barbara loved her. She must have known how much it would hurt, thinking she was dead, and she just—she didn’t—it hurts. She isn't ready to think about that, to think about how she could talk to Barbara now if she wanted to, because Alfred knows how to. It just—not now. Not yet.

But she has Alfred back.

-

“You guys wanna meet your grandpa?” Dick asks.

Brucie drops his hand, and cards go flying everywhere. Other Bruce—other Bruce was Dick’s dad, and Tim and Damian are his brothers. That means their grandpa is either—is either—

Dick sits down on the ground with them. “Alfred found us,” he says. “I’ve told him a little about all of you. I know it’s kind of—kind of a lot, for you, Brucie, and Tim. But he’s—he’s never met you, but he’s your family. He’s going to love you so much. I know I promised no new people, but no one brought him or sent him here, he just showed up, and he’s—he’s part of our family.”

Brucie picks up his scattered cards, and thinks about Alfred’s blood drying on his hands, thinks about how everyone he loves dies, but not here, at least not yet.

This Alfred’s Bruce was a superhero. And he's just…him.

“Okay,” Tim says. “Let’s—let’s go.”

Tim hangs back behind the rest of them, even though he’s the one who wanted to go. Brucie offers his hand, and Tim takes it, squeezing a little too hard.

Alfred is sitting on the couch, with Cass tucked under his arm and Talia standing a few feet away—she’s still got her gun, and it’s pointed at the ground, but it still makes him so nervous, seeing a gun so close to Alfred.

He looks older, but otherwise exactly the same, and Bruce misses him so, so much. He thinks Dick is doing introductions, but he isn't really paying attention, until Tim lets go of his hand and runs forward to poke Alfred, hard.

“You’re real,” he says.

“Well, that is certainly good to know. I’ve always wanted to be real.”

“Could you not touch things, in the virtual reality?” Dick asks.

“You could, but it wasn’t—we didn’t notice, when we were in it. But when I thought about it after—it didn’t feel quite right. It was…different. But he feels right.”

“Good,” Dick says. “Damian, do you want to say hi to Alfred?”

“Hi,” Damian says, and then he darts across the room to stand by Talia.

“Talia?” Dick says. “Maybe you could—”

“Oh, the gun! I’ll put it away. Dami, sweetheart, I’ll be right back.”

Brucie realizes he’s the only one who hasn’t said anything to Alfred yet, and he doesn’t—he doesn’t know what to say. He’s not Batman. He’s not his Bruce.

Alfred stands up. “It’s good to see you, Bruce,” he says, and then Brucie is hugging him, even though he thinks maybe he shouldn’t.

“I’m not—I’m not him.”

“You’re Bruce Wayne,” he says. “That makes you my son, no matter who else you are.”

-

They promised no new people. They promised.

But Alfred snuck up on them—they didn’t mean to break their promise. And he’s their grandpa. Tim’s never had a grandpa he can remember, but he knows they’re important. He can’t ask them to just send their grandpa away.

He doesn’t want him to go away. Damian got his mom back. And Brucie, who’s kind of his dad but not exactly, not really, and Tim—

He only knew Alfred for a couple months, and it wasn’t real. It wasn’t even really a couple months; it just felt that way. But Alfred was—

He was so happy, in that fake world with fake Alfred. He wants that. But he doesn’t know how to trust it.

“If you want him gone,” Talia says, “I’ll get rid of him.”

Tim thinks she’s mostly talking to Damian, but Tim is here, too. Would she get rid of Alfred for Tim?

“I got you,” Damian says. “So they should be able to have their grandpa, too, right? That’s fair.”

“Tim?” Talia asks. “Do you want him gone?”

Oh. She was talking to him, too.

“He can stay. I want—I want him to stay.”

Talia looks—relieved. Which makes it even more special that she asked. “Okay. You two were catching frogs, weren’t you? Can I help?”

-

Dick calls Jason, tells him to get back right away, because Alfred wants to see him. Then he joins Cass, Alfred, and Brucie in the kitchen. Talia took the kids out to play after lunch, so the rest of them could talk. (Although he’s not sure how much playing Tim’ll want to do—he’s understandably pretty tense.) The name Alfred Pennyworth doesn’t seem to mean anything to her.

The kids—what if the kids want him gone?

They have to put the kids first. They have to. But it’s Alfred.

The kids adjusted to Brucie. They can definitely adjust to Alfred. Right?

Cass and Dick catch Alfred up on their last few years, and Alfred catches them up on his last few years, and Brucie mostly sits there and stares at him like he's seeing a ghost, but in a good way.

“I followed the plan your father had outlined for a situation like this, and caught a flight to England first, to shake any tails, so I could make my way to the meeting point from there, without leading anyone to you. But I was caught by Interpol waiting for a connecting flight, and handed over to British Intelligence, who badly wanted to know everything there was to know about Batman. It took me far too long to escape them, and longer still to be sure none of them were following me. I went back to Gotham, as I’d heard Tim was in Arkham, and I believe it was there that I caught the attention of Ra’s al Ghul. Shaking him off was far more difficult, and I had to pause the search for you for a number of years, until I was quite certain there was no chance I’d lead him to you. About two years ago Barbara found me, and I’ve been with her ever since. We were searching for you, but I’m afraid the fate of the world was rather distracting. I have several messages and gifts from your friends, in my bag.”

“Later,” Dick says.

He’s missed everyone so much. But just having Alfred here—he wants to just enjoy this for a while, before thinking about the next thing. Spread all the good things out, make them last days or maybe weeks.

And he’s a little afraid, too. That they’ll want him and Cass and Jay to go back. To be heroes again.

He doesn’t want to. Maybe that’s selfish.

But the world’s gotten on just fine without him for six years now.

He spent so many years doing everything he could to protect people. And the minute his identity came out, none of it mattered. He doesn’t want to go back.

And there’s the kids. They’ve suffered so much. They’ve spent so much of their lives in constant danger.

Bruce loved him. Dick knows that. But Bruce always thought he could do anything. Thought he could do everything. And he put the mission first. If he hadn’t, he might still be alive. All of them might still be at home, and Lex might not even be president.

So Dick is going to recognize his limits, and he’s going to put his kids first. He can’t do everything. He can’t save the world. But he can protect Tim and Damian. He’s not going to go back to a lifestyle that they might get dragged into, or one that might kill him, and take him away from them. He has to be safe, he has to be here, he has to be someone they can rely on. And he can’t do that while being Nightwing.

“Later,” Cass agrees. “Tell us more about fighting Ra’s—Brucie doesn’t know about him.”

Chapter 63

Summary:

“Good morning,” he says. Brucie looks up and smiles at him, a wide smile he’s seen Bruce wear so many times, but this is the first time it looks genuine.

Alfred had thought he was prepared. He had known that Jason was alive, and that Tim would not be here. He had known that Poison Ivy and Harley Quinn would be present at least some of the time. But he had not expected the second Talia, or the zombie versions of his two youngest grandsons, or a living Bruce Wayne.

Talia is of no particular concern. And he is very glad to welcome two new grandchildren into his life, though they both seem wary of him, so far. He needs only time, he thinks, for Damian, but Tim—this may be difficult for both of them. They are not each other’s first Tim Drake and Alfred Pennyworth.

Bruce. Brucie.

He’s so young.

He’s so hurt.

He’s so clearly not the Bruce Wayne Alfred raised, and that’s fine, Alfred doesn’t expect him to be that Bruce Wayne, but he isn't exactly sure how to be what this Bruce Wayne needs.

He's spoken to Tim—to his Tim, across the multiverse—on a video call; he seemed tense and awkward, but not unhappy to be there. The call lasted about fifteen minutes. The older children say he's probably uncomfortable because he still feels guilty over what happened to Bruce, and he'll warm up to Alfred again over their next few conversations.

Now he's only waiting for one more reunion, the reunion he never thought he'd have.

He lost the fight with Dick about which of them would be sleeping on the couch, and has now spent two nights in Dick’s room. (He’s been told that Jason is nearly home, and will be bringing with him Pam, Harley, a mattress, and a bedframe.) He makes Dick’s bed carefully, and goes to start breakfast.

The children are not letting him do much work, so far. He knows this is because they are used to their new routines, and because they don’t feel it’s right to make—or let—him, their grandfather, take care of them when they are adults, and perfectly capable of caring for themselves. But his life has been so chaotic these last few years, and he longs for the familiarity of running a household and caring for his charges.

So. He is sneaking out of bed far too early in the morning to start on breakfast before anyone else can.

He’s surprised to find Brucie already up, sitting on the living room floor and playing quietly with the hyenas. (Another thing he had been unprepared for, though they are surprisingly well-behaved.) His Bruce was seldom up before noon if he had any choice in the matter.

His Bruce is long dead, and comparing the two will mean only heartbreak for everyone involved.

“Good morning,” he says. Brucie looks up and smiles at him, a wide smile he’s seen Bruce wear so many times, but this is the first time it looks genuine.

“Are you making breakfast? Can I help?”

“Of course,” Alfred says, though privately he’s very uncertain about any version of Bruce Wayne in the kitchen.

“You have to tell me exactly what to do, or I’ll mess it up,” Brucie says. “And I shouldn’t use the toaster.”

Well, at least he’s self-aware.

He does take direction well, though, and it’s a quiet, peaceful morning, working side-by-side with his son.

-

“If he’s so nice,” Damian says, “why don’t you want to be close to him?”

“It’s…complicated,” Tim says. “You know those games we play on my computer?”

“The ones with the cards and the tiles, or the ones with the penguins, or the school bus, or—”

“The ones with the people. Where one of the characters is you? And you’re solving a mystery or something?”

Damian nods. He likes the school bus ones and the penguin ones, but Tim likes the mystery ones and the tiles.

“Owlman made me play a computer game once, except it felt like I was inside the game, and one of the characters was me, and one of the characters was Alfred, and I didn’t know it wasn’t real until the game was over.”

“But it’s—but it’s real this time, right?”

“It’s real,” Tim says. “But it still feels weird. I’ll get used to him.”

“If he wasn’t real, how do you know he’s nice?”

“Fake him was nice. And Dick and Cass and Brucie say real him is nice, too.”

Damian thinks about it.

“I know he’s safe,” Tim says. “I promise.”

“Okay.”

Tim is going to keep talking about how great Alfred is, and keep hiding from him, until someone does something about it. That someone is going to have to be Damian. The more grown-ups they get, the more he realizes grown-ups are kind of useless sometimes.

Damian sighs. He goes to get some coloring books and markers.

“Grandpa Alfred? Will you color with me?”

“I would love to,” Alfred says, after staring at him weird for sixteen seconds.

“Good. You can have the outer space book.”

-

He wanted to just leave Pam and Harley behind. It would have been easier arranging fast travel for one person, and they still had things to do. But they insisted on coming. He was annoyed, earlier. Now, as Harley drives them through the jungle at speeds only Harley would dare to drive, he’s grateful for it. She’s going to get him home at least half an hour faster than he’d have gotten himself there.

“You’re stressed,” she says, turning away from the road to look right at him.

“Everyone’s stressed when you’re driving,” Pam points out. “Eyes on the road, please?”

“Okay, yeah, but he's extra stressed. I thought you were excited? He’s your grandpa, right?”

“Right. And last time I saw him I was fifteen, and I hadn’t literally died, and I wasn’t a murderer, and I hadn’t made plans to murder Bruce and his newest kid, which I only abandoned because the newest kid murdered Bruce first.”

“Didn’t he used to be a soldier? Or a spy? Or both?”

“Yeah,” Jay says. “Tim tell you that?”

“Brucie, actually. I assumed it was the same here.”

“Uh huh. Can you look at the road, please?”

She does, briefly. “And didn’t he have, like, a bunch of guns?”

“Yes.”

“The road, Harl,” Pam says.

“I’m trying to do a therapy session, here! Eye contact is important.”

“Not dying is important! You can do your therapy blind, or you can let me drive.”

“Fine.” She focuses fully on driving for a couple minutes, then picks back up without turning to face Jason, crammed in the back seat with Alfred’s new mattress and bedframe. “It sounds like Alfred might have killed some people. Do you think he’ll care that you did, too?”

“I think he’ll care that one of the people I wanted to kill was Bruce.”

“The man lived with Bruce Wayne for decades. I’m sure he wanted to kill him sometimes, too. What matters is things never got that far. It’s not fair to be mad at you for things you never did, for thoughts you had when you weren’t doing well.”

“I blew our cover. It’s okay that Alfred found us, but Oracle knows, too, and probably a bunch of other superheroes. I got caught. I didn’t even get caught, really; I chose to reveal my identity, like an idiot.”

“And it was the right choice, because now you get your grandpa back, and Dick can talk to his friends. We’re here.”

He knows Harley is trying to help. She is helping; it's just not enough. The only person he's ever really reunited with since dying is Dick, and that was—he didn't stress about that because he didn't know it was coming. Dick just showed up, and he and Cass had this whole big thing before Dick even looked close enough at him to realize who he was. And then there'd been running, and planning, and a weird sort of mourning—years late, he thinks they all put it on hold until they had people to mourn with—and by the time things calmed down a little, he and Dick had gotten used to each other again without really noticing.

He's had days to stress about seeing Alfred again, and he gets more stressed every hour, and he wants this so badly, and he's so afraid, and he feels like he's going to explode.

Dick is—Dick is just his brother. Not that a brother is just anything, especially not now, but they didn't even live together, before Jay died. They saw each other on holidays and weekends, at parties and joint patrols, and Jay loved Dick, but it wasn't—Alfred was as much his dad as Bruce was, really. And he was going to kill Bruce. He was going to kill Alfred's son.

He's there, as soon as Jay gets out of the car, and he steps forward and hugs him before Jay has time to decide what he wants to do, what he wants to say, and he says "Jason," like Jay is something precious, something sacred, and Jay cries for the first time in years.

Notes:

Story is now fully written - I did up the chapter count a little. Twice weekly updates until we’re done!

Chapter 64

Summary:

"Would you like to help me make cookies?" Alfred asks.

Tim extracts himself from the hyena pile. He frowns. "Did Jason tell you to ask me that?"

"Jason suggested that it might be an activity we would both enjoy."

Notes:

Sorry this is a few hours later than usual. On vacation, got distracted.

It’s time to go shopping for Dami’s birthday. It’s past time, actually; Alfred coming was a distraction. Jay is going into town for it, even though he’s the one who got them found, because everyone’s a little on edge now, and his face is still less recognizable than Dick and Cass’.

“Okay, Brucie and Talia are coming, obviously. Anyone else desperate to go along?”

No one else is. Dick is going to spend the day holed up in his room, going over things Alfred brought. Cass, probably, too, though she has less messages from old friends, and more old belongings Babs or Alfred rescued. Babs is the only person who would have sent messages for Cass, and she's feeling a little weird about Babs still, Jay knows.

Jay got a letter from Babs, too, and a few long-forgotten possessions that Babs saved—for her own nostalgia, not to return to him, so he was surprised to get them. He's not sure he should have; they probably mean more to her than to him, at this point.

He'll go through them tonight, after shopping. He's not ready yet. It's been three days since he got home, and the idea of getting even more back, after already getting Alfred, is overwhelming. (It's not just him—this is going to be the first time Dick and Cass look through what Alfred brought.)

“Maybe check with Tim?” Dick suggests. “We talked a little about going out, and testing the masking tech.”

Jay finds Tim, and pulls him away from Damian for a minute to explain.

“I don’t have to?”

“Of course not.”

“And I can try the masking at home, if I want?”

“Yeah.”

“I don’t want to be in a city. It sounds big and crowded.”

“Okay, that’s fine. Is there anything you’d like me to get while I’m there, for you to give Damian for his birthday?”

“He likes cows and penguins, right now.”

“Got it. I’ll find something good.”

He has a list of things the others want him to buy, and a list of things he wants to buy—some for Damian, some for Alfred, some just for the house, like groceries and laundry detergent—and his plan is to focus on his lists, and abandon Brucie and Talia to do their own thing. The others say they do better together when there isn't another adult hovering. He goes over the list of things he's getting with them, so they don't get duplicates, and a rough number of things Tim got for his birthday, so things stay fair, and leaves them to it.

Damian needs a computer of his own, for school. (Jason can't believe he forgot about school.) And he needs to get some general school stuff—not presents—for both kids. Alfred is insisting that they don't need to expand his room—he took one of the larger ones that Talia didn't want because it didn't have a window, and he won't let them add a window, either. So Jay's going to find something to make the room feel friendlier, even though Alfred said he didn't need it.

-

This Alfred always calls him Brucie.

His Alfred used to call him Master Bruce. He vaguely remembers a Civil War phase, as a small child, and a deep concern about masters and slaves; after that he'd just been Bruce. He'd been Brucie, for Alfred, maybe a half dozen times.

He needs to be Brucie, for this Alfred.

He knows everyone thinks—everyone has thought, since he was around fifteen—that's it's stupid to go by Brucie, that it's a ridiculous name for a full-grown man. He likes Brucie. It's what his parents called him.

But now—it's especially important to be Brucie, now. He needs that distinction. He needs to be separated from the other Bruce Waynes these people know, and a Y sound at the end of his name is an easy way to do that. No one would even call Batman or Owlman "Brucie," so he knows when they say it they remember exactly who he is.

Brucie doesn't really want to leave Alfred for an entire afternoon. But the more time they spend together, the more chances he'll have to let Alfred down. And he does want to find birthday presents for Damian.

"He raised you?" Talia asks, as they make their way through the bookstore.

"Yeah."

"He seems...kind. Maybe that's why my husband was so different."

Brucie doesn't like to think about his evil alternate self who kidnapped and tortured children. And he really doesn't like the face Talia makes when she talks about him. He grabs a book with a moose on the cover. "What about this one?"

Talia lights up. "Oh, he'll love that."

Bruce adjusts his plans for the day from Get Dami All the Best Presents to Get Dami All the Best Presents and Also Make Talia Smile Again.

-

The box Alfred gave him was too big to have come from his suitcase, and he says his contents are too big for the box. Dick wonders how Zatanna did it, and for the first time in years, doesn't have to follow that thought with a reminder to himself that he'll never get to ask her. There's a note from Babs on the top; he's sure he'll find a longer letter farther down.

"Dick- the Birds rescued some of your things from the manor before the police went through it; I'm sorry we couldn't get anything from your apartment. Everything will be all right soon. Please tell Cass how sorry I am. Love you all. -Babs"

There are lots of letters. He sets them all aside carefully for later. The rest of the box—there are things from his bedroom at the manor. Things he left at Titans Tower. Odds and ends he left at various friends' places over the years. And photos. So many photos. Some hard copies, most on a labelled flash drive that he plugs into his laptop immediately.

It must be every photo every surviving vigilante ever took that had him in it. Photos of the Titans together, in and out of costume. Photos of him with various Justice League members, as Nightwing and as a tiny new Robin. Photos with Wally, with Bruce, with Clark, with little Robin Jay. Hundreds and hundreds of photos.

Cass joins him, after a while. Neither of them is in the mood to talk, and she sits there, fiddling with a toy bat, while he goes through the photos, then the other things—a carefully folded Flying Graysons poster, with creases that vanish like magic, old clothes and masks and weapons, childhood toys and a couple books and the odds and ends he kept in his room at Titans Tower—saving the letters for another day. Possibly for several other days. If he reads one daily, it'll take at least a month.

-

"Would you like to help me make cookies?" Alfred asks.

Tim extracts himself from the hyena pile. He frowns. "Did Jason tell you to ask me that?"

"Jason suggested that it might be an activity we would both enjoy."

Tim glances over at Pam. She's the adult in charge, because Dick and Cass are hiding in their rooms, and Harley is doing therapy with Damian, and everyone else is at the store. Pam raises her eyebrows at him. Pam is not going to protect him from something he doesn't need to be protected from. But she is right here, and if he's wrong and he does need protecting, she'll send big vines.

If Alfred wasn't real, would vines grab him? But what if the vines aren't real, either?

Everything is real. It is. He knows it. The virtual reality feels different, when you're looking for it. And Owlman is dead.

It's his turn to talk to Harley next. He thinks he really needs to. He shouldn't have told her to do Damian first.

He gets up and follows Alfred to the kitchen.

Alfred doesn't talk except about cookie-related things, and he doesn't touch Tim, and he does let him eat too much cookie dough. He lets Tim touch and taste every ingredient, even the messy ones and the gross ones, to make sure they're definitely real, and he doesn't say anything about it. Tim feels a lot better by the time Damian comes out. He gives him the cookie dough he saved, and goes to talk to Harley.

-

Talia had thought that getting home would mean putting some distance between herself and Brucie again. She doesn't dislike him. She doesn't even distrust him, not after the last couple weeks, not after some time getting to know him on neutral ground, then seeing him reunited with his father, a man he so clearly adores, a man her husband never even mentioned. She just feels...strange, every time she looks at him.

She'd also thought that shopping for Damian's birthday would be a little bittersweet, thought she'd spend it weighed down with thoughts of all the birthdays she missed. Instead, it's a delightful sort of chaos, abandoned by Jason, running after Brucie as he thinks of more and more things they absolutely have to look at, for Damian.

Jason was right. Brucie is very good at picking out presents. He takes Talia to the bookstore. He takes Talia to the toy store. He sticks his hands in jars of sample slime, and sits on the filthy floor to try out various toy cars, and somehow convinces Talia to do the same. He takes her back to the bookstore, because he thought of something else Damian needs. He takes her to a different toy store, and then the children's section of a department store, and then to a tiny shop whose proprietor seems to recognize Brucie, somehow, though they don't have a language in common; they communicate in pantomime for a minute about—another birthday party, maybe? Tim's? Until Talia realizes she does know this language, and takes over as translator. They repeat this in two more tiny shops, then go back to the second toy store. By the time they rejoin Jason, Talia is exhausted, and certain that Damian will have an amazing birthday, and she's hardly had a moment to think about all the time she's missed.

Chapter 65

Summary:

"He's not the same Alfred you lost, either," Jason says. He isn't sure if that makes things better or worse.

"It doesn't matter. He's still Alfred."

"And we're still Bruce and Jason."

"Yeah," Brucie says.

"But it feels like it matters, doesn't it?"

Cass opens the package Alfred gave her. She doesn't feel ready, but Dick's opening his, and Jason said he'd open his tonight, so she thinks she'd better, too.

There's a letter on top, from Barbara, and she thinks about how hard reading always is, and how extra-hard reading this will be, and she sets it aside.

There isn't much. Cass never had much—well, she had lots, because Bruce thought she should have lots, but she was still learning how to be a girl and not a weapon, then, and she had so many new people to care about in new ways, and there wasn't room in her to care about things, too. So she never had much that mattered. And Barbara knew that.

(Now she has plants and posters and knick knacks and toys, because now she understands better, about things. Sometimes you don't get to keep people, so you have to keep things that remind you of them, instead.)

Barbara sent her a stack of pictures, and a flash drive labelled "More pictures" in her familiar handwriting. A pair of ballet shoes. The ribbon that Babs braided into her hair before her first and only ballet recital. The bat Beanie baby Tim gave her on the day they decided was her birthday, which she left in her sock drawer for safekeeping when she went to Hong Kong, because she was supposed to be home soon. A deck of go fish cards. They used to play it so much because it only took two people, and no talking; she could just hold up the fish she wanted to go fishing for. A necklace Bruce gave her to wear to her first gala. She wore it for every gala, but not any other times; necklaces felt too much like chains around her neck, even when they were pearls and not tiny chains, and she hated wearing them. But now, with Bruce dead and gone, touching the necklace feels like holding her father in her hands. She runs her fingers over the pearls a few more times, then sets them down beside everything else. She tucks the bat into one pocket of her sweatshirt and the letter from Barbara in the other, and goes to find Dick.

His door is closed. She knocks once, and asks, "Can I come be with you?"

"Sure."

She lets herself in, closes the door again, and sits beside him on the bed. His eyes are red, and he feels lonely-happy-sad.

Her, too.

He goes through his package, and she holds her bat, and they stay there together until Jay comes home and makes them come out for supper.

She thought maybe she would ask one of her brothers to read the letter for her, but—not yet. Soon, but not yet.

-

"How'd it go?" Pam asks, when Harley finally emerges from her office.

It's good to be home. All of her plants are still happy and healthy. She's spent most of the day reading the plant sections of a textbook she stole, marking inaccuracies with a highlighter, keeping half an eye on the kids.

"Okay," Harley says, flopping down on the couch beside her. "Dami's good. Tim's a little stressed about Alfred, but I think he'll be fine."

Pam thinks so, too. The two of them are with him in the kitchen, now, coloring and eating cookies. When she went to get a cookie for herself, Damian was sitting between Tim and Alfred—something Tim never would have allowed, no matter how scared he was, if he thought there was any chance Alfred was a threat.

"It's nice to have another adult in the house," she says.

"Pam, this house is eighty percent adults."

"This house is maybe—maybe—thirty percent adults. Counting Alfred."

Harley frowns. "Do I count as an adult?"

"Alfred and I are the adults. Talia is the maybe."

"I could be all mature and responsible and stuff if I wanted to."

"Do you want to?"

"Well. No. Not most of the time."

She calls Bud over, and starts to brush him, and Pam goes back to her book. It's a peaceful afternoon, the kids quiet in the next room, Harley less hyperactive than usual after a week and a half of tearing across the world. The calm is interrupted eventually by Talia's voice at the door.

"—can't believe you made me touch that slime!"

"It was good slime. Do you think we should have gotten the glitter kind, too?"

"I think three kinds of slime is—oh, hello, Damian. Have you had a good day?"

Bud wanders over to sniff at Brucie, and Harley stands to take charge of Damian, herding him back to the kitchen so he won't see the presents they're unloading.

"Where should we put everything?" Pam asks Jason.

"In one of the spare rooms, maybe?"

They finish unpacking. Jay goes to find his older siblings, and Harley rejoins Pam on the couch, leaving Damian in the kitchen with his brother. Pam watches Talia sit down on the arm of the other couch, a foot or two from Brucie. He speaks to Alfred for a few minutes before noticing her.

"Hey, Harley, can we wrap presents on the table in your office?"

"Sure," Harley says, and Talia and Brucie disappear in that direction together.

"So," Harley says. "Are we taking bets on how long before they hook up?"

"Six months," Pam says.

"Six weeks," Harley counters. "Alfred? You wanna get in on this?"

"No, thank you."

"You're right," Harley says, mournfully. "He's definitely an adult."

-

Jason sorts through the few things the Birds of Prey rescued from his childhood bedroom—a stuffed tiger he hasn't thought of in years, a framed photo of his mom, some old letters from when he and Kid Devil were penpals, a few books he's long since outgrown or replaced. He looks through a few photos he knows, logically, are of him as a kid, but he feels so far away, some days, from the child who died, and it's uncomfortably like looking at a stranger. He reads Barbara's letter, written to the memory of a dead child, and not the grown man she doesn't know. He reads a new letter from Kid Devil—not that he calls himself that anymore—and it's not as unsettling as Barbara's, but it's upbeat and impersonal; Eddie knows he's writing to a stranger, not a memory, and he isn't getting into anything that means anything.

He leaves his room, intending to find Alfred, because Alfred is Alfred, and he always makes things better. Then he remembers he's a stranger to Alfred, too, and goes looking for Brucie instead.

Brucie is in the yard; he's sitting on the ground, back against the wall, throwing a ball for—Lou, maybe? Someday Jason is going to learn to tell the hyenas apart. He sits down beside Brucie.

"What's wrong?" he asks.

Jay shrugs. "Just—did we ever tell you I died?"

Based on the face Brucie's making, he's pretty sure that's a no. "You're not a zombie, though," he says after a minute, half a question.

"No. Not like the kids. Just—I was fifteen. And the last time I saw Alfred was a few days before."

"You're not the same kid he lost," Brucie says, because Brucie can be insightful sometimes, and they're in the same boat here.

"Yeah."

He throws the ball a few more times.

"He's not the same Alfred you lost, either," Jason says. He isn't sure if that makes things better or worse.

"It doesn't matter. He's still Alfred."

"And we're still Bruce and Jason."

"Yeah," Brucie says.

"But it feels like it matters, doesn't it?"

"Yeah," he says again.

They stay there, taking turns with the ball for probably-Lou, until Alfred finds them.

"Are you two going to help me with dinner?" he asks, and they both stand.

"Of course," Jay says.

"Thank goodness. Your siblings think spaghetti sauce counts as a vegetable."

-

He's missed having Jason in his kitchen, very much. Of course, it's different now. This is Jason's kitchen, and Jason is taller than him, awkward sometimes and not-quite-shy, as he hasn’t been since their first six months together, and perfectly capable of managing things without butler-ly assistance.

It's still magnificent, every moment he spends in the same space as a child he thought he'd lost forever. He loves hearing his adult opinions and learning his adult habits, loves having to look up instead of down, to meet the eyes of a man he thought hadn't lived long enough to grow tall.

And Brucie. Brucie who is so eager to be helping with the things Bruce was so determined to avoid, who follows instructions so carefully, who the children so clearly adore despite his resemblance to their torturer, who is always staring, awed and delighted and a little anxious, like Alfred is a very welcome ghost.

He reminds him of a younger Bruce—well, he is a younger Bruce, but Bruce at this age had already been Batman. He reminds him of Bruce before he'd decided the cure for grief was anger—at himself, at the world, at any form of injustice he found.

He'd used his anger well. He'd been a hero, and Alfred had been proud.

But he's also proud of this Bruce. How determined he is to be helpful, even well outside his skill set. How adaptable he is, moving abruptly from a mansion to an abandoned medical facility full of strangers in a jungle with, according to the children, no real difficulty. How patient he is with the children—he spent four hours sitting on the floor with Damian yesterday, playing with plastic dinosaurs. Four hours. (The attention span on that child—aren’t small children supposed to be easily distracted? Though Bruce had been like that too at that age, hadn’t he?)

He will never have back the boy he raised. But Brucie is his, too.

Chapter 66

Summary:

Tim is still sleeping, and he wants to keep sleeping. (Harley warned Damian about this. She told him Tim is a Teenager now, and sometimes Teenagers want to sleep more, especially in the mornings. It's already five am!)

Damian's birthday isn't a surprise like Tim's. Damian knows exactly when his birthday is, and he's been waiting. As soon as he wakes up in the morning, he goes to get Tim.

Tim is still sleeping, and he wants to keep sleeping. (Harley warned Damian about this. She told him Tim is a Teenager now, and sometimes Teenagers want to sleep more, especially in the mornings. It's already five am!)

He goes to get Mom.

“Okay, in a minute, sweetie,” she says, and then she falls asleep again.

Damian sits on the floor to think. Who should he wake up next? Who will get up with him?

Alfred and Jason come out of their rooms while he’s thinking. They’ve been playing this game where whoever gets to the kitchen first gets to do the most work for breakfast. Damian thinks that’s a little backwards—shouldn’t the person who loses the race have to do more work?

He stands up and runs down the hall to catch Jason.

“It’s my birthday,” he says.

“It is. Happy birthday.”

“Mom and Tim are still sleeping.”

“Well, it’s early still. We’ll wake them up in time for breakfast, okay?”

“Okay. What is breakfast today?”

“Traditionally,” Alfred says, “breakfast is the birthday boy’s choice. What would you like?”

“Pancakes.”

“Pancakes it is, then. Would you like to help?”

Damian nods. Pancakes are fun.

Brucie gets up in time to help add chocolate chips and blueberries to the pancakes. (But not to the same pancakes—Jason said no.) By the time the pancakes are done, Dick and Cass and Mom and Pam are up, too. Pam goes to wake up Harley, and Dick goes to wake up Tim.

“Now I can open presents?” Damian asks, when everyone is finally, finally done eating.

“Now you can open presents,” Dick agrees.

“Finally.”

-

The children—the new children, the only ones who are actually children—are tearing through the house with the hyenas. Brucie is lying on the floor, under a pile of wrapping paper, his hair hot pink. (A number of things in the room are hot pink; Damian took to dying Brucie’s hair with great enthusiasm, and his aim was poor.) Alfred sits on the couch above him, having been forbidden to assist with clean-up.

Everything is so different from life at the manor, and still so familiar.

One of the hyenas sniffs at his hand, and Brucie emerges from his pile of paper. It makes a noise something like a bark, runs off, and returns with a massive ball for Brucie to throw.

The other hyena has stopped chasing Tim to bat at a large bow.

Dick drops onto the couch next to Alfred. “I don’t think we’re actually getting this cleaned any time soon.”

“Well, as long as they’re having fun.”

They watch as Tim and Damian confer in the corner of the room. After a moment, they select something from the pile of Damian’s gifts, and approach the couch.

“Hey, guys,” Dick says. “What’s up?”

Damian holds out something—a sticker, perhaps? It appears to be a walrus.

“Oh. For Alfred?”

Both boys nod.

“Cool. Alfie, can Tim give you a tattoo?”

“I suppose so.”

Tim steps forward to apply the walrus to his forehead. Both boys study him for a moment, and then dart away again.

“They covered Brucie in tattoos,” Dick says. “It made him feel less like Owlman.”

Alfred nods. The situation with Tim is…strange. As he understands it, Tim isn't actually afraid of Alfred himself, but Alfred’s presence causes some anxiety about the nature of reality.

(He never thought there could be a version of Bruce he hated.)

“He’ll warm up to you,” Dick says. “I think he really liked the fake you.”

“I wish we knew what became of the real me in that world. I can’t imagine he would have allowed Bruce to—but then I can hardly imagine that Bruce would ever want to—”

“Yeah. I would have just assumed you were evil there, too, but then why would Owlman have made the fake you kind?”

Cass flops down on the couch between them. “Brucie looks silly,” she reports, as if they might have failed to notice.

The children run past again, Damian jumping neatly over Brucie’s prone form.

“They’re so hyper,” Jason says, leaning on the back of the couch behind them. “We haven’t even had cake yet. How hyper are they going to be after cake?”

“You did insist on chocolate chips and chocolate syrup for the pancakes,” Alfred reminds him.

They won’t be having cake until after lunch; hopefully that will allow enough time for the current sugar rush to resolve before beginning again.

-

Talia has been playing farm animals with Damian for about fifteen minutes, with the new barn, and the cows and pigs and chickens it came with, and the fluffy sheep Brucie found, just a little too large to go with the rest of the set, when she looks over and finds him lying on the ground, sound asleep.

Well. He has been up since five am.

She picks him up and carries him to bed; they’ll have lunch and cake and ice cream whenever he wakes up.

She checks on Tim, who looks up from his game with the hyenas to smile at her, wide and genuine and not at all anxious, and then joins Alfred in kitchen. He’s gotten around the instructions not to help with gift clean up by cleaning up the kitchen instead.

“Is that a walrus?”

“I believe so.”

“Well, at least they didn’t dye your hair. Are these ones clean or dirty?”

She feels more qualified to help with the dishes than she does to assist in the surprising contentious world of wrapping paper clean-up. (Do they throw it away? Do they save it to reuse on another occasion? Why would they throw it away—did they not buy recyclable wrapping paper? "We don't have a recycling bin, Pam." "Then it should have been biodegradable. Wait. What have you been doing with the other recyclables? What have you been doing with your trash?")

(Apparently Jason drives it into town on his grocery runs and throws it in the first dumpster he finds. And the wrapping paper is neither recyclable nor biodegradable.)

Alfred hands her a dish towel, and she gets to work.

She likes Alfred. He's steady and kind and makes the others so happy.

She would have gotten rid of him, for the children. But she hadn't worked out how she'd have done it; she really didn't want to kill him, even then. She likes not killing people. And her relationship with the other adults in the house would never have recovered.

Maybe she could have convinced them to set him up in town, where they could visit without him invading the children's space.

But it doesn't matter; she doesn't have to do anything about it. Damian is happy to have another person to play with as long as Tim thinks it's safe. Tim still mostly keeps his distance, always watching, always wary, but his expression looks, to Talia, more like longing than fear.

Brucie joins them, likely driven away like her by the noise of the argument, and the three of them work in companionable silence until the kitchen is clean.

-

Tim carries Damian’s new toys into his room, onto his bed, one at a time until he’s buried under a pile of stuffed animals even bigger than the pile of wrapping paper they buried Brucie under earlier.

He doesn’t wake up, no matter how many toys Tim adds to the pile.

Damian’s timing isn't great. If he’d woken up at a normal time this morning, they could all be eating cake right now.

Tim might have been kind of hoping the toy mountain would wake him. But it didn’t, and he's not going to do anything else to try to wake him up. That would be mean—Dami’s still little, and it’s his birthday. He can spend it sleeping if he wants.

The hyenas are napping, too, and the grown-ups are cleaning. Tim doesn’t want to get roped into that, so he sneaks over to his own bedroom to play on the computer.

They’re going to start doing school, soon, on their computers. Tim forgot about school. He thinks he might have gone someplace for it, maybe, when he was really little, but maybe he’s wrong. Maybe going to school was just a story his parents told him. Or maybe he's thinking of daycare. He knows he wasn’t going to school when Owlman took him. He doesn’t think anybody went to school anymore; parents wanted to keep their kids close and safe, mostly.

He can read. His parents taught him to read, and to add and subtract. He tries to think about the things they learn in school, in books and movies. Fancy math. History. Science. Maybe he can make a volcano? He thinks he’d like making a volcano. Languages? Gym?

School will be fun, he thinks. He likes learning things.

His bedroom door opens—without knocking, which means it’s Damian, because the grown-ups always knock first. He has his favorite stuffed dog in one hand, and his new stuffed cow in the other, the dog dangling by the ear and the clow by the back hoof.

“I fell asleep,” he reports.

“Yeah. They said we could have lunch when you woke up.”

“And then cake?”

“And then cake.”

“Did you take pictures of Brucie’s hair?”

“Yep.”

“Can we do our hair after lunch?” he asks.

“I want mine to be blue.”

“Okay. I wanna be green. But cake first.”

Chapter 67

Summary:

“I don’t think normal people hear and feel plants, Pam.”

“Are you sure?” Pam sounds deeply skeptical.

They've started teaching Damian to read. He already knew his numbers and his letters, at least, though not how to use them, and it goes smoothly at first. Talia is impressed by how quickly he learns, until she remembers that he learns quickly because her husband tortured him when he didn't, and then she has to hand the lesson off to Jason so she can go throw up.

The second time Damian tenses up after admitting he doesn't understand something, Talia gives up on teaching altogether; she just keeps remembering what Talon told her, every time anything doesn't go perfectly.

(She's spoken to Talon once more, to apologize and thank him for her father. The conversation had gone well except for the part where he mentioned Bruce sending one of the older Talons after an Alfred Pennyworth, leaving Talia with the task of telling her new family about another of her husband's crimes.)

Jason and Alfred take over Damian's education; Talia sticks to reading to him every day, and helping Tim with his math.

-

All of his friends have given him numbers for their current secure lines; Babs made a list. He calls Roy first, because he was planning to call Roy even before Alfred showed up.

He's a little annoyed that Roy sicced Babs on them, after Jay very specifically did not share a location or even contact information, but he knows he would have done the same, if one of his friends had been missing for years. And they got Alfred back, so it's not like he can really be that upset.

Roy talks about Lian, and he talks about Tim and Damian, and they don't talk about Batman or Green Arrow. And it's so good. He wishes—he wishes he could see him. Really see him, in person. All of them. But they can't have a parade of superheroes in and out of the house all the time; they've already gotten too much attention from Pam and Harley, and they've hardly even come and gone lately.

Babs next, he thinks. And after that—he still doesn't know how to contact Donna or Kori or Garth, and Wally is—Wally is gone. Maybe he'll call Raven next. Then Gar. Vic. Mal and Karen.

There are so many people to talk to.

He doesn't want to rush it, though. He hasn't even read all his letters yet. It's been just him and his family for so long. And he really missed his friends. But it's so much, after everything.

-

"Do you feel safe with Alfred?" Harley asks Tim.

"I—I think so."

"Okay. How about Talia?"

"Yes." Talia is safe. He knows Alfred is safe, too, but knowing and feeling are different. He keeps having dreams that Alfred flickers away, and Owlman is back.

"Are you still having the dreams?" Harley asks, like she can read his mind, and he nods. "Do you still feel safe with Brucie?"

He nods again. Brucie is not Owlman. Owlman never looks like Brucie in his dreams. He's always wearing his mask.

"That's good. Have you tried the masking device yet?"

"No."

"Do you want to talk about why?"

"I—I dunno. Maybe because it's not real?"

"Hm. Does it remind you of the virtual reality, with the fake Alfred?"

"Maybe."

"Okay. Well, you know you don't have to use it. Even if you want to go out in public, we have other options."

He knows. It just feels—stupid. It feels like failing. He doesn't even know if that's why he doesn't want it. He just feels weird about it.

"Tim?"

"I know," he says.

"Good. How are you feeling about the school stuff?"

"It's okay." He fiddles with the fancy pillow. "I like it better when you guys help me than when I do it on the computer alone."

"How would you feel about having Alfred help you a little with English and history? You wouldn't have to be alone with him."

"Okay."

"You know you're allowed to say no, right?"

"I know."

"You're allowed to change your mind later, too."

"I know," he says again. He wants to feel safe with Alfred. He loved fake Alfred. Fake Alfred was the only thing that felt safe, when he was there.

-

“It’s plastic,” Pam says, poking dubiously at the fake plant that’s taken up residence on Talia’s dresser.

“It is.”

“But why?”

Talia frowns at her. “Surely you’ve seen a fake plant before.”

“Of course I have. I just don’t understand it.”

“How is a plastic succulent any different from a stuffed animal?”

“A stuffed animal is soft, and it looks friendly—children can carry them around, and pretend, and be comforted, without the responsibility of a living creature. Plants are—a plastic plant is nothing. You can’t feel it. You can’t hear it.”

“I don’t think normal people hear and feel plants, Pam.”

“Are you sure?” Pam sounds deeply skeptical.

“Pretty sure.”

“We need data. Two people is not an adequate sample size.”

Talia sighs. She glances out into the hall. "Oh, perfect. Brucie, c'mere."

"Yeah?"

"Brucie, do you hear plants?" she asks.

He comes to stand in the open door. "Um. Am I supposed to?"

"No," Talia says.

"Maybe," Pam says.

Talia looks down the hallway again. "Cass, do you hear plants?"

"No."

"All right," Pam says. "But still. I could get you a real one. Wouldn't a real one be better?"

"This one has sentimental value."

"Can I go now?" Brucie asks.

"What? Of, yes, of course."

"What kind of sentimental value?" Pam asks as Brucie wanders away.

"It was a gift from my husband."

"Your evil husband, who murdered your son multiple times?"

Talia glowers at her. "I'm keeping the plant."

"Fine. But if you ever want a real one..."

"I kept killing the real ones. I'm sure you don't want that."

"No," Pam admits.

"Come on. You said you'd help me redecorate, and all we've done is argue about succulents."

-

"Your culinary skills have improved significantly," Alfred says.

Cass smiles. "Jay said everybody cooks, or everybody doesn't eat. He does it mostly, anyway. But made me learn. I do lots of dishwashing, now."

"It's important to have these skills; I suppose you and Dick had to cook while Jason was away on his crime spree?"

She nods. "And Talia." She thinks Jason thinks it's weird that Talia's good at cooking. Or maybe just the way she's good at cooking? He said "she cooks like a poor person," once, which Cass thinks makes sense, since she learned to cook while she was poor and in hiding with baby Dami. But Cass doesn't know the here-Talia. She probably never had to cook like a poor person.

"I like cooking with you," she tells Alfred. "Jason and Talia and Pam are bossy. Dick and Harley are chaos. But mostly I just missed you."

"I missed you, too," he says. "Very much."

Cass looks at the table behind them. The kids are coloring, sort of. Damian is coloring a little, but mostly watching Tim. Tim is coloring the same section over and over, without looking, mostly watching her and Alfred.

Whenever Tim looks at Alfred he feels afraid and lonely and longing, and they need the afraid to go away before they can work on the other parts.

"Tim, do you want to help us cook?" she asks.

He sets down his marker. "Am I allowed to use knives?"

Cass looks to Alfred. She knows she is more in charge of Tim than Alfred is, but Alfred's a lot more of an adult than she is; he'll know better.

"You are allowed to use butter knives," Alfred decides.

"Can I help too?" Damian asks.

"Of course," Alfred says. "You, I think, are allowed to use a whisk."

"I like whisks! Jason lets me when we make cookies."

"Can I use a whisk, too?" Tim asks.

"Certainly. Cassandra, where exactly do we keep the whisks?"

Cass has no idea. She starts opening drawers.

-

"Everything's ready," Barbara says. "Talia came through. I'd say a week, maybe, until it breaks."

"Shall I tell them?" Alfred asks.

"If you like."

"Hm. Perhaps I'll leave it as a pleasant surprise. Dick would like to speak with you. I'm to give you a number for him, and an email address for Tim, as well. He'd like to get you up to speed on the multiverse."

"That sounds great. And—and the others?"

"I'm afraid that Cassandra is not quite over the two years she spent thinking you were dead. Jason—it's not about you. He's struggling with me, a bit, too. I think he feels odd about having...grown up, when we weren't expecting him to. He just needs a bit more time. I suspect that by the time things have settled, they'll be ready. Perhaps we could organize a visit."

"Do you think they'll come home?"

"I'm quite certain they won't. If I thought they were considering it, I'd discourage them. It would be a media circus, and they have the children, on top of their own issues."

"All right. I'll call Dick later. Thank you, Alfred."

Chapter 68

Summary:

“Would you be attracted to Brucie if he didn’t share a face with your husband?”

She doesn’t answer.

“Talia?”

“I’m thinking.”

“You see how that isn't a good sign, right?”

She’s sitting with Brucie on the couch—the kids were both here with them, watching a movie, but one of the hyenas wanted to go out, and Tim, Damian, and the other hyena all followed, and that was nearly twenty minutes ago, so she doesn’t think they’re coming back. It’s fine. Cass and Jason are out there working on something, so they’ll be adequately supervised.

“Are you watching this?” she asks.

“Hm?” Brucie looks up. “Oh, no, I’m not.”

She goes to turn off the cartoon the kids were watching—the remote’s gone missing sometime in the last couple days—then hesitates in front of the couch.

“I’d like to try something,” she says.

“All right.”

-

Pam and Harley come just in time to catch the end of the kiss—Talia moving from where she’s been basically straddling him, Brucie staring at her for a moment, then standing and fleeing the room. He looks upset. They both look upset.

"Shit,” Harley says. “Pam, go talk to Brucie."

"Why do I have to talk to Brucie?"

"Brucie needs a friend. Talia needs a therapist."

"You know I'm not good at this kind of thing." She makes a broad gesture Harley thinks is meant to encompass "anything not involving plants."

"Well, you're better at friendship than therapy. Go find him."

Pam goes.

“Talia?”

She looks up. “Oh. Um. You—”

“Saw that? Yeah. Let’s go to my office.” She tries—hard—not to sound like a school principal, but she’s not sure she manages it.

“So,” Harley says, when they’re safely locked away. “Did you talk about that first?”

“Um, kind of?”

“So no,” Harley concludes.

“He—he kissed me back. It was just—after, that he…”

“Ran away?”

"I thought he liked me,” she says.

"I think he does. I think that's the problem."

"What?"

Harley sighs. "Have you ever done anything with anyone other than Bruce? Handholding, kissing, going on a date?"

She shakes her head.

"So your only romantic and sexual experience is with the supervillain who groomed you."

"He didn't—"

"You met at sixteen and twenty one. Dickie Wayne is sixteen, Talia. Tim Wayne isn't even twenty one yet; he’s twenty. Imagine if they were boyfriends instead of brothers." Well, Dickie was born sixteen years ago; physically and mentally he's closer to thirteen. Harley decides that detail isn't relevant to the point she's trying to make.

Talia grimaces. "Yes. He's my only experience."

“Brucie has lots of experience, and all of it has been with women who want to use him for something.”

“I don’t,” she says.

“You don’t want to use him to pretend that your husband wasn’t evil?”

“I know—I know Bruce was…”

“Evil,” Harley says again. “Would you be attracted to Brucie if he didn’t share a face with your husband?”

She doesn’t answer.

“Talia?”

“I’m thinking.”

“You see how that isn't a good sign, right?”

“No, it’s not—I just—I want to get it right. It’s important.”

“All right. How about you tell me what you like about Brucie?”

"How good he is with the kids. How patient he is. How willing he is to help people and try new things. How easily he admits when he doesn't know something. How he doesn't take himself seriously. How he talks with his hands. How excited he gets about things. I like—I like his smile. It's not like Bruce's smile. It's—I do. I like him. I think him being Bruce Wayne makes it—I think I would have liked him faster if he wasn't an alternate version of my husband."

"Okay. So you actually like him. That's a good start. But you see how someone who looks exactly like your dead husband, especially someone who we know is kind of insecure, someone who considers himself a downgrade from other Bruce Waynes, and someone you didn't really talk to before kissing, would maybe assume you didn't actually like him?"

"Yes," Talia admits.

"And do you see how if you started a relationship that ended badly, we would all have a mess on our hands, since you live in the same house? And you're both refugees from alternate realities, so neither of you can easily leave the house?"

"Yes."

"All of which is why we talk before we kiss."

"I messed up."

"You messed up," Harley agrees.

"But you think he likes me?"

"I think you need to talk to him," Harley says, because she's been trying to be better about medical ethics, and also Brucie is her friend, and she's not going to gossip about him with someone who just upset him.

Okay! Therapy accomplished. Shovel talk time!

“If you hurt him—” She pauses. What threat can she get away with carrying out? Murder is off the table, in this house, and she doesn’t think maiming Damian’s mom will go well, either. “If you hurt him I’ll tell Alfred,” she decides. Harley can’t get away with murder, but she bets the old man can.

-

"Come in," Brucie says when someone knocks, before he realizes it's probably Talia, and he doesn't want her to come in, actually—he needs time to think, first. He's a slow thinker, and she—it was so fast.

It's not Talia, though; it's Pam.

"Harley said I should come talk to you," she says, closing the door behind her.

"Oh. Okay?"

"So. Did you not want her to kiss you? Because we were all kind of betting you did."

"Betting?"

"Just me and Harley! We weren't all getting together and discussing your love life, or anything."

"I did," he says. "Want her to. I just—didn't think she actually would?"

"So were you just surprised, or were you upset? You look upset."

"I didn't think she would because I couldn't—I can't think of a reason she would want to, except that I'm a non-evil person in her husband's body, which would be convenient for—for pretending, wouldn't it?"

"I don't know; I've never been much for pretending. But Brucie, there's plenty of reasons to want to kiss you. You're hot and sweet and great with her kid."

"I'm identical to her husband, but nicer."

"Exactly."

"That's not—that's not a good thing, Pam. Or maybe it's a good thing for her, but not for me. It's not—it's not about me. It's always been about money, or fame, or—I want it to be about me."

He knew it wasn't about him, with Selina, and he convinced himself that it was fine, because he was lonely, but she robbed him and left, so it wasn't fine, clearly.

Pam frowns. She opens his door again, and leans out into the hall. "Bud! Come!"

He does; Brucie pets him.

"Great," Pam says. "Just—lick him or something. Make him feel better."

Bud doesn't lick on command, but he does jump up on the bed so he's pretty much in Brucie's lap. Brucie smiles. Pam looks relieved.

"Thanks, Pam."

She nods. "Harley is talking to her. Otherwise she would have been here; she's better at comforting people. But she didn't think I could handle chewing out Talia, so."

He thinks that’s probably because Pam is thinking of it as chewing her out.

“I’m going to go find Lou,” he says, because Pam looks like she wants out of this conversation.

“I think he’s still outside,” she says.

He is, along with the kids, all three of them huddled under a gigantic, leafy plant.

“Brucie!” Damian hisses. “You have to hide.”

Brucie and Bud join them under the plant.

“We’re being dinosaurs,” Damian explains.

“I’m a stegosaurus,” Tim reports.

"I'm a triceratops, and Lou is a rhinoceros."

Tim sighs. "I told him that's not a dinosaur."

"It should be."

"It's a mammal!"

"So why are we hiding?" Brucie asks.

"Jason is a T-rex."

He looks over at Jason, who's sitting in one of Pam's hammocks reading a book. "Does Jason know he's a T-rex?"

"Nope."

"Okay. What kind of dinosaur should I be?"

-

Brucie is playing with the kids by the time Talia gets away from Harley. He stays with them until dinner, and he and Harley disappear together as soon as they're done eating. Which means Talia doesn't get a chance to talk to him until the next day.

"Hi," she says.

"Hi."

"I'm sorry. Apparently well-adjusted people have conversations first."

"I wouldn't know; well-adjusted people aren't interested in me."

“Brucie, I…the fact that you share a face with my ex-husband is my least favorite thing about you," she says. "I mean, it's a very nice face. But I—it's you. It's you."

"Are you—are you sure?"

"I'm sure. I shouldn't have done that; we should probably take it a lot slower, if you want to take it at all. But I'm sure.”

“All right,” Brucie says. “Slow. I think I’d like that.”

Notes:

FYI, Harley is wrong; Dickie is 17.

Chapter 69

Summary:

"President Luthor arrested for intergalactic crime."

Jason, Cass, and Alfred are all in the kitchen when Dick wakes up. It's one of those rare occasions where only their original family is gathered, though not on purpose. Both kids are still sleeping—they stayed up too late last night, probably, finishing that movie—and Talia's been roped into helping Pam in the garden. Dick's not sure where Harley and Brucie are.

"Good morning," Alfred says. "I recommend checking the news before breakfast.”

"Um, okay." Dick takes out his phone. Jason leans in to read over his shoulder.

"Holy shit," Jay says.

"President Luthor arrested for intergalactic crime," is the headline. There's a photo of him being taken away—up into space—by several Green Lanterns.

Cass comes to look over Dick's other shoulder. “Space jail?”

"Do they even have jurisdiction?" Dick asks.

"Who's going to tell them they don't?" Jay counters. "He's gone after anyone powerful enough to defend him."

They're several time zones away from any part of the States; the news broke in the middle of the night, local time, and there have been several hours’ worth of developments since the arrest.

"Go read it on the big screen in your work room," Alfred suggests. "I'll handle breakfast."

They go. Dick opens every article he can find.

"LexCorp CEO Talia Head to Testify Against Luthor at Oa."

"Emergency UN Meeting Crashed by Ousted Themysciran Representative Donna Troy."

"Exclusive Interview with Green Lantern Guy Gardner!"

"Superboy Speaks Out: Luthor's Long History of Sentient Experimentation."

"I'm calling Babs," Dick announces. He's the only one that's talked to her so far, and he knows Jay and Cass both feel weird about it, for different reasons. But she'll have so much more information than the internet. (Alfred probably knows a lot, too. But he sent them off to research alone, maybe so they would have to call Babs. Dick's conversation with her had been brief and awkward, but it had been something. He knows how much she wants to talk to the others.)

She answers right away. "Dick! You saw?"

"I saw. We all did; I've got Cass and Jay here. You're on speaker."

"Oh. Hi, Cass. Hi, Jason."

"Hi, Barbara," Jason says.

"So," Dick says, before Cass can decide if she wants to talk. "Give us details."

-

It's a very business-like call. But it's also a call with all three of the surviving, in-universe Waynes; she'll take what she can get.

(She did talk to Tim, a couple days ago. He'd called her, and she didn't have time to give the conversation the attention Tim deserved, but he connected her to about a dozen different worlds, which she's sure will be very useful, once she's handled the current situation. She'll call him back, once things have settled.)

She tells Dick, Cass, and Jason everything. How she contacted Barry in the future, and convinced him to give her future knowledge to help take down Lex. How Black Adam took in Captain Marvel and Co when staying in the states, even in child form, got too dangerous, and how Billy convinced Adam, who convinced a handful of other supervillains, to hand over evidence of crimes they committed with Lex.

"A lot of villains sided with Luthor, of course—people on his side are allowed to have meta abilities. But a lot sided with us, too, eventually. Black Adam's been a big help. Deathstroke managed to smuggle several people out of the country for us before Luthor caught on—his kids guilt-tripped him hard. Shiva didn't want to actually help us—although she did make sure you were safely out of the country, Cass—but she's not actively working against us, either. Several Flash villains came down on our side. Cheetah. Bane.
"I sent Billy to Antarctica to track down Clark. All of them are American citizens, but Clark and Kara's papers are forged. Jon was actually born here, has a birth certificate and everything, so I was hoping we could do something with Lex deliberately building poison into the city he lived in, but Lois and Clark wanted to preserve his secret ID if possible. Kon doesn't have a legal birth certificate or any sort of citizenship paperwork, but there's plenty of evidence of what Lex did to him, and he was willing to testify about it. That'll help a little, since he's a recognizable figure, and biologically Lex's son.

"Themyscira got booted from the UN because they weren't willing to recognize a country that couldn't be identified on a map, but they were still willing to help once I was able to contact them.”

((Lex was right that there was technically no proof Themyscira even existed. But everyone knew they existed! They'd been in the UN for years.)

"I think we could have managed without Talia, but she was a huge help once Alfred got her on board. And if Lex ever makes his way back to earth, I've got so many judges ready to go after him for what he did to Tim, now that there’s proof. But I couldn't trust anyone here to handle him—he's gotten away with so much, even before he was president."

"So how'd you get Oa involved?" Dick asks.

"I was looking for something to help Clark, originally. Hal put me in touch with some space lawyers. They told me that since Kon is 50% Kryptonian, he would have been granted automatic Kryptonian citizenship at birth, and since he entered our orbit legally, any experimentation done on him by another planet would have been against intergalactic law, if any Kryptonians were left to enforce it. What he did with the Bizarros, too. And then my space lawyers gave me a list of planets with similar laws, and told me what scale of crime would be needed before the Guardians could skip formal inquiries and extradition requests, and just take him directly into custody."

"How many aliens was he experimenting on," Jason asks, "and how did he get them all? What does 'entering orbit legally' mean?"

"Being here legally per Oa standards means that you were born here, obtained permission to enter orbit from some recognized government official, obtained permission to stay after entering orbit from a recognized official, or are considered exempt from obtained permission by extenuating circumstances, to be determined on a case by case basis. Clark would likely have been considered exempt because he entered orbit alone and too young to know or understand intergalactic law. Aliens who are brought on planet by a third party who should have been responsible for the proper documentation are generally exempt—abandoned or orphaned children, aliens brought here as prisoners of other aliens, aliens brought here by earthlings, things like that. Aliens that invaded earth wouldn't be protected by Oa laws, and usually most of the aliens who come here are invaders. So we had to get creative."

"Creative how?"

"J'onn was originally brought here by American scientists, so he's here legally. He got himself captured. Experimentation ensued."

"J'onn got kidnapped and experimented on deliberately?"

"J'onn and a handful of metas who were born here but offered citizenship on other planets due to the state of affairs. Lex wouldn't think of them as aliens, but legally they are, with dual citizenship on Earth." The whole thing was terrible, but they were all capable adults who volunteered. The part she feels really guilty about, though, even if it did get results... "And I let a group of alien invaders get really close a couple months ago."

"How close?" Dick asks. Cass still hasn't said a word; Barbara wouldn't know she was there if Dick hadn't said.

"They were almost in earth's orbit when I shut down their navigation systems. They had to deploy escape pods, and the Lanterns picked up all of them except for the one containing over forty prisoners of war collected at the ship's last destination. The pod landed in Idaho. I gave it a week after Lex picked them up, and then reported it to Oa."

"You let forty innocent people get captured and experimented on?"

"I did." And she wishes she hadn't had to. But she's been trying to hold the whole freaking world together, while they were hiding in the jungle, and she's done what she had to do. "They would have suffered worse if they'd reached their intended destination, and the Lanterns are getting them all home now. Between this and his continued attempts to clone Superman, he's screwed."

"I thought the clone experiments didn't matter legally since Krypton is gone?"

"They didn't. Until I convinced a nearby planet to grant citizenship to all surviving Kryptonians. So Kon and all other clones with at least 50% Kryptonian DNA are now protected by intergalactic law.

"It'll take several months yet to get Lex formally removed from power, and to get his anti-meta and anti-vigilante laws appealed. But it'll help that his illegal experiments indicate clear anti-meta bias. By this time next year things might be nearly normal."

"I don't like it," Dick says. "But I wasn't there. I'm sure you did what you thought you had to."

"What about Damian?" Jason asks.

"What about him?"

"Luthor was protecting him from Ra's. If Talia turned on Luthor..."

"They were protected as much by being so frequently in the public eye as by any specific measures he took, and with all this, they'll be even more in the public eye than before. But I've got some people on standby if Ra's tries something, and Black Adam has formally offered asylum, though I don't know yet if Talia will accept it."

"Are we friends with Black Adam now?" Dick asks.

"Kind of. Somehow."

"I feel like he's a bad influence on you," Jason says, and his tone is mostly joking, but she just—

"Okay, first of all, I personally have not been interacting with him much; Billy can guilt-trip him into almost anything. And you weren't here. I did what I had to do. How many murders have you committed since coming back to life?"

"How do you even know about that?"

"I'm Oracle." Talia mentioned it, when they made their deal, and she'd done some digging, after. "If you wanted to take out Lex without anyone else getting hurt, then you should have come out of hiding and helped me. Not a single one of those aliens died or even suffered permanent damage, and I had three people undercover in the labs to intervene if things went south. They would all have been murdered by their captors if I hadn't forced them to use the escape pods. I have saved the planet over a dozen times while you've been hiding in the jungle playing house, so unless you want to try somehow filling the roles of Batman, Superman, Wonder Woman, and the Flash by yourself, while protecting an entire nation's worth of superheroes and meta-powered people from a mad scientist with the backing of the US government, you can shut the fuck up about my methods."

There's a long silence on the other end of the line.

She shouldn't have lost her temper. She's been safe because everyone thought she was dead; their covers were blown, and they had to go into hiding to survive. And she knows letting those people get captured and experimented on was awful, she hates herself for doing it, so how can she blame anyone else for hating it, too? Hardly anyone even knows she orchestrated that—she shouldn't have told them.

She's just so tired. It's been a long six years.

"Dick's right," Jason says, finally. "I'm sure you did your best."

She's about to answer when the alert goes off on her phone. "I have to go. Donna's finally done with the UN for now, and she wants to talk. Dick, I'll have her call you later, okay? I know you guys were close."

"Okay. Thanks, Babs."

"Yeah. Um. I'll talk to you more later. Cass, if you're still there, I'm so sorry I let you think I was dead. I love you. I'll call you guys when things settle down a little."

"Okay," Cass says. "Bye, Babs."

It isn't much, but it's the most she's gotten. She'll take it, and she'll work for more when she has room to breathe.

-

She understands Tim, now. The way he was in the beginning, how he didn't want to talk to them, not really, even though she could see he missed them.

They didn't mean to abandon Tim, but they still did, and it still hurt, and getting them back didn't make it go away.

Barbara probably only meant Cass to think she was dead for a few weeks. She shouldn't have let Cass think it at all, but she didn't know that the whole world would fall apart, and Cass would spend years mourning her. She didn't mean to, but it still hurt, and Cass doesn't want to talk to her. Even though she misses her.

But Barbara is too busy to really talk now, anyway. Cass has some time to get ready.

She didn't let herself think about talking to Babs again, because she didn't know if she would ever get a chance. Now she needs to think.

But first she's going to text Tim.

-

“Did you know?” Dick asks Alfred.

“About Oa coming for Lex?”

“About the aliens we let him experiment on.”

“Sometimes we have to make choices we don’t like, for the sake of those who depend upon us.”

“So, yes.”

“Yes,” Alfred agrees.

Dick sighs. It’s all just—he’s glad he's here. He’s really glad he’s here, far away from—all of that. All the things Babs has to do.

“I’m glad she had you, at least.”

“I was glad to be there for her. But I’m happier to be here.”

“Yeah,” Dick says. “Yeah, we’re happier with you here, too.”

It’s been…he’s sure it’s been much harder, being Oracle. But it’s been hard here, too. And Alfred is—Alfred knows how to be a dad, and a grandpa. Dick only really knows how to be a brother, and he’s not always even great at that.

He does pretty good, he thinks, most of the time. But Alfred is someone who actually knows what he’s doing, who has decades of experience doing it. And it’s such a relief to have him here.

“Would you like to help me with the laundry?” Alfred asks.

“I told you I could take care of that.”

“We can take care of it together.”

“Okay, yeah. Together.”

Notes:

One more chapter!

Chapter 70

Summary:

All the people he loves most in this world are in this room, no farther than a couch away.

"Am I making a mistake?" he asks Alfred.

"Why do you think you might be?"

"Well. I usually am."

Alfred frowns. His new Bruce is, at times, shockingly insecure. He's learned a basic history, by now, and is waiting for a good opportunity to venture into the multiverse and break Philip Kane's nose. "I cannot think of a single mistake you've made since I arrived here."

"When I helped you cook the--"

"I can think of only a single mistake you've made since I've arrived here. And an easily rectified one, at that. My other son has set the kitchen on fire no less than three times over the years."

"I set the dorm kitchen on fire in college once," he says. "You—other you—never let me get that far at home."

"A wise man. Do you think you're making a mistake?"

"My cousin called me yesterday. And she asked about our trip, and she told me all about her new Talon roommates, and it was like—it was like she actually liked talking to me. And I didn't tell her about Talia, but I know she would think it was so, so stupid."

"Has Miss Kate ever met Talia?"

"No."

"Well, then."

"She used to be married to a different me. A smarter, stronger me."

"An evil, awful you," Alfred counters.

He shrugs.

"Brucie. Do you think you're making a mistake?"

"I think I'm bad at this. The last time I really liked someone, she robbed me. Twice."

Selina, Alfred assumes. He takes a moment to gather his thoughts. "I think that Talia is a lovely young woman who would not harm you on purpose. She seems to make you happy, and I like to see you happy. That does not mean that entering a romantic relationship with a roommate is without its risks. Nor is entering a relationship with a woman who has a complex, traumatic history with your doppelganger. It is a decision you must make for yourself."

"I want to," Brucie says.

"Then do."

He nods. "It won't be like Selina. It won't—she can't take anything that matters. Everyone here will love me no matter what happens with Talia."

"We will," Alfred agrees.

-

"Hi," Cass says to the video of Barbara on her tablet. She feels weird and off-balance, like her first couple video calls with Tim but in reverse, like trying to remember how to be Dick's sister but worse.

"Hi, Cass."

"Bruce sent me away. You let me think you were dead. I didn't know Tim was in trouble until it was over. I didn't know how to get home, or how to call anyone, and I was alone. Jay had to almost start over, teaching me to talk, because I didn't have anyone to practice with for years. I was alone."

"I'm so sorry, Cassie. I was scared, and I didn't think things through, and by the time the panic was fading, by the time I was thinking of you, the whole world was falling apart, and you were out of my reach."

"I mourned. For years."

"I'm sorry," she says again. And she means it, Cass knows she means it, she can't lie to Cass. She is so, so sorry; every part of her body that's in the screen says so.

And Cass is still hurt, and angry, and she wants to stop but she doesn't know how.

"I missed you," she says, because she wouldn't be so hurt and angry if she didn't.

"I missed you too," Babs says. "Maybe in a few months, when things are a little safer for people like us—"

"Yes," Cass says. "Yes. Then we will visit." It will be easier, in person. Video is better than audio, but it's so much easier in person. Bodies say more than voices, but bodies say the most when they can touch each other. Everything felt so much more right with Tim at the beach, when she could finally hug him.

Something beeps on Barbara's side of the call, and she swears.

"Talk more later?" Cass asks.

"Definitely. Love you, Cass."

And then she's gone, answering the alarm, saving the world.

Cass doesn't miss it. She loved helping people. But there are people she can help here, too, and she doesn't have to fight to do it, doesn't have to be anything like her first father tried to make her.

She doesn't miss it. Dick doesn't either; they haven't talked, but she can see it. Jason...Jason needs to do things, sometimes. And he's dead, so no one knows he's him. So maybe he'll go save the world a little bit, now that things are changing. But she knows he'll always be careful, and always come home; he loves them too much not to.

And maybe she will help, sometimes, because she loves him too.

Anyway, it is a problem for later.

All four of her brothers—all four of her here-brothers—are on the floor playing Candyland. It looks like the game is almost over; she'll join them for the next one.

-

Tim goes through his scrapbook, carefully picking out his favorite pictures. Jason says next time he goes into town for groceries, he'll make copies, so Tim can put the old ones back in the scrapbook and the new ones up on his wall. He's going to get the disposable film developed, too. (Tim didn't want to ask, the last time they went into town, because that time was about Damian and his birthday.)

He looks at the pictures of his mom and his dad and little him. And he looks up at his wall, at the picture of the three of them together, at the picture of just the two of them, at pictures of frogs, and the hyenas, and Damian, and everyone. Everyone but him. And he realizes that there are lots of pictures of him in his room, counting the scrapbook, and none of them are of him as a Talon. As the him he's been since he was eight, the him he mostly remembers being. He knows the grown-ups have taken pictures of him. But he doesn't have any.

He grabs his Polaroid camera.

Damian is in the living room with Talia, playing with the barn. He really, really likes the barn, especially the cows and the fluffy, too-big sheep.

(He’s glad they have everybody here now. He loves Damian so much, in a special, different way from how he loves the rest of the family, and he loves playing with him, sometimes. But he’s happy that sometimes other people will play Damian’s baby games with him, and he can do his own thing and not always worry about him.)

He gives the camera to Talia. "I need you to take a picture of me and Dami," he says.

“Sure.”

She waits for them to get into position, Tim hugging Damian, both of them smiling brightly, then takes the picture.

"Thanks, Talia!"

He runs back to his room and sticks the new photo to his wall, and it looks right. It looks like him, hugging his baby brother. He looks at it, and he thinks, about his face and his photo, about Dickie who only wears his masker to hide, and Talon whose name is still Talon, and how they are Talons, and not trying not to be Talons, and happy.

(He talked to Talon again last week. He told Talon about vacation and Damian's birthday, and Talon told him about the travelling circus he and Duela went to see, and how he talked to the Talon version of Jason on the phone, and he was so happy, and Tim was so happy, and it was so good.)

He thinks about his Tim scar, and how not even Owlman could take it away from him, about how he is always no-matter-what Tim. And he goes to find Dick.

“I figured out the masking.”

Dick sets down his phone and turns to look at him. “Okay. What did you figure out?”

"I don't want it. Maybe if I go in public someday, because it sounds easier than makeup. But I don't—I'm not him anymore. I don't want to pretend. I don't want to see my face in the mirror and know it's a lie."

“Okay,” Dick says. “That’s…good, I think. I’m glad you don’t feel like you have to pretend.”

Jason comes around the corner to ask if Tim wants to help him and Alfred make cookies.

Tim definitely does. He’ll finish with the pictures later.

-

“Do you mind that I kill people?” Jason asks. Not that he’s actively killing people, right now, but—Alfred must know. Babs knows; she’ll have told him. And he knows Dick and Cass hate it. He told them he wouldn’t anymore, but if he had a chance to kill someone like Lex or Ra’s—well. They’d forgive him eventually.

“I’m not your father, Jason. I was a killer before your father was born.”

“I would have killed him, too.”

“I don’t believe you would have. You may have planned to, but when it came down to it, you loved him too much.”

“I—I really miss him, Alfie.”

“As do I.” Alfred stands abruptly, and starts cleaning up the tea things.

“I might—I might go back,” Jason says as he stands to help him. “Not all the time. But maybe Babs could get me set up on a team, and I could maybe—a few times a year, you know? Go out for a couple weeks, clean up a mess, and then come home.”

“I think that sounds like an excellent idea.”

“I just—one of us should keep going, right? For—for Bruce. Not that I would go out and risk my life just for—I miss it, too. I miss all of it, and if I’d just gone home, instead of listening to Talia, if I’d been there, maybe it—maybe we wouldn’t have—”

“Jason. You are not responsible for anything your father did or failed to after your own death. If anything, I should have intervened, should have called Richard and Cassandra home before—”

“Let’s just—let’s just blame Lex and the Joker, yeah?”

“All right,” Alfred agrees.

“I really missed you, too.”

Alfred pauses his work to come and hug him, and he just—he just—he loves Dick and Cass so much, and everyone else who’s joined their family, but having Alfred here—

He really feels like he’s home.

“You need some cheering up,” Alfred decides. “Cookies, I think. Shall we invite Tim to join us?”

“Yeah, cookies. Yeah. Thanks, Alfred.”

-

Brucie and Talia are on a date, which is weird, but maybe Dick should have expected it; they are still Bruce Wayne and Talia al Ghul, and some things, apparently, are multiversal constants. "On a date," here, means they're eating and watching movies in Harley's office—private, neutral ground lacking the moving-too-fast presence of a bed.

Pam and Harley are also on a date, in their own room.

They've just put the kids to bed, after separating Tim from his laptop and Damian from the hyenas, both with some difficulty.

"They're thirteen and seven," Jay says, when they all return to the living room, childless. "Maybe they shouldn't have the same bedtime?"

"It is nearly midnight," Alfred says. "Plenty late for a thirteen-year-old, and Damian should likely have been in bed hours ago."

Okay, yeah. Regulating bedtimes is hard when your dad let you stay up all night fighting crime. Midnight doesn't seem bad for a teenager. But a seven year old—yeah, a seven year old shouldn't be up that late as often as Dami is.

Parenting is hard.

"We should definitely have later bedtimes than kids," Cass says. "One more movie?"

Dick shrugs. "I'm up for it."

"Me too," Jason says. "And I'm sure Alfie's not going to bed until his new son gets home safe from his first date."

"I'm sure he'll be fine," Alfred says.

"But you're still gonna wait up for him," Dick says. "What movie should we watch?"

Cass puts something in, then comes back to the couch, worming her way into the nonexistent space between Dick and Jason. Tim slips into the room a few minutes later.

"Not tired," he reports, then lies down on the floor between Bud and Lou and promptly falls asleep.

The movie plays. Talia and Brucie emerge, and Talia goes to check on Damian. Alfred moves from their overcrowded couch to the other one, making room for Brucie to sit beside him. Dick's phone buzzes in his pocket—probably Tim, texting him back, or maybe Babs. Talia comes back out carrying a mostly sleeping Damian (Dick tried to put the kids to bed, okay? He tried), and sits on Brucie's other side.

They're all here, Pam and Harley just a shout away, and he'll talk to Tim tomorrow, and all his friends have his phone number again.

Maybe Babs can undo everything Lex did, these last six years, but it will never be the same. Not for them. Everyone will still know that Dick Grayson was Nightwing, that Cassandra Cain was Batgirl, that Jason Todd was Robin before he died. And Dick—doesn't mind. He's safe here. He can keep his family safe here. All the people he loves most in this world are in this room, no farther than a couch away.

Notes:

And we're done, a year and a day after we started.

I have a couple fics that will be coming pretty soon - a short one about talon!Carrie, and then my next big project, about Harley and Tim in the aftermath of the whole joker junior thing.

In the meantime I also have a non-bat story being shared serially for free. Links at iowriteswords.tumblr.com. More talk about upcoming fics there, too!

Notes:

Updates weekly on Tuesdays.

Join me at iowriteswords.tumblr.com to talk about Bats and learn about my upcoming novel!

Series this work belongs to:

• Part 3 of Flightless Birds
• Part 2 of Talons Clipped with Care