Work Text:
It took thirty two minutes and six seconds for the raid on the Cormack brothers to go south so spectacularly, Batman could have probably seen the fallout from across the water in Gotham City. That is, if he gave enough of a shit about anything that happened outside of Gotham City limits. Given enough sleep, Dick Grayson could have probably appreciated the intricacies of the situation, performed a full analysis, and then finished with an action plan to further prevent such shit from every happening again, but as it was he had spent the last night consoling an angry and crying Damian whilst desperately trying to finish his chemical analysis of the latest drug to hit the streets of Blüdhaven, whilst providing comm support to Jason in Gotham, and so he wasn’t in the mood to give the Cormack brothers credit for anything. Regardless of anyone’s feelings, the warehouse still blew up, and Dick still ended up taking cover behind the sad remnants of a disco painted jeep with Barty Walters, arguably the worst man in the world, but unfortunately one who was unarrestable.
“Jesus Christ, Grayson”, said Barty, covering his head and ducking down low as the world outside erupted into the sounds of gunfire and a thoroughly ruined day. Barty didn’t return fire, despite having a gun, because, while technically a police officer, he was useless. To his credit he did provide some colour commentary to keep things interesting.
Dick crouched above Barty, keeping low, and returned fire to keep the gang members at bay from their jeep hideout. He had no idea what had happened. Comms had gone down as soon as the warehouse went up, but all signs pointed to bad intel in a crooked police force. Dick would suspect Barty, but Barty was too stupid to tie his shoes properly, never mind execute a daring betrayal of the BCPD.
“Rookie!” Came the voice of Amy Rohrbach, one of the only honest cops in the BCPD who wasn’t the Nightwing himself, “Cover me!”
Dick didn’t hesitate to lay down cover fire, watching as Rohrbach vaulted over her own cover to run directly for Seb Cormack, who had, unfortunately for him, decided to emerge from his own cover in Amy’s direct line of sight. Dick got to witness the look of dawning horror on Seb Cormack’s face before Amy collided with him like a freight train, and it was beautiful.
And then the other warehouse blew up.
…
“What a clusterfuck”, Amy said, collapsing into the seat opposite Dick and shoving her feet on the desk, right on top of Dick’s carefully cultivated crap pile. Dick moved his report away from the dirt showering from Amy’s boots and shot her a grin.
“Nah, that wasn’t a clusterfuck”, he said. “A clusterfuck would be both warehouses blowing up, and Seb Cormack getting away”.
“God I hate that little weasel”.
“That face he made though”, Dick said dreamily. “Right before your size tens landed on his chest. Beautiful. Some may even call it ‘artful’”.
“His lawyer’s in there now”.
“The Lawful Dodger himself?”
“The thing worse then the Cormac brothers is that bloody lawyer Eric Dawson”, Amy said darkly.
Dick nodded in agreement. “Latest rumour about Dawson is that he sold his soul to the devil himself”.
“Nah, not Dawson. Dawson wouldn’t sell his own soul. Now, somebody else’s?”
“Five dollars says that Cormac walks on a technicality”.
“Five dollars that Nightwing finds him after and he ends back here, via hospital visit”.
Dick, being Nightwing, could vouch for the likelihood of this scenario. Dick, also being a tired single father, was also trying to think of ways he could lure Jason back to Blüdhaven to babysit a colicky Damian and the forever sleep deprived Tim so he could leave the apartment to beat the tar out of Seb Cormack, in the event Seb Cormack pays his way out of jail. It was either that or he had to bribe the neighbours kid, Baise, or Ms Minh from downstairs, to babysit Damian and Tim again, and he dreaded the day they made the connection between Nightwing’s unfortunately rarer then he would like appearances and the times their neighbour asked to babysit his kids. Because of the kids, Nightwing had a strict patrol schedule and a rotating roster of sitters, but in an emergency situation getting a babysitter was like pulling teeth. He wished it wasn’t the case, but the BCPD holding cell was a revolving door which operated based on how many fifties you could stuff in Captain Turnpikes sweaty paw, and so Nightwing often had to round up the perps Dick Grayson had just stuffed into holding the morning before, often after three hours spent on the phone trying to get someone to sit on his couch and supervise the kids for the night. There was a reason Nightwing had a reputation for being more brutal the nights he appeared outside his usual designated hours.
Movement caught Dick’s eye, and he straightened.
Or maybe not, this time.
“Five dollars says that this time, Seb Cormack’s done for”, he said, just as the sounds of angry bellowing reached them and Dawson threw open the interrogation room door.
“You will regret this”, Dawson was telling Turnpike, who was doing his best imitation of a lawful police officer who did not regret at all that evidence had stacked the case way past turning point. As if he could feel their gaze, Turnpike turned a stink eye on Dick and Amy, as if he knew about the vault of evidence they were compiling on the corruption in the BCPD, locked safely in Rorhbach’s safe. Most likely he regretted Dick’s filing system, which was impenetrable to corrupt cops pawing through to disappear evidence by sheer dint of a having a system based upon moon drops and whimsy.
“Not likely”, Amy said to Dick, watching with avid interest in the proceedings. The two men seemed to realise they had a bit of an audience and dropped their voices. There was a brief but impassioned bit of gesturing, and then Dawson stormed off. Turnpike watched after him, shoulders slumped. Then he shot another glare at Amy and Dick before disappearing back to his office. The door slammed after him.
“You know, for a crooked cop”, Dick mused, “He isn’t all that subtle about siding with the criminal element”.
Amy snorted.
…
Blüdhaven, being the sister city to Gotham, bonafide city from hell, was a smog filled wasteland of crime and suffering. Where it differed from Gotham was that Blüdhaven’s criminal effort didn’t seem to feel the need to dress as clowns and talk to sentient plants. There was no theatre to the crime in Blüdhaven, and without the theatre all that was left behind was just plain old human cruelty. Sometimes Dick couldn’t decide what was worse, crime with or without the dressing.
Jason, when Dick had brought this up, had a simple response to this. ‘Crime is crime, and all criminals die the same, no matter if they’re wearing a fancy hood and cape’, which was easy enough for the Red Hood to say. Nightwing was a non-lethal vigilante, although, upon reflection, some criminals probably wished they had ended up dead after Dick was through with them.
Dick finished his shift at five and left at five to pick up Damian from daycare. At six months old, Damian Wayne was a precocious baby boy with fat cheeks and the worlds nastiest scowl. He had been a few weeks old when he had been delivered to the Wayne Manor by an anonymous ninja with nothing but a note and a pressed flower. Two weeks after that, Damian had been left in Dick’s care in Bludhaven. Bruce Wayne was a great man, but he was not a good father, and after what had happened with Jason he had dropped all pretence of caring for something other then the Mission, which Dick thought was frankly a relief for everyone involved. Now Bruce spent his nights dressed up as a giant bat, terrorising Gotham’s underground, with nothing else competing for his attention. Bruce Wayne the person had all but retreated from the public eye. To call him a recluse would be an understatement. Dick honestly didn’t know how Alfred could stand it, being trapped in that big empty manor with nothing but Bruce Wayne for company. Alfred’s loyalty to Bruce was incredible, considering Bruce had managed to drive all his children away, but never Alfred. Never Alfred.
If there was one constant in this world, it was Alfred.
“Bah”, Damian said, and slapped Dick’s cheek. In answer to this, Dick blew a raspberry on the baby’s fat cheek.
The drive back to the apartment was filled with nonsensical babble, and about half of it was coming from Damian. Dick, being a seasoned older brother and qualified parent stand in, was a bonafide pro at speaking the language of the little ones. They cooed, spluttered and squawked their way to the Parks Primary School, where Dick parked out the front with all the confidence of someone who knew all the ticketing officers by name. He rolled down the window.
“Hey Timmy!” He called.
Timothy Drake looked up at the call of his name, despite his little head being swaddled in too big headphones and three olive coloured beanies. He blinked big eyes at Dick’s multicoloured car, before a smile broke out across his face. His relief at their arrival was blatant, and Dick watched as the little boy industriously packed his little Robin backpack, stuffing it full of notebooks and whatever had caught his attention that day. Dick saw him stop to talk to his teacher, point out the waiting car, and then walk his way over to where Dick waited. Dick got out of the car to help the little boy into his seat. Damian gurgled a hello, and then farted. Well, at least Dick hoped it was a fart.
Dick started the car and watched in the rear view as Tim struggled visibly with the urge to share his day, and the urge to be a quiet, good little boy who could disappear at the command of his parents.
“How was after hours care?” Dick asked, giving him a little prompt.
Tim ducked his head and twisted his hands together anxiously.
“Hey bud, what’s wrong?” Dick asked, twisting around in his chair. “Hey Tim, Timmy, what’s the matter little dude?”
Tim shook his head, all but rendered mute. Dick’s heart dropped. He stopped the car and manoeuvred himself into the back seat, enveloping Tim into a hug. Tim froze, and then all at once he melted.
“Hey, it’s okay”, Dick said, “Whatever it is, it’s okay”.
Tim gasped. “My words are all stuck in my throat”.
“Oh buddy”, Dick said.
If there was ever a list made of people Dick regretted not beating to a tar, it was Jack and Janet Drake. He had had to console himself with taking away every right they had to look their son in the eyes ever again, and getting them thrown in Blackgate for criminal neglect and abuse. Tim struggled with talking, sometimes, on his bad days, when all his emotions would get tangled up inside and he would near shrivel from the learned fear. Dick pressed the small boy against his chest and signed the ‘all clear’ sign he used from his Robin days as he gently rubbed the boys back. Tim sniffled, face wet, but slowly, shakily, signed the ‘all clear’ back.
“We did photography today”, Tim said, voice muffled by Dick’s uniform.
“Oh?” Dick said, “Timmy, that’s great! You love photography!”
Timmy sniffed and nodded again.
“…took a picture of a bird”, he said.
“Oh epic! What kind of bird?”
Tim shrugged minutely.
“…dunno”, he said, “…m’not good with birds”.
“We’ll I don’t know if you know this, Timmy”, Dick said, “But I’m great at birds! When we get home you can show me the picture, and we can look it up!”
“…took a photo of a fish”.
“A fish, Mister Timothy?” Dick gasped, “Why young sir, you have documented a veritable menagerie!”
Tim giggled breathlessly at that, but he was still hiding his face in Dick’s chest. Dick jiggled him a bit in his arms, and then went in for the kill.
“You know what else we could do?” He asked, infusing his voice with as much excitement as he could.
Slowly, steadily, Tim looked up and blinked red rimmed eyes at him.
Dick smiled.
“Ice cream”.
…
Ice cream was thus procured and Dick entered their apartment juggling a baby, a little boy, one cone of plain vanilla (with sprinkles), one double scoop chocolate peanut butter crunch with chocolate mint (also with sprinkles) and a can of that nice purée with plain biscuits (ice cream equivalent for a six month old baby). He got into the apartment without dropping anyone and their assorted foodstuffs, set Damian down, tried to set Tim down but was rebuffed, and went about making dinner with a tiny boy on his hip. He was a pro at this, now, and kept Tim away from the sharp and hot things and didn’t set anyone on fire, and so he chalked the whole dinner making experience as a win. Dinosaur nuggets, he would have you know, were an acceptable dinner for six year old boys and nineteen year old vigilantes. He even made peas to go with it.
They sat down. They ate.
Someone started hammering on the door, like they were trying to knock it down.
Dick startled and swore under his breath. Tim looked at him, wide eyed. Damian started to cry.
“Oh no, baby”, Dick said, scooping up Dami and rocking him. The furious knocking continued. “Hang on, hold your freaking horses”.
He opened the door.
Amy looked at him, eyed red rimmed and furious.
“Turnpike’s dead”, she said.
…
The facts of the murder were this.
At seven o’clock Turnpike left the precinct and took a left to his favourite cop bar, which conveniently enough was just down the street from where he worked. At the bar, Turnpike consumed no more then three beers and chatted up two seperate prostitutes, despite being married to Mrs Turnpike for almost thirty years, before leaving the bar with none of them. So as Turnpike left the pub, ostensibly to return to his wife, he was double tapped in the chest and shot in the head, and dumped back in front of his place of work.
Mob hit.
“If the Cormack brothers didn’t do this, then I’m the Penguin”, Dick said.
If circumstances were different, he’d already be in the Nightwing suit and out the window to go beat the answers out of Anton Cormack, who was somehow the less attractive Cormack brother, if such a thing were possible. Considering the other brother was Seb, the genetics tree had beaten them near death before they were born. But Amy was here, and Damian was crying, and Tim couldn’t be left on his own or else he was liable to climb out a window and go take pictures of shadows with teeth. And in another world, perhaps one where he hadn’t been forced to raise his brothers and watched Jason nearly die and Bruce try and take in another child and Dick had been forced to eventually put his foot down and take them all away, he would have approached this all alone. He would have put on that Nightwing suit and climbed out the window, and damn all the consequences to all hell and back, but this wasn’t that world. In this world, he consoled Amy and fed her litres of tea, before showing her to the door in the kindest way possible. He changed Damien’s nappy and fed him and put him to bed, and then he spent three hours lying in the dark with Timmy until the little boy fell asleep, overactive mind finally quiet.
And then he called Jason.
“Dickiebird!” Jason called cheerfully. Dick could hear the sounds of gunfire, and the slow steady rise of someone screaming. “Gimme two seconds, I gotta call you back”. And then Jason hung up.
Dick sighed and stared at his phone, and then wandered off to go make himself some cereal.
Half an hour and two bowls of cereal later, Jason called back. The background of the call was dead quiet, which was perhaps an ominous indicator to how Jason’s night had gone, but Jason himself seemed cheerful enough.
“You don’t call, you don’t write. Some of us might be a tad suspicious about the purpose of this phone call”, Jason said.
Dick scoffed. “Little Wing, I saw you yesterday”.
“And that was ages ago”, Jason said, “And now you’re here, calling out of the blue. I am hurt, Wing, I am hurt”.
“And I am devastated”, Dick wailed, but quietly, so as to not wake up the boys. “I never meant to let you down, Jason”.
Jason cackled into the phone.
“What the hell do you want, Dickie?” He said.
“I need a spur of the moment babysitter”, Dick said, “You wouldn’t happen to have any trustworthy goons in the neighbourhood with nothing better to do tonight?”
“You going out as Nightwing? Don’t you have a schedule?”
“I do have a schedule”, Dick said, “But someone just murdered my boss, and is probably letting Seb Cormack out of his cell right this second”.
“And after all the work you did shoving his festering ass in there, that would be a huge disgrace. Hang on, lemme see if someone’s available tonight”.
“Thanks Little Wing”, Dick said in relief.
“Yeah, yeah”, Jason said, “Dolohov lives in your area. If he’s not available I’ll damn well make him be”.
“You’re the best, Jay”.
“Uh huh, how’s the kids?”
“Damien has cried nonstop for an entire week”, Dick said cheerfully, “And yesterday I caught Tim halfway out a window with a camera in a bag”.
“So their usual batshit crazy, huh?”
“I also got a photo of Damien scowling in a pikkachu onesie”, Dick said, halfway to sending it, “You want it?”
“Do I want it”, Jason scoffed, “Why is it not on my phone already?”
“And here’s a photo of Tim with an ice cream moustache”.
“Adorable”, Jason said, “Heads up, I’m coming down to Bludhaven tomorrow”.
“You or the Red Hood?”
“Surprise! Both, fuckface! There’s a writing seminar being taught at the University by Brandon Sanderson, and I have to go there to tell him in person how much I hate that one character in Way of the Kings”.
“Understandable”.
“And I thought I could join you on patrol tomorrow, after”, he said, “It’s your official day to go out as Nightwing”.
“Yeah about that, I’m going to have to change the schedule again”, Dick said, “It’s becoming predictable the nights Nightwing is making an appearance, and I don’t want people to just schedule their crime nights for my off days”.
“Believe me, Wing, your schedule is not predictable”, Jason said, “It looks like something a Personal Assistant made whilst taking a double shot of cocaine and meth. Believe me, if you were becoming predictable I would have already turned the fuck up to knock it into your fat face”.
“Oh Little Wing”, Dick cooed. “You say the nicest things to me”.
“Ugh, shut up bastard”, Jason said, “I’ll see you tomorrow”.
Dick made kissy noises into the receiver until Jason growled in disgust and hung up. He cackled.
The trustworthy goon appeared half an hour after that. Dolohov was an angry looking Russian man with a severe overbite and several kilos of guns in a duffel bag. Dick took one look at the duffel and the Russian man just sighed, “Hood’s orders”, and Dick left it at that. He packed his Nightwing suit in a bag and left the apartment to go change in the empty apartment in the next building, what he did for all the babysitters, before taking to the rooftops.
Dick flew.
The night was dark and drizzling, and the air held a cold frigidity to it. Dick stopped two muggings and an attempted rape on his way to the scene of the crime, because Blud had a unique sense of what constituted a liveable city, before alighting on the rooftop opposite the scene of the shooting. Dick noted the lack of security cameras in the area, the roped off scene of the crime and the crime scene techs standing guard over their little white dead person tent. Dick would have liked to have gotten closer, but Blud did not have a Commissioner Gordon. If he turned up in front of a cabal of officers, he would get shot. Luckily, he wouldn’t have to. All crime scene information would be stored by Amy, who wouldn’t be letting the corrupt of the BPD get their dirty paws all over it. Especially since the crime was so close to home. He could get that information as Dick Grayson later.
Which just left the information he could not get by normal means.
Dick went to go talk to Anton Cormack.
Anton Cormack was the leader of the Cormack gang, and was generally a difficult man to find. Unless, that was, if you were a highly trained vigilante who obsessively tracks gangland movement in Bludhaven and had tracked the man to four potential safe house three weeks prior. He visited each one until he could narrow down which safe house Cormack was staying in now. Dick just wandered over there and let himself in through Cormack’s bedroom window, and moseyed on over to where the man was sleeping in his bed without a care to the world.
Dick paused for a second. There was an opportunity to be had here. He grinned.
He divested the man and his room of all hidden weapons and then lay down next to him, head propped up by a hand, ankles crossed. He reached over and flicked Cormack on the nose and watched him flail awake, reaching for a weapon before realising who, exactly, was lying across from him.
Dick grinned.
“Hey handsome”, he said.
Cormack screamed and fell off the bed.
Dick pouted. “That’s so rude”, he said, springing up and prowling over to where Cormack was scooting backwards on his ass, frantically checking under his bedside table for a gun that was no longer there. “I’ve been told that I’m a joy and delight to wake up next to. A joy and delight”.
“What do you want, Nightwing”, Cormack stuttered, his eyes wide, crawling backwards until he reached the opposite wall, colliding with it hard. Dick shrugged, stepping off the edge of the bed and sauntering closer until he was standing over Cormack, hands on his hips.
“I want a lot of things, Cormack”, Dick said, “World peace, Walmart to continue that two for one deal they had on fruit loops and, oh, now I remember”. He leaned in, “I want to know all about that hit you had on Captain Turnpike”.
Somehow, Cormack gathered enough courage to sneer in the face of Nightwing.
“I aint telling you shit, birdie”, he sneered.
Dick smiled.
…
After dropping off a wrapped and bow tied Anton Cormack outside the precinct with a taped confession, just as Amy was about to wander out from finishing her shift, Dick headed home. The sun was coming up as he left the old abandoned apartment and sauntered over to his own. He was dead tired, the kind of tired that was wired to his bones. He greeted Dolohov as he entered, and saw the man off with a muted thanks. Despite the exhaustion, Dick began preparing breakfast for his boys, just in time to hear the muted patter of little boy feet as Tim rounded the corner rubbing at his eyes, his favourite blanket clenched tightly in one fist.
“Hey Timmy”, Dick greeted.
Tim launched himself at Dick and climbed his way up into a hug, which Dick eagerly gave. After the hug Tim leaned backwards in Dick’s hold, clever eyes searching Dick’s face.
“You went out as Nightwing last night”, he said, accusingly.
“I did”, Dick said, pressing little kisses to the little boy’s cheeks, making him squirm and giggle.
“Noooo”, Tim said, “Stop it, Dickie”.
“Can’t stop”, Dick said, peppering Tim’s face, “Too cute!”
“Dickie!”
Dick laughed and released the kid, who ran over to the fridge to help himself to the orange juice.
“You need some help pouring, Timmy?” Dick asked.
“No”, Tim said, going to stand on his little stool so he could see over the bench, “I’m okay”.
“Okay then”, Dick said, watching with an eagle eye as Tim struggled to open the carton. “Let me know if you need any help”.
“I’m okay, Dickie, I promise!”
“I believe you, I believe you”, Dick laughed. “I’m just making sure, I promise!”
There were a couple of close calls with the bottle of juice, it being too heavy for Tim to lift well enough to pour into the glass. He watched as Tim, realising how heavy the juice bottle was, pulled the tissue box closer to help give him enough leverage to pour the juice without spilling. Dick grinned. His little brother was so clever.
“Excellent job, Timmy!” Dick said, giving the little boy a high five.
Tim beamed at him and scampered to the dining table, leaving the open carton behind. Dick put the lid back on and put the juice in the fridge, before putting some eggs on a plate for Tim. The toast popped, and he added that to the plate, before serving it to the kid.
“Thanks Dickie!” Tim said, already shovelling the food into his mouth. Dick mussed his hair in response and went to go check on Damian.
Damian was awake in his crib when Dick got there, having pulled himself up to stand by the bars. Dick grinned softly as the babies owl eyes tracked him, before the babies face lighted up in the biggest scowl. Damian held out his hands to be picked up and Dick scooped him out of the cot before the little chubby monster could overbalance and fall. Damien babbled happily into Dick’s shoulder, still scowling, and fisted one fat fist in Dick’s shirt.
Dick cooed at him and Damian scrunched up his little baby nose and scowled back.
Dick brought him into the kitchen area and started mixing the formula for the baby to drink. Tim, he saw, was on his little iPad, a present from Jason, who could afford these things, and was watching one of the skating videos he was so fond of.
Dick thought about preparing him for school, and then realised it was a Saturday.
He fed Damian in a daze, and then placed the little baby in a playpen he had set up, settling down besides it with a little rattle. He closed his eyes for just a second…
The doorbell rang. Dick jerked awake, disorientated.
There was a patter of tiny feet and then Tim ran into the room.
“Dickie!” He yelled, “Someone’s at the door!”
Damian, who had also been sleeping, little first curled on top of Dick’s outstretched hand, jerked awake with an unhappy cry. Without a second thought Dick scooped the baby up, holding him close to his chest, and stumbled to his feet.
“Shh, shh”, he said, jiggling the kid. And then, “Excellent job, Timmy”. Because not just opening the door himself because there was no adult presence was something to be praised. Tim beamed and ran down the hall towards the door, Dick stumbling behind him. He checked the clock on his way through, and was aghast to realise it was almost lunch.
Tim was waiting at the door, vibrating in that jerky way of his that meant he was really excited. On the counter, Dick could see the half eaten remains of a PB&J and felt an overwhelming surge of guilt. He hadn’t meant to fall asleep and make the kid go hungry. The doorbell rang again.
“Can I open it, Dickie?” Tim asked, excited.
“Let me just check who it is first, bud”, Dick said, grabbing an escrima stick he had sitting in a key dish and transferring the baby to the part of his chest furthest away from the door. Cautiously, he peered through the eyehole, and saw it was just Amy. He tucked the escrima stick into his jeans, out of sight. “Okay bud, it’s just Amy. You can open the door”.
Tim yanked it open immediately.
“Hi Amy!” He said.
“Hey Timmy”, Amy said, crouching down and giving the boy a hug. Amy looked exhausted.
“Do you want to see the photos I took yesterday?”
This was a rare thing for Tim to ask, to be so open as to demand attention from an adult. Amy knew this and capitulated immediately. Regardless of what she had originally come here for, and Dick had a fair idea, children were more important.
“Of course, Tim”, she said, “I can’t wait”.
“I’ll put the coffee on”, Dick said.
He got the coffee machine on, also a present from Jason, and at that moment Damian began grumbling, and so he warmed up some formula and fed the baby, gently transferring him to his shoulder to burp after Damian had eaten. He heard the cheerful sounds of Tim talking about his photography obsession, and Amy’s more measured, patient replies, and smiled. The coffee machine beeped and began dispensing the coffee into two mugs, one of which he kept black (for Amy) and the other he loaded with sugar and creamer (for himself). He then poured a glass of orange juice, for the little boy who would definitely be joining them. Dick then cleared off a section of the table, moving Tim’s artwork and his pilfered files to one side, leaving a section clear for them to drink and talk. He put Damian in his wrap to keep his arms free, and soon enough, Amy entered the room again, Tim wrapped around her neck, beaming. It seemed he was having a very good day today, but Dick still wanted to find Janet and Jack Drake where they were in Blackgate and beat the ever loving stuffing out of them for even introducing the concept of bad days to Tim.
“Timmy here”, Amy said, “Is very talented”.
“I know”, Dick said, smiling gently at Tim. “I keep saying we should put his stuff in an art gallery”.
Tim hid his face in Amy’s neck, although not before Dick saw the pleased flush of his grin.
“Oh god, coffee”, Amy said, collapsing into the opposite chair and pulling Tim into her lap. Almost immediately Tim squirmed off her lap and into a chair of his own, already piled with pillows so he could sit comfortably, and pulled his orange juice closer.
“Something happened at work, didn’t it?” Tim said, fingers folded under his chin, in that adorable mini-detective way he did from watching the cartoon series Gotham Studios did on Batman.
Amy had long since given up on not talking shop around the children. His children were, according to Amy, very odd, and by children she meant ‘Tim’. Dick didn’t take it as an insult. If Tim was odd then other children must be dreadfully dull, and he honestly pitied their parents.
“It definitely did, Mister Grayson”, she said, “We had a visitor last night”.
Tim bounced in his chair, and pointedly did not look in Dick’s direction.
“Was it Nightwing?” He asked, excitedly.
“Grayson”, Amy said, “If half my officers could be like Tim, our city would be cleaned up in a week”.
“It was Nightwing wasn’t it?” Tim said. “What did he do?”
“He just caught the head of the Cormack gang”, Amy said, “Wrapped him up all pretty with a bow, and delivered the murderous fu-fudge straight to my door”.
Tim cheered and pumped his fist.
“That was my reaction too, little dude”, said Amy.
“I love Nightwing”, Tim said, still not looking at Dick, and Dick thanked the world for his darker skin, hiding his pleased flush.
“So that’s it then?” Dick said, “Turnpike’s murderer is caught?”
“The little fu-fudge confessed to everything”, Amy said. “Damn near shit himself, he was so scared that Nightwing was going to come through that door”.
“We should have pancakes”, Tim said decisively, “Pancakes to celebrate”.
Dick smiled into his hand.
“Yeah”, he said, “We can have pancakes”.
…
Dick’s phone beeped shortly after Amy left. He checked it absentmindedly, curled up on the couch as he was with Tim watching the Cartoon Network. Jason.
Hey Dickhead, you free now?
Dick typed back a reply.
Always, Jay.
He went back to his movie.
An hour later there was a knock on the door. Tim, huddled into Dick’s side, leapt from the couch, accidentally elbowing Dick as he went.
“Dick! Dick! Someone’s at the door, Dick! Can I open it, can I open it?”
Chuckling, Dick stood up. “Wait until we see who it is, Timmy”.
Tim stepped away from the door, hands tucked primly behind his back, but still vibrating. Dick checked through the eyehole and saw, unsurprised, to see that it was Jason. Dick grinned to himself.
“Okay Timmy, you can open the door”, he said.
Tim wrenched it open and squealed when he saw who it was. “Jay!”
Jason smiled. “Hey Timbellina”, and then caught the kid with ease when Tim flung himself at him.
“Oof”, he said, miming hurt. “You’re getting so big Timmy!”
“I grew six millimetres this week”, Tim told him, in that serious little kid way he did sometimes. “Dickie told me. We measured it out properly and everything”.
“Wow”, Jason said solemnly, eyes alight with mirth. “A whole six millimetres. You’re a giant, kid”.
“One day, I’m going to be as big as you”, Tim told him.
“I don’t doubt it”, Jason said. “You’re definitely going to be taller then Dickie, at any rate”.
“Hey!” Dick protested, “I’ll have you know I’m taller then the average height”.
“Yeah, taller then the average smurf”.
Tim devolved into giggles at this witty comeback, safely tucked into the girth of his own personal hero. Dick rolled his eyes at them.
“Can you believe how mean he is to me, Timmy?” He said, walking backwards into the apartment. “I’m crying! Crying!”
“Oh no, don’t cry Dickie!” Tim said, but the little monster was giggling as he said that, not believing Dick’s words for a second.
“Yeah Dickie”, Jason said, face split with a shit eating grin. “Don’t cry”.
Dick couldn’t help it. He rolled his eyes again.
…
They spent the day at the museum, Jason, Dick, Damian and Tim on a leash, because the kid couldn’t be trusted not to wander off on his own. Considering the whole reason Tim had been adopted into the family was because of his habit of running around the rooftops of Gotham, taking photos of criminals and crime fighters, Dick thought his compromise of a backpack leash was fair. Tim didn’t think so, but Tim could also be bribed with more access to skateboarding videos, so it all worked out in the end. Dick felt so full, having all his brothers together with him, and was already mourning the time when Jason would have to go back to Gotham.
Jason was currently having an extended opinion on books.
“This man”, he was saying. “This man fell off a cliff. The first book was great, don’t get me wrong. But the third? Train wreck, complete and utter. I have never read something I regretted so much in my life, and considering I read your attempts at creative writing that’s saying something”.
“Hey, there’s nothing wrong with Princess Margo the Fairy Princess”, Dick said, mildly.
Jason looked at him, askance. “Dick, you were sixteen when you wrote that!”
Dick, who had written that mostly to torture Jason by making him read it, smirked, “So? I stand by it”.
“Unbelievable”, Jason said, throwing his hands up. “Forty thousand words of what the taste of fruit loops reads like. With added sugar!”
“It was amazing. I’m going to get it published”.
Jason mimed vomiting into the nearest trash can. Tim, on his bright green froggy backpack leash, giggled. Damian scowled. The baby really had amazing fine motor control over his facial features, it was hilarious he used it to produce just the one facial expression though.
“How is your novel going, by the way?” He asked.
Jason’s look of disgust was a beautiful thing. Dick threw his head back and laughed.
“It’s reads like what fear toxin tastes like”, Jason said, “It is the worst thing I have ever written. I am fifty thousand words into regret, Dick. Regret”.
“Aw, Little Wing”, Dick said, “It can’t be that bad”.
“Writing this novel is what pure pain feels like”, Jason said, “And I would know pain, considering I almost died”.
“Almost, Little Wing, the operative word here being ‘almost’”.
“Not for lack of the Joker’s trying”.
“Do you think he can walk yet?” Dick mused.
“Dickie, after what you did to him”, Jason said, face full of pure, vindictive glee, “He probably still has to drink through a straw”.
Some nights Dick tried to regret the brutality of the beating he had given the Joker after he had found the condition Jason had been in. Then he remembered how close his Little Wing had been to death, and rationalised that the Joker should be damn grateful he was still alive. Nobody touched his brothers. Nobody. If Jason had died…well, Dick was just damn grateful Jason hadn’t died, and left it at that.
Tim grabbed his hand to get his attention, and Dick snapped out of the painful recollections. He looked into the little boy’s face, alarmed to see how uncomfortable Tim looked.
“Timmy? What’s wrong?” He asked, kneeling to Tim’s height.
Tim leaned forward and whispered, as if imparting a deadly secret.
“Dickie…I need to go to the toilet”.
…
That night, after the boys were tucked into bed, Nightwing and the Red Hood took to the streets of Bludhaven. They stopped two attempted muggings, and then the Red Hood beat an attempted rapist damn near unconscious. They then headed in the direction of the docks, flying high and fast in the cold night air. Jason, exhilarated, let out a little whoop as they skipped over the rooftops, and then alighted on a building overlooking the icy bay. They stopped there, for a second, and Dick marvelled at the brilliance of the moon, the light lovely and cold over the ripples of the bay. In the distance he could make out the dark, foggy shapes of Gotham’s skyline, and then his brother’s silhouette set against the sky, tall and heroic. Dick thought of the day they had, a good day, and thought of all the good days they had to look forward to in the future. In that moment, Dick thought he was the luckiest man alive, getting to witness the growth of all his brothers, having gotten to raise them and was raising them still, feeling privileged from the love at it all. He turned and grinned at Jason, bright and wild, and could feel the strength of his brother’s smile back.
And then they took flight, straight into the night.
The darkness looked at them, full of monsters and all things great and evil, and they looked right back, straight in the eyes with a baring of teeth. And they were not afraid.
They had everything they would ever need.