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Dick chirps, low-high-medium, scanning the area below him with keen eyes.
There’s no movement save for the scurrying rats hunting for food, their high pitched squeaks and chitters making Dick’s hunting instincts perk with interest. But there’s no time for playing tonight. Perhaps later, when they’re all back in the safety of the caves, Dick will try to convince Bruce to play Hunt with him.
Bruce doesn’t like it very much, his expression always worry-anxious-alert whenever he sees Dick scale the steep drop in the caves that seem to vanish into darkness, but he likes Jason playing with him even less.
Dick understands. He doesn’t like playing Hunt with Jason, either. It would be so easy for the tiny fledgling to lose his footing on the slippery stone and vanish in the swooping abyss.
Dick doesn’t like to imagine Jason falling.
But Bruce won’t fall. Bruce is the Batman. Bruce hunted the Court into near extinction. It’s safe to play with him, because Dick can trust him not to plummet.
A trill, farther away. A baby chirp from a human throat, echoing expertly between the buildings.
Dick smiles, relaxing on his perch with a subvocal hum. His owlet is doing okay, then. Dick reckons it will not be long before his calls become undistinguishable from that of a real owl. Like Dick. But without the pain that made his throat change shape.
He’s so very proud of his owlet.
Jason didn’t have to. But he learned. For Dick.
A hoot, then. Stilted and a little awkward, but he perks up either way, smile stretching into an excited grin.
Dick calls back, a staccato of cheeps and warbles that is promptly rewarded with the joint song of both his owlet and Batman.
It feels almost like it did back with the Court. Only that with the Court, the calls he’d get were from the cold ones. Talons, like Dick, but also not. The ones who only knew to chirp with agony.
This is better. This is Dick’s flock now. His owlet and Alfred and Bruce.
Bruce, who protects them both like a nest father even though Dick tried to kill him many times. Who never hurts Dick or his owlet.
Sometimes he even has the hatchling from next door to call his own. The skittish little boy who doesn’t understand any chirps or warbles but melts into hugs and soft affections.
This flock is so much better than the Court, and Dick loves his new flock to pieces.
A soft thump, nearly inaudible, alerts him to another presence on the rooftop, but Dick keeps still and doesn’t lift his eyes from the streets. Scanning, searching. Bruce had said they were looking for someone bad tonight. Someone more dangerous than the typical men and women they fight, someone who brings the cold. It’s exciting, to look for something dangerous. Dick can’t wait to test his skills against this new opponent and prove himself once more to their nest father as a valuable asset.
Jason is too small still to see it, but Dick knows that he needs to stay useful to guarantee their place in the flock. His owlet needs the additional safety of a secure nest and an abundance of food, and while Dick doesn’t want to think of Bruce as anything other but the soft nest-father he established himself to be, he also doesn’t want to risk that softness turning cold and distant. His owlet would be devastated.
Dick waits, keeping his posture relaxed as the faint tremor of light steps grows closer, closer, closer…
Dick flips backwards and over his would be assailant, arms locking tight over arms and chest as he brings his owlet close to coo and nuzzle affectionately against the top of his head.
Jason screeches in outrage, struggling half heartedly against the restrictive hold before he slumps into the embrace with a grumble.
“How’d you know?“ Dick’s owlet whines, face scrunching adorably when Dick nips at his cheek with sharpened canines, “I was super quiet this time. Even B didn’t hear me when I snuck up on him!“
Dick doesn’t believe that for a second. Bruce was just kind enough to let Jason jump him and pretend to be startled. And Dick appreciates their nest father playing along, he does, but he also knows that it’s important for his owlet to learn that there’s still room for improvement. He will not always have the luxury of fighting against weaker humans.
But Dick is confident that his owlet will learn to be soundless like him and Bruce before very long.
“Tre-mors,“ Dick releases his owlet, allowing him to put a few feet of space between them before he trills in warning when Jason gets too close to the roof’s edge for comfort. Jason just sticks out his tongue. “Feel it. Hear it.“
“Huh? What’s that supposed to mean?“
“It means,“ Bruce melts out of the shadows, “that he could feel the impact of your steps through the roof, and hear the slight displacement of air.“
Dick hoots a greeting, going back to surveying the streets.
“Seriously? How am I supposed to get around that!?“
Dick feels a smile tug at the edge of his lips, waiting. He had to figure out how to move soundlessly alone, in the darkness of the Court’s cave systems. His owlet has a kinder teacher.
“Listen,“ Bruce advises, stepping up to Jason with his cape billowing behind him like live shadows, “and watch your opponent. When they move, you move. When they shift, you shift. If you’d waited for Talon to balance his weight before jumping on the roof, it’s likely he would have mistaken the sound of your arrival with his own movements.“
Dick trills an agreement, pleased with the explanation. It’s all trial and error, but perhaps like this his owlet will get the hang of it sooner.
Jason hums thoughtfully, the white lenses narrowing in contemplation, “Like if I wait for a breeze to deal with the air displacement?“
“Yes,“ Bruce says, warm approval radiating from the way he puts out hand to clasp Jason’s shoulder. “Well done, Robin.“
Jason grins, posture reading proud-happy-determined as he beams up at Batman, “Just you wait! I’ll catch you both off guard in notime!“
Bruce laughs, then. Deep, but also soft, and the corners of his mouth are curled with fond-affection-love.
“I don’t doubt that, Robin. Now let’s go, the radars show a significant drop in temperature over in Southside.“
Talon drops from the rafters and onto the back of an unsuspecting goon, cutting off his air with a well practiced twist and waiting, waiting— …until he stops struggling.
He lets go, easing the unconscious man to the ground to minimize any noise before jumping back into the rafters to search for his next target.
“Three down,” the comm crackles, and Talon chirps his response to Robin’s pleased-proud-excited report in a series of clicks. “Talon says he’s got five, still counting.”
“Ten,” comes the Batman’s grunt, “No visuals of Freeze yet. Possible cryo emission weapon. Watch out.”
“Copy,” Robin says.
“Copy,” Talon echoes.
He climbs into the vents next, crawling along the shafts soundlessly and passing several other hallways and rooms in the process. The mad scientist remains frustratingly absent from each of them, and what Talon can find in terms of henchmen he removes from the equation with brutal finesse.
No killing, Bruce’s stern voice resounds in his memory with every dry gurgle, and Talon spares a few seconds each time to listen for continued heartbeats before he moves on. No killing.
Dick is glad for the rule. He never liked killing, had to find loopholes to get away with not killing with the Court. But with Bruce it’s the other way around.
It’s still strange, sometimes. After all these years it’s still easier for Talon to go in for the kill instead of incapacitation, but the added microsecond of re-thinking is worth it. Always.
“Nine,” he chirps into the comms, resuming his search.
“Six,” comes Jason’s crackling reply, accompanied by the faint sounds of a scuffle, “Make that seven. I’m almost caught up!”
“This isn’t a competition, Robin,” is Batman’s immediate reprimand.
“You’re just saying that cuz’ you’re winning.”
“Chatter.”
“Spoilsport.”
“Robin.”
“Fine, fine. No sign of Freeze, over.”
“Nothing here either, over,” Dick pauses, grinning, “Make it ten. Losing, B.”
“Talon,” Batman sighs, aggrieved.
Jason cackles.
Mr. Freeze is someone Dick and Bruce have fought before, back when his owlet still had to stay in the safety of the nest while Talon and the Bat took flight together.
Disturbed, is the word that came to Dick’s mind then, though he hadn’t been able to voice it. Disturbed, and sad. Lost in the throes of a grief so profound it had ripped all the goodness right out of him.
Now, years later, that grief has become twisted and all Dick can see when he finally lays eyes on the man is the same kind of shell the Court had reduced so many of Dick’s fellow talons to.
Cold, empty.
Void.
Dick wonders if he looked like that, before his owlet.
He clings to the rafters, muscles coiled as he watches the mad scientist hiss and snarl at his underlings.
A grey face, almost blue, encased in glass. It would be a matter of seconds to drop down on top of him and drive one of his sharp blades into it, twist, crack—
No killing, echoes in his ears, and Dick makes himself comfortable on his perch to wait for Batman and Robin’s arrival.
“Good job, chum,” Bruce mumbles into the comms, and Talon preens a the praise.
“Holy shit he’s ugly,” Jason marvels, sticking his head out of the shadows to get a better look, “No scratch that, he’s fugly. Get it? Like fuc-“
“Robin.”
Dick chirrups a faint laugh, making his owlet shoot him a roguish grin in return.
They’d followed Mr Freeze out and into the streets after a brief moment of contemplation, hoping to minimize collateral and structural damage on the plaza in front of the labs.
Out here, they can be absolutely sure that no civilians get caught in the crossfire.
“Prepare to move in after me, I’ll engage Freeze. Talon, Robin, take care of Freeze’s men and alert the GCPD when you’ve dealt with them.”
“Copy!” His owlet chirps, bright colors flashing as he vaults off his side of the roof to join Talon on his perch. The yellow cape flutters soundlessly in the darkness, no grapple deployed as gravity takes hold of him.
Dick catches his owlet with a pleased trill and a brief nuzzle to the side of his jaw. Jason makes a tiny baby cheep in response and fits himself easily into the space between Dick’s legs, bright costume almost entirely concealed by how Dick curls around him, shielding him from view.
They watch together as Batman glides out of the shadows soon after and announces himself to the rogue with a swift kick to the man’s weapon that sends sparks flying.
Dick hunkers down instinctively against his owlet’s back, one hand fisting into the yellow cape as a cloud of cold mist emerges from the point of impact.
Freeze roars, jerking his malfunctioning weapon out of reach before bringing the other hand of his metal suit down in an attempt to crush Batman.
Bruce sidesteps the attack easily, deploying several blinding grenades before he swings himself up onto the rogue’s back to get at the suit’s controls.
“Cool,” Jason breathes, the words billowing out like white smoke with the sudden drop in temperature all around them.
They keep still for another moment, observing the fight and waiting for the henchmen to begin their posthaste retreat from ground zero, and then they strike.
Robin goes first, a laugh of mischief and excitement ringing through the air like bird song as he launches himself at the unsuspecting regulators passing below.
Talon follows in his wake, silent, a black and amber shadow, and soon Freeze’s enraged roars are echoed by his goons, shooting and punching blindly in a desperate attempt to shake the duo off.
“Damn, you guys are all fugly,” Jason whistles, tripping one of the men face first into a wall where he slides to the ground with a groan of pain, “Did Freeze get you in an outlet store? Ten for one special?”
Dick screeches sharply when a goon comes up behind Jason with a crowbar raised high, but his owlet drops in a flash and smashes an elbow into his knee cap, downing another one.
“Or did he put in a batch order?”
“Focus,” Batman grunts, and Dick spares a short glance to where he’s skillfully evading several attacks from Freeze and his most loyal minions at once,
“I am,” Jason snarks, almost bending in half when Dick trills, allowing the talon lunge over top him and smash a goon’s head against the concrete. He uses the momentum to vault himself off and feet first into the chest of yet another, trusting his owlet to have his back while engaging two burly looking men with guns.
Talon hisses at them, sinking into a predatory crouch with his head tilted sideways.
“Ea-sy way?” He chirps, cataloguing how the men throw each other a fearful look, “Or hard way?” Choice is important. Some don’t want to fight. It’s only fair to offer.
But when the men visibly steel themselves Talon is already launching himself through the air.
Hard way, then. Fine with him.
“This is so much fun!” Jason laughs from where he’s sitting on the shoulders of a flailing goon desperately trying to dislodge him, “Hey! You guys should come here more often!”
“Robin.”
“Oh come off it, B, I am focusing!”
Dick makes quick work of the goons and locks their hands together with zip ties, immediately scanning for the next threat. By now most of Freeze’s men are either groaning on the ground or trying to flee, and those that are still valiantly trying to fend off Talon and his owlet are are being picked off one by one.
Jason whoops in delight when he finally manages to down his guy, striking a silly victory pose while balancing on the whimpering goon’s shoulder blades, “That’s the sweet sixteen, Batman!”
“Robin.”
Dick frowns, looking up at the frantic edge in Bruce’s voice.
“Yeah, yeah, I know. Not a competition,” Jason jumps from the goon’s back, grinning at Talon, “But if it was I would totally be-“
“Robin!” Dick tilts his head, stomach flipping when he sees Bruce grapple futilely with the rogue’s cryo weapon as it points at Robin’s unprotected back, “Down!”
Jason startles, turning, “What-?”
The weapon whines, sparks, and then the muzzle erupts into a brilliant beam of light.
“Robin!”
Dick’s eyes blow wide.
Jason yelps, diving left—
But Dick knows he’ll be too late, knows it intimately from all the times he saw humans trying to leap out of the way of bullets, and all Dick can see is his owlet, encased in ice, cold-
Jason’s eyes morph from fear to outright terror when Dick throws himself in front of him and into the line of fire, and then everything is dark and freezing again, and Talon knows he’s back in the cold box.
“-lon!“
Talon is sorry. Talon doesn’t know why it had to go back into the box. Talon will rectify its mistake, it promises.
“Talon-“
Hands. Hands, on his arms, his shoulders, so warm—
Oh, oh no. This is worse than the box.
Please, no, Talon is sorry. Talon doesn’t want to die again.
But if Talon moves, if it struggles, it will only hurt so much worse.
Talon is a weapon. Weapons must not voice discomfort.
“Talon!”
Talon is right here, but Talon cannot move because they made him cold again.
“Please-“
Talon has never heard the Court sound so distressed. Are they in danger? Then Talon must wake up. It must wake up and claw its way beyond the cold. Perhaps this is a test? To see how fast it can be functional despite the cold cold? Despite being on the cusps of dying?
No matter.
Talon must wake and eliminate the threat. The Court of Owls—
It stills.
Waiting.
Listening.
No, it must have imagined—
Again it sounds, the high pitched chirp of a distressed owlet.
No, no. This is all wrong. The owls do not nest with the Court. They nest in the crevices of the cave system where they take flight at night fall to hunt the vermin infesting the city. Like Talon.
There shouldn’t be any owlets here. The Court does not interfere with the lives of the owls, they do not make them cold. So why—
Another chirp, more frantic this time and interspersed with the youngest of hatchling peeps and warbles, and Talon’s eyes snap open because— the owlet is calling for Talon. Is calling for someone it knows will protect it-
That’s Talon’s owlet.
The cold doesn’t matter. The cold is inconsequential.
There’s— another talon? An owlet, and it’s in distress. And Talon won’t allow it to become cold like the Court made Talon cold just because it couldn’t shake off the ice in time to save it.
A face swims into view, pinched with terror and desperate urgency, eyes that are— blue, blue like the bruised skies of Gotham, not gold , not yet, and Talon fights to make its sluggish limbs cooperate, fights to shake off the unbearable stiffness of its limbs and the current of ice in its veins forcing the electrum into hibernation.
“Talon!” The owlet croaks, eyes glistening, and Talon’s chest seizes with sudden dread.
No, no no no, the owlet mustn’t cry. If it cries, the Court will know it’s a failure. And failures are made to be cold in ways they do not wake up from. Talon needs to move or the older Talon will come and take its nestling away.
Talon— doesn’t remember how it got its owlet. Perhaps a reward? A lesson? But that doesn’t matter. Talon can’t lose the owlet. It can’t. Talon— can’t remember, but the owlet knows how to call for Talon, so Talon must have taught it. Must have raised it— to be the next Talon?
No, it doesn’t matter. Talon needs to move, to draw attention away from the owlet before the Court realizes— before they call the other Talon—
“Help!” The owlet sobs, small hands clenched tight around Talon’s shoulders as it calls to someone just out of sight, “B, help! He’s not moving!”
No, no, foolish owlet. No.
“Robin,” someone says, older and deeper, and Talon’s sluggish heartbeat jumps with a rush of adrenaline.
No, no, stay away.
“Help,” the owlet cries again, fitting its entire body on top of Talon like a nestling trying to fit underneath its nest parent’s wing.
The owlet is warm. So very, very warm. And it send another spike of anxiety straight through Talon’s gut because this owlet has never been made to experience the cold before if it’s still this warm—
“B, help!”
Something dark and looming takes shape above them, materializing as if from shadows, reaching, reaching—
Talon surges upwards, one hand curling protectively around the back of the owlet’s delicate head as it reverses their positions, crouching over the owlet — eyes blue, blue, blue— and its unprotected back to the…. handler? Another Talon?
“Talon is awake,” it rasps, distantly confused at the ease with which the words flow from its throat. Had it spoken recently? Talon can’t remember. “Talon accepts its punishment.”
Its owlet lurches, warm hands fisting into the front of its suit, “What- no, B isn’t-“
Talon hushes the owlet with a desperate hoot, hunkering down until the it is shielded entirely from view.
Perhaps if the Court does not see the owlet, they will forget about it. If they forget about it, they will not have the older Talon come to dispose of it.
Talons must never speak out of turn, and its owlet is speaking so, so much. Talon’s owlet is a failure, but Talon doesn’t want— it can’t—- the owlet trusts Talon, and Talon must protect it.
“Chum,” the… handler?….. says, voice still pitched low but somehow softer. Confused?
Not an older Talon, then. Not yet. Talon still has time to correct the mistake. To save its owlet.
“Talon accepts its punishment,” Talon repeats, biting its tongue against a tremor of cold lancing through it. The owlet is a beacon of warmth, cocooned and at ease in the curl of Talon’s body as it looks up at him with trepidation-confusion-trust-worry and voices another little baby cheep.
“Talon,” the handler says, voice rough, “There is no punishment.”
Talon stiffens, curling more tightly around its owlet, repeating “Talon accepts its punishment,” with desperate urgency. They cannot take away its owlet. They cannot.
“Nobody’s punishing you!” The owlet exclaims, sounding scandalized, and despite Talon’s immediate attempts at shushing it, the owlet keeps talking, addressing Talon, addressing the handler, “Batman, I think— I think we need to get him warmed up. He’s really fucking cold. I think it’s messing with his head or something? I’ve never— usually he just gets tired when it’s cold… I thought—“
“The police are on their way to pick up Freeze. We need to get back to the cave, we can’t stay. Robin, come here and-“
No! Oh please no. Please. Talon cannot give away its owlet.
“Yeah,” the owlet wheezes, “I don’t think that’s happening, B.”
The handler hums, displeased, and Talon braces itself for the repercussions of its disobedience— Talon must never disobey the Court, the Court’s words are absolute— but the pain doesn’t come. The handler does not call for the older Talon. The owlet does not get forcefully ripped away to be decommissioned.
The worst thing is that even if Talon wanted to disobey— to buy its owlet the flimsy chance to flee— it can’t. Its limbs still feel wrong and cold, stiff. Talon does not think it could manage even one well aimed strike or swipe of its claws right now. All it can do is curl around its owlet and hope its failure and disobedience overshadows that of its owlet.
The owlet chirrups, nuzzling its face trustingly into the junction between Talon’s throat and shoulder in an attempt at comfort, further cementing Talon’s resolve.
Nobody is allowed to take its owlet.
“Talon, chum, it’s not safe here,” the handler sinks into a crouch, “For you or Robin. We need to go back home. You did good, you protected him. I’m proud of you.”
Talon does not move. Wherever they are, it reckons it is safer than where the handler wants to take them.
“Oh, screw this,” the owlet says, and Talon has a moment of profound panic when the younger wriggles itself out of the death grip. But the owlet does not go far, does not step out of the protective circle of Talon’s arms, and instead brings them both face to face, “Dick, we’re okay. You’re not with those assholes anymore, ya hear?”
“Robin,” the handler says sharply, making Talon flinch.
“You’re Dick Grayson,” Talon freezes, “You aren’t a weapon. You are my family. And Batman protects us, remember? He’s our—“ the owlet’s eyes flick shyly to the side, “He’s our— He saved us, remember?”
Dick Grayson.
He knows that name.
That’s— Talon’s name? No, Talons don’t have names. Talons are Talon.
But he’s- it- no, no. This is all wrong. That can’t be its name. Jason must be-
Talon startles, looking more closely at his owlet, trying to—
Jason. His owlet is called Jason.
(“You’re family. You’re not a weapon, ya hear? And I’ll punch anyone who says otherwise! Fuck whoever told you that shit, hear me?”)
Jason was on the cusps of being cold, but Talon— Talon had found him. Just a chick, back then. A tiny hatchling. All alone.
“Jason,” he croaks, and the owlet’s face lights up.
“Yes! Exactly! And you are Dick! And sometimes also a dick, but we’re shelving that for later. And by night we go out and kick bad people’s asses with Batman! Do you remember?”
No. Yes. Talon remembers a nest with threadbare fabric and dirty blankets. Talon remembers warmth and comfort, and the joy of having one good thing in life to call his. And then images warp and become muddy. Still warm, still content, the impression of a gentle voice and large presence….
“We’re family, remember?” Jason asks quietly, adding little hatchling cheeps to the question, and the answering mix of trills and warbles rises in Talon’s throat on instinct.
But then the sounds are joined by another hoot, stilted and awkward and unpracticed, but familiar, and Talon is struck with urge to answer that, too.
“You’re safe, chum,” the… handler? No, handlers do not speak like the owls do, like Talons do, “Nobody’s going to hurt you, I promise. Can you look at me?”
Talon shudders, but the owlet chirrups encouragingly and is already looking at the strange human, so Talon acquiesces with no small amount of trepidation.
Kind, is the first thing that comes to Talon’s mind when he turns, worried.
The man wears a familiar black suit, but where Talon expected to see the pointy ears of a cowl and white lenses, he is instead met with jet black hair and steely blue eyes watching him carefully, assessing. But Dick does not feel threatened, because everything in Bruce’s body language in that moment reads concern-gentle-affection-hope.
Bruce. Batman. Scourge of the Court.
“B,” he says weakly, fear and tension washing out of him in one second to the next. “Se-cret identities.”
Bruce’s expression morphs into naked relief, and this time when he reaches out a hand to put it on Dick’s shoulder there’s no apprehension, “All clear, chum.” He frowns, looking at his hand, “But we need to go and get you warmed up. The batmobile is waiting down the road, can you stand?”
Dick considers, trying to get his shaky legs to push him upright, but they stubbornly refuse to move so much as an inch. Whatever surge of adrenaline had empowered him to him snap back to awareness and protect Jason is long gone.
He shakes his head miserably, trilling an apology, but Bruce only nods and pulls the cowl back over his face before scooping both him and Jason up with a flutter of his black cape.
“The fuck— Why does everyone always do that,” Jason complains immediately, but his protest is half hearted at best, “I’m not the one who just got flash frozen.”
“The blaster was working at only fifty percent capacity,” Bruce says gruffly, “Talon was very lucky. The temperatures were still slightly above freezing point.”
“That doesn’t change the fact that I didn’t get hit.”
“You almost were. Because you lacked situational awareness.”
“We’re really doing this now-“ Jason squawks as he’s set on the ground, right beside the dark, sleek exterior of the batmobile. The backdoors slides open soundlessly in reaction to Robin’s presence, and for a moment it looks like Jason is going to say something else, but then he just huffs and climbs inside.
Bruce pauses for a moment, looking down at Dick. With the cowl back on, his face doesn’t give much away, but there’s still anxious-relief in the set of his shoulders and the way he seems to hunch them forward and around Dick.
“Ready to go, chum?”
A flash of light from the corner of his vision makes Dick still and squint up at the edge of a tall building. But there’s nothing there, and when Jason chirps questioningly at him Dick just shakes his head with an apologetic hoot and
says “Yes,” allowing Bruce to slide him into the backseat beside his owlet.
Dick can’t wait to be back in the nest and sleep curled around his owlet for the next twenty hours. Preferably with a heating blanket.
The ride back to the manor is mostly silent.
Dick still shivers every once in a while, small tremors of residual cold slowly getting eaten by the electrum in his veins. But Jason is warm where he’s snuggled against him, and ever so slowly Dick can feel his body temperature rise back into a range that more closely resembles that of a normal human.
“So, I’m thinking, with the huge ass scare just now we totally deserve something nice, right? Like, chili dogs and cereal?”
Dick perks up, trilling quietly with interest.
Bruce huffs, shooting them both an exasperated look through the rearview mirror.
“Yes, chili dogs and cereal. And then we’re going to have a talk about evading attacks instead of using yourself as a human shield.”
“No time,” Dick says seriously, patting Jason’s fluffy hair affectionately, “The cold does not kill me. Jason, yes.”
“Fuck off,” his owlet grumbles, burrowing himself deeper into Dick’s side, “I could have dodged that.”
“No, you could not have,” Bruce corrects, making Dick nod along sagely. At least until the man throws him a reprimanding look and says, “But he could thrown himself at you instead of in front of you. If there’s enough time for the latter, there’s enough time for the former.”
He hisses at Bruce, but ultimately does not protest. He’s not wrong… but there had been no time to think rationally with Jason’s life on the line. Dick would do it again a hundred times over if it meant saving him.
And judging by Bruce’s long suffering look he suspects as much.
“Today, you were lucky. Next time you might not be. We will train for similar situations from this day forward so your first instinct isn’t to endanger yourself. You’re both important, Dick. Do you understand?”
“Yes.”
And he does, of course. Know that Bruce cares about them. But if it comes down to himself or Jason, Dick will always choose Jason.
But that’s not what Bruce wants to hear, so he doesn’t voice it.
Bruce sighs, flipping several switches as the batmobile rolls along the winding paths of the cave, balancing atop narrow cliffs as they race ever closer to the safety of the manor. Dick cannot wait to wrangle Jason into the warmth of the nest and not let go until… Alfred brings the cereal, probably.
But if Bruce asks real nice, Dick will allow him to come too. Bruce is very warm, and he would never let anybody harm them. Dick likes having him in the nest.
Jason yawns, tugging on his cape to blanket them both. It’s not a very nice nesting material, but it traps the heat.
“Can we skip the lecture and just get to the nice bit, old man? Cuz’ I’m not tryin’ to cut your broodin’ moment short or anything, but I know that look Dickie’s sportin’, and I can guarantee he ain’t listening to a damn thing before he hasn’t cuddled us for, like, the next ten hours or so.”
Bruce engages the autopilot and turns in his seat, “Very well. Because you’re both benched until we’ve established the new training regime.”
“What!? No way!”
“Yes way.”
“What are you, seven?”
“Twenty-seven.”
“Fuck, you’re old.”
“I’m in my prime.”
“That’s what old people say because they’re old.”
“What are you then, Jaylad? An infant?”
“I’m kickass. I’m Robin. And-”
“Robin is magic,” Bruce and Dick finish in tandem.
Jason grins, sticking his tongue out, “Damn straight!”
“Cereal.”
“…fuck you, Dickface. I was having a moment.”
Dick chirrups with laughter and hugs the owlet tighter against him, chasing away the lingering cold.
In the front seat, Bruce turns back towards the steering wheel, but Dick swears he saw him smiling.