Archive of Our Own

Nearly five years, she has been gone.

And in one fell swoop, the present tense became past tense.

Suddenly, she 'had been' gone, because right now: She 'has been' found.

The question now was: what would happen?

After all, nobody had cared back when she had disappeared.

Why would they care now?

Diana's eyes were wide and disbelieving as they connected with Rhea’s own stunned blue gaze.

And suddenly, before the younger woman could react, Diana rushed forward and crushed Rhea to her chest.

“Dixie!”

Fuck.

Fuck no.

Rhea stared straight ahead, body rigid and numb, as those once-familiar strong arms hugged her tightly. She tried to ignore the décolleté her face was nearly pressed against … which was pretty difficult, actually. Her nose wrinkled in distaste as the silky blouse tickled it.

Aunt Diana had always been tall. Taller than most women, being an Amazon did that. Which, inconvenient much at the moment? Rhea cursed her smaller-than-average height.

“ Dixie, sweet girl, where have you been?”, the Amazon murmured into Rhea's hair. As if she had truly missed the younger woman.

Closing her eyes, Rhea took a deep breath, ignoring how thin the air seemed to grow with every intake, as she forced herself to remain calm and collected. Releasing her fist – a fist she hadn't even consciously noticed her free hand had formed – she reopened her eyes as her son's tiny fingers tightened around her own.

Max.

Max, her sweet sweet baby boy, was reaching for her - seeking assurance.

Her child was afraid – because his mama was dancing on the edge of having a breakdown.

No.

… not just no.

But fuck no.

She had been done with that particular shitshow years ago – and she wouldn't step into it again.

“Momma ...”, her baby boy whispered, sounding so damn frightened that Rhea reflexively straightened from her previously rigidly uncomfortable posture into one her son was familiar with, one he took comfort from.

After all, he was used to his mom being a bit of a bitch, and taking no one's shit. He was used to her staring down people that looked down their nose at them, at the little boy with no father and the young woman that clearly was a single mother at her age. Maximillian Grayson-Seymour had grown up knowing that his mom always looked relaxed, her blue eyes razor-sharp and a very dangerous smirk on her red-painted lips when confronted with people that she didn't want to have shit to do with, and who she always let know that, thanks no thanks, neither of them had a single fuck to give about pretentious idiots ideas on decorum, property or their generally ridiculous sensibilities.

She always kept her language clean, but the meaning was transmitted all the same. An art that spending years attending boring galas had helped her hone into perfection.

Which meant that no one was allowed to make her son feel unsafe, not even a fucking superheroine and international icon. Not even her once-favorite aunt.

The cards had been remixed, and once again, she was holding the one that changed the entire game: The unshakeable knowledge that Dixie Grayson was gone.

She was dead – and she would stay that way.

… now to make her point clear for even the headstrong Amazonian Princess to acknowledge it ...

“Miss Prince”, Rhea said evenly. “Please release me. You are scaring the children.”

And she wasn't exaggerating. The kids looked uncertain, some even scared, at the obvious emotional display a heroine as strong as Wonder Woman was putting on. This was neither the place nor the time for such behaviour – something a woman like Diana Prince should have been aware of before acting ... like a distraught aunt (and damn, Rhea, don't excuse and sympathize, don't) .

She should have absolutely been fucking aware of the tiny four-year-old clinging to Rhea's hand, lip quivering in fright.

Slowly, the arms around her fell as Diana stepped away, concern and hopefulness brewing behind her distressed blue gaze. Wonderful, just – wonderful. Wonder Woman crying would freak the children completely out. Sneaking an awkward and apologizing glimpse at Melanie, she caught the older woman's frown which was thankfully not directed at her but at the heroine's back.

At least she wasn't alone in her exasperation at her aunt's blatant lack of awareness.

But being assured that she wasn't too tetchy in this situation, and as such wronging the older woman – who seemed, admittedly, genuinely distressed – settled her rising self-consciousness. It was one thing to be petty when strangers pissed her off, it was another when as much emotional baggage was attached as it was right now.

Still – none of her carefully connected plans for being found were completely adaptable at this moment. She had to improvise. Taking a deep breath, she steeled herself.

She wasn't a child or a teenager.

Fuck no.

She was a mother.

And she would act like it.

Turning swiftly, Rhea lifted Max into her arms, the little boy immediately clinging to her, his arms winding in a choke-hold around her neck as his legs wound around her hips. He had immediately buried his pale face into her shoulder, but not before his mother could see the tears peaking at the corners of his eyes.

Rhea swallowed inaudibly.

She had always silently prayed that the day of her past crashing back into the present would never come, that the demanding ghosts of her childhood memories colliding with the foundation of her future wouldn't happen, her hopes and dreams remaining safe and secure. But prayers were no guarantee, and it seems as if her luck had run out.

In any other setting – namely, any kind where there were no little ears present - she would have cursed a blue streak and told her aunt to fuck off, to forget that she had ever seen Rhea – well, her plans were basically moot by this point. Matter of fact, all her contingency plans were for shit now. Diana definitely knew that this was a booked tour, she could easily find out where Rhea lived through the contact information she had filled out to register as a chaperone – the fact that she had picked up a child that held an undeniable resemblance to herself had the other woman at a distinct advantage of finding out her address, as well.

And by the way Diana's hand had risen to her mouth in shock – the older woman had finally made the connection as well.

She looked startled between Rhea and Max. Honestly, Rhea couldn't actually fault her for it. After all, the last time her aunt had seen her she had been a wreck of a nineteen-year-old girl … barely an adult with too many responsibilities on her shoulders which had obviously drowned and impeded her judgment – or at least that was the image she had given off to anyone not in the know of the shitshow her life had been at that moment. The cat was – at least partially – out of the bag. The knitted brow of Wonder Woman as she stared intensely at Max gave away that she was trying to guess something important …

Probably her son's age – whelp.

Not now.

(She had no interest in opening that particular can of worms right there.

If ever.)

Time to do damage control.

She wasn't the former Girl Wonder for nothing.

Nodding at Melanie, she called to the nursery teacher that she was taking Max and going home early. The older woman only nodded; a sharp look shot at the heroine among them told Rhea that she understood that there was more at play here.

“Please, Dixie -”

“I'm not Dixie”, Rhea interrupted calmly.

And concerning that annoying but important point, she would stand strong, even in front of uninformed people.

Dixie was gone, and she wasn't coming back. Not for anything or anyone.

“My name is Dorothea”, she took a deep breath, stealing her nerves. Time to woman-up. “Dorothea Grayson-Seymour, and right now certainly is neither the place nor time to talk. Please respect this, and respect that I do not wish for you to follow us home. I need time to settle my child.”

'Which you unsettled' went unsaid but not unheard. Diana's gaze remained unwaveringly on Max, and something infinitely gentle suddenly settled on her face.

It made Rhea’s chest feel uncomfortable … in a strange way. Not exactly all that bad, but … her throat felt tight looking at her former aunt.

Rhea swallowed, blinking. 

Despite being firm and unmoving in her resolve, there was a part of her that knew why it felt like a vice was wrapping itself painfully around her still healing - and still sometimes bleeding heart. A part that regretted the seemingly unconquerable rift separating the Before and After of her life.

(It hurt. It was a pain she couldn’t admit, because if she did - if she said the words out loud, she would fall apart. And falling apart … was not possible.)

Once upon a time that gentle fondness had been a familiar look. One, she had often been gifted. One she had been so happy to receive. One she thought she would never again see.

Her eyes prickled.

Why couldn't the woman just be as disappointed or even nearly insensitive as she had been in their last interactions? Why did she have to … to look just like her Auntie D, the woman she once infinitely admired?

She shouldn't feel anything at all at the older woman's tender look. So why the fuck did she?

“As you wish, Dix- … Rhea. I'm sorry to have caused a scene”, Diana apologized sincerely, inclining her head, halfway-directed to the entire room.

The other three chaperoning parents didn't look particularly impressed either, two of them also having a steadying hand on the shoulder of a hiding little kid.

“Thank you.”

Rhea left it at that.

And as she turned on the spot, walking out of the hall that should have entertained her baby boy for many more hours, fun cut short by his mother's repressed past raising its ugly unforgiving head, her heart was heavy.

She had been so sure that even if found by happenstance, her life wouldn't change much.

She had been so sure of her former friends, her former family's reactions - just as sure as she had been of her own. Of the perfect execution of her contingency plans.

Now, however ...

Now she was hurrying out of a museum, swallowing unwelcome tears she thought she had long ago cried out and dried in the dead of the night.

Why?

Just … why?

It was a quick call.

The moment Mathilda had picked up and heard Rhea's choked voice asking for help, she had promised to come and get Max. Rhea had harshly swallowed; the tension of what was coming had started to literally choke her.

It was one thing to prepare yourself mentally, to make up countless-what-if-scenarios in your mind – but actually knowing that it would happen, the uncertainty of how …

Her heart clenched painfully as she tried to hide her trembling hands.

And within this chaos of uncomfortable emotions, sincere gratefulness for her parents-in-law overwhelmed her. This one instance of conditionless help, of people who didn't gain anything by being there supporting her … without them, she would have drowned a long time ago. Knowing that she could count on her parents-in-law, especially right now, when the path forwards was cast in shadows and turns she couldn't remotely attempt to accurately predict, was like a balm to her soul, easing the burden just that little bit it needed relief to keep her from collapsing in panic.

She wouldn't have her baby in the house to witness his mother's explosion or implosion, not with the uncertainty of exactly who, how many and how her past would come calling. Diana being the one that found her could either mean that she informed the whole freaking Justice League and former Sidekicks, or it could mean that she went straight to Bruce and her siblings … honestly, no matter which option Wonder Woman choose, Rhea didn't want her child to be present for the inevitable outcome. No mother would allow the possibility of trauma such an experience could bring their child.

“Momma, are you 'kay?”

Blinking, Rhea smiled at Max earnest little face, cuddling in her lap as she held him in a tight hug. He was safe – and he would stay that way. Burrowing her face in his hair, she closed her eyes. Her baby was way too empathic, but – the fact that he wasn’t afraid to express his emotions also filled her with pride.

She could feel the anxiousness running through his tiny body, the confrontation she had with Diana had shaken him, and still, he asked if she was okay. Her brave little man.

“I'm gonna be okay”, she promised gently, taking a deep breath.

There was no room for any other possibility.

His little arms tightened around her neck.

“We will be okay, baby, I promise.”

(An ocean away, up in the sky, a tearful Amazonian sent out a long hoped-for message.

An ocean away, scattered over the land of freedom, independence and dreams, the communicators of Heroes and Vigilantes alike received a single sentence.

An ocean away, down in a cave that only fearful whispers dared speaking of in that particularly crime-infested city, a former guardian broke his coffee mug as his heart hopped into his throat, not daring to believe.

An ocean away, in a school classroom, a green-eyed black-haired boy barely remembered to grab his backpack before storming out, ignoring his teacher's calls.

An ocean away, chaos came about even as the source of that chaos cuddled with her beloved baby boy.)

(Wonder Woman: Our Bluebird is in London.)

In Gotham, a Zeta Tube activated as its impatient user called out the League's headquarters.

In London, a door opened as a beautiful older woman let herself into her daughter-in-law's home.

At the Justice League's headquarters, Wonder Woman was cornered by an unmasked teenager not taking no for an answer on the whereabouts of a particular former Vigilante.

In a certain former Vigilante's home, her mother-in-law stroked the younger woman's hair as she held two of the most precious people in her life, allowing the tension to bleed out of the former Vigilante as the young woman regained her bearings.

At the Justice League's headquarters, a Zeta Tube deactivated just as dozens of others announced the arrival of the most prominent League members and their former sidekicks.

In front of the former Vigilantes home, a mother bade goodbye to her child as she watched the car with her baby boy drive away, heart dread–heavy, knowing full well that he would be safe; and as she turned on her heel, a fire lit in her chest that wouldn't allow any other outcome in the unavoidable confrontations but her own victory.

In London, a Zeta Tube activated and a young teenager stormed out, the tracking app made by his older brother blinking as he hailed a taxi, only one goal in his mind as he moved in on his target.

(Brother and sister.

Mentor and mentee.

Guardian and ward.)

(In all but blood and paper, once upon a time, the deepest relationship in their family.

... mother and son.)

There was no bell ringing.

But then, she had felt the alarm of her security system buzz the very second that someone had entered her home through the upstairs window.

(The window she had left open for that very purpose.

Let's play cat and mouse.

Do you know who is who? )

Instead, Rhea remained sitting on the couch she had cuddled her son on not even an hour ago; dressed relaxedly in a loosely-knitted black sweater and light-grey skinny jeans she presented a non-threatening picture.

A picture which the blood-red stilettos betrayed.

(Even though hers should be named Steel-ettos - after all, the heel was made literally out of steel. A birthday gift from her mother-in-law.

… her wonderfully thoughtful in-laws were the best, ever, hands down.)

After all, for civilians, they would simply be a fashion statement – but for those who were fighting crime night and day? It was a clear message: I'm not dressed to impress, I'm dressed for the kill - are you ready?

Whether retired or not, Dorothea Grayson-Seymour with sharp-heeled Stilettos was a declaration of war in herself.

Rhea crossed her legs, a mocking smile fixed on her lips as she followed the intruder's path through her home; they were good, nearly completely silent, but this wasn't her home for nothing, and she knew every noise it made, with the amount of weight it took to make those …

It seems that nightly Birds of a feather still flocked together eagerly.

She took a deep breath as a figure appeared in the doorway, a familiar figure … familiar in a way that only highlighted the differences time had written on his features since she had last laid her eyes upon him. After all, during their last encounter he had been an eleven, nearly twelve years old boy that had treated her like air …

His disappointment - above even Bruce’s - had stung so deeply that she had cried herself into an exhausted sleep more than once.

But as familiar as those features were, as unfamiliar as his towering height and sleek muscles appeared, it was the desperation she saw behind those brilliant green eyes that made her doubt her next action and halted the words she had prepared as her intruders welcome …

This was not ‘The Only Blood Son’. This … was her little Robin.

Her fledgeling Robin, who struggled so much to express emotion, was standing frozen in her doorway, lips pressed together tightly even as his Adam's apple bobbed, betraying how heavily he had swallowed upon seeing her. His hands were clenched into fists …

… fuck.

She was pretty sure that she could have kept her defense up for anyone, even for Tim, Jason and Alfred - everyone else, she could have at least made a remorseless attempt of tearing verbally apart before evicting them – but her baby Robin …

(She had no more fuck's to give.

It wasn’t a lie.

But her baby Robin was never someone she could have told to fuck off.

How could she tell a part of her heart to fuck off, when it had already been so thorougly broken before - when she defended the parts still alive with every breathshe took?)

Before she could fall down that rabbit hole her body moved on its own accord, standing up from her seat, but she didn't manage to take a single step. As if it had been the only signal her Robin had been waiting for, he flew across the room and swooped her up in a hug so desperate she felt his brimming relief like it was her own.

(Maybe it was?)

He was so tall now, nearly two heads taller than her, but as her arms wound around his shoulders letting her head rest against his chest, she felt a tear travel down. So much time had passed, so many memories never made, opportunities missed – and still, this was her baby Robin.

“Ami.”

Rhea melted.

“Baby Bat.”

(Ami. Ami. Ami.

He had called her Ami, he had called her Mami, a slip of the tongue, a name he had sworn to himself he wouldn't ever speak out loud even though she had earned that privilege months before her disappearance – and sometimes, sometimes he had doubted, had laid awake, thinking, questioning … if he had told her how he felt, what she meant to him … he asked himself if it would have changed anything, if she would have stayed -

If she would have taken him with her.

But he had been a coward, a spineless idiot to drenched in his own insecurities and the need to please Batman as the vigilante’s only blood son, too young to see the damage those ignorant fools of the Justice League and Young Justice Team had done to her -

… he had wondered, so many times …

Ami. Mami.

And she stayed in his arms, clinging to him … oh. He was taller than her now. Tall and old enough to protect her.

He had failed his Ami once, he wouldn't ever again.)

(Damian Wayne blinked as he felt his older sister (his Ami, his Mami) move out of their embrace. Emptiness clung to where she had returned the contact, and he felt an immediate sense of loss. But before he could shut those feelings off, a slender small hand gripped his sword-calloused one and he was unprepared for the way she tugged him down onto the couch next to her. Staring wide-eyed at the older woman, Damian took the time to really look at his big sister.

She had changed.

Radically.

Naturally, time meant age, but Dorothea had aged beautifully, without question, her features only seemed more refined and gentle, any signs of childhood softness gone from them, a delicate face framed by artfully arranged black tresses curling along her sharp jawline. She was still of petite height, but her once defined musculature had slimmed down a lot …

… Damian felt uneasy at the way Dorothea's clothes seemed so loose on her skinny body; even if she hadn't been active, surely his sister would have stayed in shape? She hadn't needed to lose weight at all – why did she?

But … and he hoped, hoped so much to be wrong, but maybe her changed physique had a different reason, because despite the tentative (loving) smile she gave him, with tearily shining eyes, Damian had grown enough, emotionally, to recognize the kind of pain etched into her eyes and that smile.

Grief. Old grief, engraved grief.

His older sister was grieving.

And again, he hadn't been there to comfort her.)

Rhea swallowed a defeated sigh as she smiled at Damian.

So much for not giving in to any of her family and telling her past to fuck off …

… as if she could have told her Baby Bat to leave.

Besides ...

(Remember to live.

Remember to be happy.

Remember to love freely and wholly.)

… Adrien may have made her promise to give no fuck for anyone's ego-trips and hang-ups, but – she knew her husband. He would have been the first to jump on the wagon of reconciliation if the other party meant no harm …

(And especially her youngest brother - if there was anyone Adrien had wanted to meet, it had been Damian …)

Ami.

Her Baby Bat had called her Mami in his native language.

Rhea reached out and gently caressed his cheek, her lips tugging up even more at the way he leaned into her hand, those green eyes never leaving her. Just as she was taking him in she knew that he was cataloging the changes in her … changes that weren't just good, she knew.

It was the moment that his eyes darkened with unmistakable worry that she did release her sigh. Honestly, she had been a fool to hope that he wouldn't jump to conclusions based on his observations. Taking both of his hands into her own, Rhea made eye contact with her worried little brother, a troubled frown on his lips.

She had to blink quickly, feeling her eyes becoming hot.

Not now.

“Dami, a lot has happened”, she spoke softly. “Not everything was good, but it also wasn't all bad. I promise you, I'm happy. Well, as happy as I can be”, she added as his hands clenched at the obvious lie.

He still didn't look reassured.

“Don't lie to me, Dorothea. You are grieving, it is very present in your body language.”

“I am.”

He swallowed heavily at her admission, frown deepening even worse than before. A shot of nostalgia took her by surprise. Damian was a handsome young man, and were it not for his darker skin tone and green eyes, he could have doubled easily for a younger Bruce. Tallish, broad-shouldered, deceivingly muscular and handsome in his sharp markant features.

Bruce had frowned at her a lot, too.

And just like Damian, there had always been a softness to him when it had concerned her.

“But just as I am grieving, Dami, I am also living. I am moving forward, step by step, and even though they are baby steps, it is progress. I promise you, I am not swallowing my pain and drowning in it. My therapist says I am actually quite well-balanced at the moment.”

“I should have been there for you.”

“Dami-”

“No!”, he growled angrily. “You shouldn't have been alone grieving. I don't know who you grieve for, but no one should do it without their family, and we all pushed you away, we were terrible fools, and you were left to suffer! How can you even look at me, I hurt you, I -!”

“Damian al Ghul-Wayne!”

Startled, Damian stared at her, words abruptly cut off.

Drawing nearer to him, Rhea gathered herself.

Courage.

“His name was Adrien.”

Damian froze.

“He was my husband for a year.”

Her heartbeat drummed thunderously in her ears.

“He died before our son could ever meet him.”

Those horrible heartbreaking words suffocated the room.

“I was eighteen when he died.”

Time seemed to stand still.

Damian raged.

He raged at the unfairness of it all.

He raged at the world, the heroes, her friends – at their family.

At himself.

Anger and fear held his heart in a vice grip as he listened to his Ami's words, as she painted the picture of a young girl searching for herself in New York (her eyes spoke words of something darker which her lips refused to admit, something that had often been hinted at in jeers and taunts from the younger heroes back before everything fell apart - something she still protected him from, even now) and a dorky college student lost in the same city finding one another without even knowing that they were looking for each other. 

Worry and Self-deprecation followed as she settled against his chest once it became clear he wouldn’t loosen his embrace, his arms winding even tighter around her shoulders, the story of a teenage love growing into life-long commitment weaving itself before his mind's eye as she shared a part of her life he had never even guessed existed. His lips ticked up as he nearly smiled at just how honest their love grew. Little gestures and sincere encouragement that too a touch-starved orphan girl meant the world. Conditionless faith and a protectiveness that didn't cater to his perceived later station in a demanding society supported a young stressed heir in daunting times without expectations. Learning of a pair of lovers that evolved from fast friends to unknowingly dating before suddenly confessing their love.

Sorrow and pain as Dorothea admitted nearly inaudible how she didn't trust her own family with her happiness; how she feared that they would take it, and trample it, twist it.

And Damian couldn't deny it, because in hindsight, everything his sister did or didn't do had always been picked apart until a fault could be found – even if it was actually faultless.

So no matter how much it hurt to know that the time she had been incommunicado during her eighteenth birthday – something Batman had ripped into her for despite her being an adult (barely) and having kicked her out more than two years before – had been because she had secretly married the love of her life, Damian understood.

He understood, and for a moment he was so happy for her – until reality sat in.

Because his sister wasn't married any longer. She was widowed.

His heart silently broke for her as she whispered, with tears clouding her voice, how she had fallen pregnant shortly after their wedding. A discovery that had prompted a complete redoing of their future plans – a happy occurrence.

Adrien, his brother-in-law, had been over the moon.

And then, a horrible freak accident ripped the young father-to-be from his little family, leaving devastation in his wake. A family that was suddenly torn apart by death.

Damian nearly threw up as the timeline suddenly became crystal clear.

Adrien's death happened mere weeks after the six leaguers had left for Rimbo.

Dorothea's plan had been put into action just before that, a plan she couldn't abandon and had to see through – despite being pregnant and without support.

And her disappearance after the Invasion which had only been stopped thanks to her long-time planning and careful manipulations (and didn't this explain why his self-sacrificing sister asked Artemis to go undercover instead of doing it herself) actually made sense: They had been utter bastards, not brothers, Batman as well as Bruce had deserted her (again, the bitter voice in his mind whispered, abandoned again, again, again).

Abandoned while drowning in grief, and she had risen like a phoenix, beyond beautiful and strong.

A vicious sense of pride filled him as Dorothea explained executing her relocation, and reorganizing her life. He felt tears prickle in his eyes as she admitted to following her dreams and not giving in to dark impulses … for the love she held for her dead husband, for the promises the man that knew her better than anyone else asked her to keep even should anything happen to him – and most importantly, the innocent child growing beneath her heart.

The child.

His nephew.

(Baby brother.)

She had laughed and pointed to the wall behind them, making him twist his neck to look at the photos decorating it – photos showing a little baby boy swaddled in a blue hospital blanket, pressed into his sisters bosom, her tired sweaty face glowing, smile radiant with love; a love that was ever present as the child continued to grow, showing a crawling toddler, a little boy holding his mother's hand as she threw a college graduation hat in the air – a child with dirty blonde curls, a narrow button-up nose as well as his mother's pouty pink lips and blue blue eyes.

The instinctive protectiveness he felt towards the adorable little boy rivaled the one he felt for his sister. And it only grew, the more she shared with him.

Getting to know that she had studied literature because she wanted to write children’s books and took management courses to help her father-in-law in the family business (relief coursed through his veins; she had support, she wasn't left to deal with her grief and the challenge of motherhood all on her own) painted a smile on his lips: he had never known that she had inclinations to do as such, but it just fit.

(He knew that she left a lot out. Being a single mother couldn't have been easy, especially at the beginning, but she glossed over those months with practiced ease. Still, he had a suspicion that her exhaustion and weight loss were not recent.)

Somehow, they ended up with Dorothea – Rhea, as she insisted on being called – lying on his chest, head buried in the fabric of his school shirt, his blazer abandoned, as he held her protectively, inclining on the couch. Neither of them paid tribute to the tears staining their faces, and as he gently caressed her hair she admitted that Diana's presence that day had made her fly blind - all the plans she had made in case of being found, her contingencies, the explanations and telling-offs she had practiced in her head …

Damian being the first to truly confront her had abolished them all.

(His chest was all warm and tingly at those words, because that meant that she was still his Ami, his sister-mami – he still had his place in her heart, despite him breaking it just a tiny bit years ago.)

He chuckled at his brother-in-law’s words: Not giving any fucks for those that hurt, used and abandoned her was pretty damn good advice. Damian was sure that he and Adrien would have gotten along, especially as they had a very important common goal: Dorothea's happiness. Her's, and his nephew’s.

Speaking of said nephew.

His sister had taken out her phone.

“It's late, but Max can't sleep until I give him a goodnight story and kiss”, she grinned.

His nephew was truly like his mom.

A thought occurred to him, and - he knew it would be asking too much, but …

“Can I see him?”, he asked, insecure if that would be a tipping point for his sister …

But her smile only gentled as she softly put a hand on his face, stroking his cheek. Damian's eyes closed contendly; this was the most positive physical contact he had with a family member in a long time.

“I'm sure Max would like to meet his big brother Damian, over the phone … and in real life.”

He sucked in a deep breath.

Had she just said -

“The fuck?!”

Dorothea and Damian froze, wide-eyed.

As did the two other Vigilantes in the doorway, gaping at them.

Worst. Timing. Ever.

Damn Bats.

(Her lips were dry, as was her throat.

Her eyes itched, tear stains coloring her cheeks with black trails.

But looking into Damian's eyes, seeing the emotions in them, seeing just how much her baby brother had grown into the man she had always known he could and would become, left nothing but peace in her chest; even baring her pain and happiness with words rarely spoken outside the therapist's office, Damian would never be just someone else.

He was her Baby Bat, and the rhythmic beating of his heart beneath her ear was music as she soaked in.

This, she could get used to.

Family.)

(Even though it still wasn't what it used to be.

But then, her family would never be fully healed again.

One essential part forever gone, another broken before she ever realized it.

And the others? She wasn't holding her breath.

Until, suddenly, she was – staring at them.

… why?)

Jason.

Tim.

Her Little Wing. Her Baby Bird.

The brothers she lost. The brothers that threw their relationship (her) away.

Why? Why?

Why did her heart scream?

(Damian's arms tightened protectively around his sister as a shudder cursed through her, his eyes narrowing threateningly at the two intruders.

'I dare you to hurt her, you ignorant fools.'

Challenge ensured.)

Her breath caught in her chest as her eyes sought them out, noticing all the little things that were still the same – the shadows beneath Tim's tired eyes, the scowl turning down Jason's mouth wrinkles, the way they held themselves – obviously hurt.

Physically … and emotionally.

But for all that she would always recognize her baby brothers, there were the unmistakable ways in which they had changed. Both so goddamn broad-shouldered and tall, Jason easily the one towering over all of them. There was the white streak in his black hair, paying testament to his encounter with the Lazarus Pit – a streak he once tried to hide with dye. Tim looked even more closed off than usual, and … and Rhea felt how the corners of her eyes prickled.

Damian … Damian was her first baby, his silence had hurt, but … she had never forgotten that he had been a child at the time, tiny assassin or not – a child who was a stranger to understanding and expressing emotions.

A child desperate for his estranged but extremely opinionated father.

Jason and Tim though – they had been hers in a different way.

Not her pseudo-children, but her baby brothers. Her (unexpected) successors. Her chosen family of misfits. And slowly – slowly becoming her equals.

(Why ...)

She had a long time to reflect. To process. To heal.

(… why ...)

This was what therapy had been for. Not to keep a hold of her anger, not to feel validated in her actions or righteous in her decisions. No. None of that ever factored into why she sat before her therapist and explained a heavily edited version of her life and the relationships she once cherished beyond reason.

She hadn't done that to be “the good girl” in her own story – hadn't subjected herself to the painful hours in a misguided attempt to be told: “You were right.”

Right, wrong – what use was assigning blame and labels? For Rhea, it had been about understanding. About … about not making the same mistakes, in the ways that mattered, again. Not with strangers – and, potentially, not with the same people, as well.

It had been hard to get told that everything she did, felt and thought, were from an outsider’s view proof of a simple truth: A lot of what she had thought to have been real, to have been there, had never existed to begin with.

She had been too invested in people who didn't reciprocate her take on their mutual relationship the same way she viewed them – and that, as hard as it was, had been the simple truth of the matter. A truth, which her therapists explained, her subconscious mind had always been aware of.

After all, yes, she had been devastated – but she hadn't been surprised by how the shitstorm tore her down. Hurt, but not surprised. Knowing what was to come and surviving it completely intact were different things.

She had survived intact, the tears running through her being knitted together with glittering gold, like a figurine that had been recreated with Kintsuguri. Not the same, not better or worse, just …

… unique.

(… why, Jaybird … why, Timbo …)

Dixie Grayson had been frayed around the edges, slowly shattering, holding herself together with the self-delusion of having a family to come home to, of having friends that would catch her …

… Rhea had grown enough to accept the truth Dixie had taken too long to understand. She wasn't held back by anger, or bitterness. She didn't hold a grudge. It wasn't even payback that made her hold onto the promise not to let her past control her present or future.

It was the fact that moving backwards would mean corrupting the good that had bloomed in the present, that was enfolding her future. It was the truth in the way that compared to today, her former relationships had often been unhealthy, bordering abusive or poisonous.

She couldn't go back to being their Dixie …

(Why? Why, oh why?)

… but maybe, to just that selected few her heart couldn’t completely let go, she could become their Rhea?

(Why hadn’t she ever been enough?!)

(Why had she never been enough for her family?

Enough for Jason, Tim, Damian … Alfred?

For Mary, John … Bruce? Why had every family member she ever loved left her?)

(Adrien.)

Rhea shuddered, her hands trembling as Damian tightened his hold on her.

For a moment, it felt as if only his embrace kept her together.

Taking a deep breath, she felt every insecurity, every unnamed emotion choke her, but as her lips moved, it also felt a little bit like (family – home – love – trust – hope) a flickering candle, nearly extinguished, burning just that smidgen brighter.

No matter how this conversation (confrontation) ended, she knew …

… it was either the author's final thank-you note …

… or it would pave the way for an open-ended epilogue that promised a different, but strong sequel.

She could accept both …

… but her heart wished for the first.

(A cracked phone screen stared at him, having fallen just seconds ago through numb fingers.

'Wonder Woman: Our Bluebird is in London.'

The message still remained, words illuminated in the dark alleyway, a white beacon in the darkness that was just another blood-drenched path in Gotham's Crime Alley. Unnaturally green eyes refused to blink behind the red helmet as the man clad in red and black kevlar stood frozen.

His breath was fast as his mind tried to comprehend what his eyes had just taken in.

After all these years … after five goddamn years of worry and fear, of regret and pain and sorry and why and come back – now, after those torturous years of living with the uncertainty of her fate (had they driven her over the edge?) …

She had been found.

Aunt Diana would never lie like that, not about – not about her. Not about -

He gasped as if punched, bowing forwards, shaking hands gripping his guns as if to to steady himself with the familiar weight - only to fight for every thinning breath. The world tunneled down, his focus zeroed in on the most important fact – no, the vibrantly red goal before him.

His big sister had been found.)

('Wonder Woman: Our Bluebird is in London.'

London.

London … was only a few hours by plane. Even less with Zeta transportation.

All this time … during all these years of searching, of trying and failing again, and again, and again …

She had been so near.

The blue-eyed young man stared at the Batcave's largest monitor, his eyes fixed onto the message even as his hands tightened painfully around the coffee mug. Mind drifting back to laughing bright blue eyes, warm and gentle – only for those eyes to turn shadowed, haunted … burdened with an emotion so troubled and frightened, he couldn't – couldn't …

(If he recalled it, if he had named, then - then the worst could have turned into a possibility - just, no.)

She had looked so broken, the last time he had seen her.

Broken and alone.

And he? He, who had been gifted with the title of ‘little brother’? He had turned away from her, sneering at the young vulnerable woman as their team tore into her, telling her that she was no longer a member, no longer … no longer welcome with any of them, professionally – or privately.

She had left silently that day, with darkened downcasted eyes.

It had been the last time he had seen her - heard of her.

Their last moment together - and it was tainted.

(He had never been able to apologize, to tell her that at the time he had been wallowing in hurt and childish pettiness, that his reaction was unreasonable and born from the petulant idea that she should have trusted him as a fellow Robin before everyone else …

Hubris.

It truly was a sin.)

But – London.

His chair crashed to the ground as the young man spun around, not even stopping to put his suit on, and stepped into the Zeta Tube.

There was only one possible destination.)

Jason stared dumbstruck at the duo lounging around in the living room.

Demon brat – Damian, not Demon Brat, Damian; Dixie had always hated it when he called the little brat by that favored nickname – glared back at him in silent challenge.

He should strangle the little brat for that look alone, but – he knew where it came from. Fuck, everyone knew that Damian Wayne was more Dixie Grayson's son than Bruce Wayne's. So, the brat protecting his pseudo-mom from someone that had hurt her so deeply? Hypocritical, but – also goddamn understandable.

He didn't have to like it, but he – he understood the reason behind the brat's bristling attitude.

And what a shameful reason it was ...

Jason knew that he had been a bastard to his sister. But he also knew that at this point the Pit Madness was only a pitiful excuse, and one he wouldn't hurt his sister by using. No. He had been a little shit, angry and pissed at god and the world, and he had taken it out on her, because – because deep down he knew …

He knew that she would never hate him.

So he had allowed his fury and disdain, his hate to rain on her, and her alone; after all, Bruce had fucked off into space and neither the Replacement nor the Demon Brat where old enough to be hurt by the things he brought up. That left her the only one capable of understanding and acknowledging his pain by default. And like a good older sister, she had taken it, had taken his scorn, his cutting words and insults, had smiled and held her arms open – only to be hit and pushed down.

(She had been his safe place. Despite their rocky start, she …

… she was his family.)

And after everything, after the Reach Invasion, after the League members returned, after her plan had been dissected and Nightwing had officially been asked to leave the Young Justice Team without being offered a spot in the Justice League – he, like everyone else, had left her to stew on her choices. Had left her to her own devices, satisfied to take all the time and calm their own tempers down.

It hadn’t been noteworthy.

Until Nightwing’s suit arrived at Wayne Manor – without the woman who was meant to wear it.

Calling a disconnected number, seeing the ‘error’ notification of trackers disabled, finding an empty apartment without a forwarding address and a police station utterly unconcerned that one of their rookies had just upped and left …

Suddenly, everything changed.

Silent treatment turned into a frantic undercover search for one of the most talented (dangerous!) Vigilantes. Without results.

For five years, there had been no trace of her.

No news, no sightings, no contact.

Until now.

And Jason couldn't do anything but stare at his older sister, so goddamn grateful for her beating heart …

… and terrified.

Terrified that if he took his eyes off her, she would disappear again.

He – couldn't.

He couldn't lose her again.

(Sometimes, when loneliness had crept in, he had felt himself drowning in the fear that she had – that one day he would find out that she had …

… had ended her suffering.)

The idea of losing her for a third time …

Not. Fucking. Happening.

(Jason Todd was a hard man. He was a man who could be as cruel as he was kind.

Jason Todd was also a man who trusted and loved with his entire being.

Most of all, Jason Todd was man enough to admit that his love was a selfish one.

But just this once, he hoped his selfish love would mean that his sister allowed him back into her life.)

Tim stayed silent as Jason's voice echoed in the unfamiliar living room.

He couldn't have spoken a word even if he had tried. His mind was too focused on the apparition wearing a face he hadn’t seen in half a decade.

His big sister.

Dixie.

There was no mistake. The woman half-lying on the youngest Wayne was the sister he had callously disregarded - the one steady, warm presence in his life that always had a smile for him. Time and age had changed her, certainly, but …

She … she was there.

Alive.

Swallowing heavily, his eyes desperately took in every detail they could. From the way she had shed the physical remnants of her childhood, to the way she held herself, the slightest drop of her shoulders, and the way life seemed to have drawn on her playful energy - not in a way that made her look anything but beautiful, but …

His sister had never been one of those girls who needed to squeeze into a size zero to feel pretty. She wore what she liked, she ate what tasted good (sweet, sickeningly sweet!) to her and was confident in herself no matter what the teeange fashion magazines wrote about her - a confidence that often evoked jealousy in other girls. Nevertheless, the sweater she wore couldn’t hide how baggy it settled on her obviously unhealthily skinny frame, while her skinny jeans showed exactly why they were named as such. It made his heart beat faster, dozens of medical reasons flashing through his mind as he tried to solve the puzzle before him - but they all froze as Dixie slid off the brats lap and onto the couch next to their youngest brother, her breathtakingly blue eyes fixed on Jason …

… as well as Tim himself.

Pain. Grief. Caution.

So many emotions darkened and brightened her eyes at once, that it stopped his catastrophic theories in their tracks.

His fault.

That - that pain. Right there. It was his fault.

His mouth snapped shut - when had he opened it? - as his heart leapt painfully into his throat.

What …

… what could he say … 

… what words could ever be enough to make up for even a fraction of his mistakes?

(He didn’t deserve to beg for forgiveness. The pain he had caused his sister, it was unforgivable, and he wouldn’t do her the disservice to ask for something he could never deserve.)

None.

(There was no way forward.

Not together.

He had lit the match.

And now, he had to watch her from the other side, drowning in regret, but without any means to bridge the gap.

The gap he had caused.)

For once, the man who could even give Batman a run for his money where detective work was concerned, couldn’t solve the puzzle he had shattered their relationship into. He couldn’t even start at the frame, because looking at the woman his sister had become, he was confronted with an unshakeable truth.

Dixie had outgrown their puzzle …

… and the pieces he still held so dear to his heart …

… he wasn't sure they would ever again fit.

Damian could easily read the shame thrumming through his older brothers’ bodies - shame he admittedly held his fair share of.

They had all been so ashamed of themselves for the longest time.

Ashamed of their actions - their inactions. Of their ungratefulness that went unacknowledged for years, of her insecurities and selflessness they took advantage of. But most of all, the greatest shame the three Wayne brothers shared, was also their bitterest.

Throwing the love they were given back into the face of the only person that never asked for more of them.

Not even for a reciprocation of her love.

Damian had long since accepted his shame, and he knew for all that Dorothea had seemingly accepted him back unconditionally, he would never stop being grateful for this second chance - this trust and love she offered him even now. It was not to be taken lightly. And he wouldn’t, ever again, see it as anything but the breathtaking and overwhelming gift it was.

Baring his teeth at the older men, Damian threaded his hand with his Ami’s.

Two pairs of eyes, one green and one blue, immediately flickered to the movement.

(Oh, this was - delightful. The way Drake just about froze - and Todd! His spin went so rigid, it could have snapped. Damian barely managed to hide a cackle.)

He thumbed the back of her hand, and she gifted him with a small sincere smile.

( Jason's hands clenched, his teeth grinding at the brat's audacity. Tim gave a tight-lipped razorship smile filled with boundless curses.

If that was the game the youngest wanted to play …

'Fuck off, demon brat, she's our sister as well; we won't hurt her again, get of your high horse, little boy.'

Challenge …

The brat fucking cuddled their sisters hand as if it was an olympic discipline, ignoring them.

… denied.

Fucking brat. )

“Tim. Jason.”

Damian’s calming touch was the only thing grounding Rhea as she finally breathed out her little brother’s names like prayer’s. Nearly reverently.

And why shouldn’t she … after all, she had anticipated this kind of moment as much as she had dreaded it.

Here she was, in a single room with all of her brother's, for the first time since the shitshow that tore them completely apart crashed and burned their bonds. Though looking at the boys (her boys) - no, the young strong man her little brothers had become, melancholy and pride rose in her heart.

(And bitterness.

Just a touch - but it was enough to taste sour on her tongue.

She swallowed it.

It was her bitterness - her problem. She wouldn't taint them with her pettiness.)

They had grown into themselves.

… though, judging by the looks the three kept exchanging as if their sister wouldn’t see the literal sparks of rivalry shooting between them …

Boys. Their bodies were grown, but their maturity … lagged just a little bit behind. Typical.

Rhea rolled her eyes and swatted Damian’s hand chidingly. He looked at her surprised, but she only raised an eyebrow. The blooming blush creeping up his neck was very much enough of an answer as he ducked his head.

Hah, she still had it.

Max hadn’t made her that much of a softie - at least, not in a way that she had lost her touch in chastising her little brothers.

“Dixie, it’s - it’s really you”, Jay shakily whispered.

She smiled slightly. Somehow, that one sentence made her think of a bad romcom. Only Jay could be a nerd without even trying.

“It’s me, Jaybird”, she confirmed gently. “Though I go by Rhea now.”

Tim was silent, but his intense eyes also never left her face - and she could tell by a single glance that he had fallen back into old habits. How many times had she found him half-asleep hanging over a cold monstrous mug of black-blacker-dead coffee, lost in his head? Helpless as the words kept getting strangled between his brilliant mind and insecure mouth, thoughts overcome by too much sensation, emotion freezing him in place? Too many times.

Jay took a step into the room -

Damian growled.

(Aaw …)

“It’s okay, Baby Bat”, she murmured, pressing a butterfly-like kiss to his cheek.

He harumphed.

Standing up against his silent but slightly mollified protests, she moved towards Jay, meeting her oldest little brother in the middle - and the meaning of that situation wasn’t lost on her.

To find a middle ground in the shattered remains of what once was … to her, it held a very dangerous meaning.

When you try to rebuild something, you sometimes have to let it go first. And when you do, you take the shards left behind, you dust them off, and with care and patience, you piece them together.

Not into the frame that already proved to be breakable, or even into a mold that won’t fit simply because some fragments will undeniably be lost to dust. No, you take what is salvageable and form it into something uncompromisingly stronger - something new, and uniquely yours.

Maybe - hopefully - that was what they were all moving forward to.

Damian, sitting back but at the same time having her back …

Jason, taking the first step and meeting her of his own free will …

Tim, frozen in place, but eyes shimmering with emotions that were overshadowed by shame - a shame illuminated by the barest hint of hope (he wouldn’t be there otherwise) …

And herself, allowing all her careful reservations and shored-up preparations to slide past her put-up walls as she moved forwards …

Her eyes were still cautious, but she felt them burn with tears - tears of hope.

Hope that not all that was shattered was unsalvageable.

This was a first step, and while it didn’t solve all their problems by far, the hurdles lying between them didn’t seem as unbreachable. Every motion needed a beginning. And if that was the beginning of a different kind of ‘chosen family’ than they had been before …

Then she would take that exact risk once more.

(Jason’s arms felt like home.)

(Tears blinded her as realization hit her.

This was an open-ended epilogue, and in the sequel she could see the first words being written right now …

It was one she knew she wanted to read to the  very last page.)

Tears clouded his sight - but he couldn’t care less. Not with her in his arms, the warm living body of his sister held against his chest - and damn, Goldie was still a little Pixie, she didn’t seem to have grown at all (vertically or horizontally) - finally.

Finally.

Breathing through the fresh cloud of tears obstructing his eyes, he allowed his head to bow down, to rest on her hair as he breathed in her clean flowery scent - it was something exotically fruity, like mango or passionfruit, with a mild hint, like vanilla. It was slightly familiar, and he couldn’t help but remember back to the bad nights - the nights when shit went down during patrol, when they - whenshit had already gone down and all they had were bodies to bury.

Those slender but strong arms, holding his angry shaking body against hers, while her soothing voice hummed a lullaby he didn’t know.

(Why hadn’t he ever asked for its name?)

He blinked as Dixie - Rhea, she had said to call her Rhea, fuck, that would take some time to get used too - moved a step in his arms, loosening their embrace.

“Timbo …”

Ah.

Following her, Jason turned to his brother and honestly, he wanted to shake the damn fool of a coffee junkie.

Because irritatingly, the younger man was halfway out of the room, obviously trapped only by their sister's voice as he stared frozen like a deer in the headlights at her.

And for once … 

Jason chose to step aside and keep his mouth shut as he watched (two of the most important people) his chosen siblings look at each other.

Both in pain.

Both being completely aware that the other was in pain.

One intent on keeping it that way - the other, for all that they were the wronged party, obviously determined as hell to say … fuck no to that course of action.

(The shitstarter in him was giddy with excitement, the brother … worried. Anxiously so.)

He had no idea how this would go.

Oh fuck.

“Timbo”, Rhea repeated, her voice soft as she looked at her middle brother - the one most repressed, and emotionally constipated - for all that Damian was Bruce’s biological son, Tim was a lot more like B than any of them when it came to expressing himself.

Those shadowed eyes wouldn’t meet her own. 

She barely swallowed a scowl. She had dealt with Bruce for years - there was a certain kind of way to handle this, and she knew how to do it by heart still. Showing even a hint of unhappiness would only have her brother retreat even more into himself. No, the better option - the only one, to be honest - was to either coax him out of his spiral - or to force him into a confrontation he could only lose. And looking at the defensive set his shoulders had taken, clearly ready to bolt, well …

“I missed you, little brother.”

“Don’t”, he finally spoke up, head already shaking - but still avoiding eye contact. “Don’t lie to make me feel - welcome. How could I be? After everything I did to you - how I treated you -”

“Timbo -”

“No. No, I shouldn’t have come”, he continued, not even trying to listen.

Really?

Rhea felt her eyes twitch as her lips thinned in displeasure.

That little brat.

Well, she had given coaxing a try; if gentleness wasn’t working on her renitent little cretin of a brother - and damn, that little brat was actually testing her patience with the way he was practically shying from her very presence when she could clearly read the desperateness oozing out of him for a fucking hug (Oh, Bruce, you fucking nitwit of a Dad, a hug didn’t cost you anything, Mister Billionaire - but then again, she wasn’t surprised his emotional parenting hadn’t improved, not with the way her own therapist had to work her into the ground for her to be a functional adult and emotionally aware parent) - a hug which he would get.

No question. No taking ‘But’.

Well, confrontation it was - and indignation always worked best with her little prideful brothers.

Rhea hid her smirk as a thought occurred to her. Why not redress the actual truth into something … that would get a different reaction.

(Besides, a little passive aggressive calling out wasn’t that mean, was it?)

Taking a step back, she bit her lip, allowing her shoulders to loosen up as she slid her eyes to the side. Purposefully don’t make eye contact. Look smaller, more defensive. Rubbing her arm, she barely hid a cackle - she could see out of the corner of her eye how her Baby Bat was all out smirking.

Something’s never changed - and of all that remained the same, Damian’s ability to see through her more obvious manipulations was one.

(Her Robin was so good - she was so goddamn proud of him. Then again, of all the Robin’s who came after her, he was the only one she gifted the mantel to herself-

He was her chosen successor.) 

“I'm sorry, Tim, Jason”, she murmured, voice contrite and small. It caught both their attention, heads snapping up. Good. “I have always read too much into our interactions. My therapist helped me to realize that the bonds that I believed we shared were in hindsight something I obviously kind of misinterpreted. It's a problem I know I need to work on, and - it's no excuse, I just didn't want to see the truth, and that's on me. Apparently, I’m falling back into old habits. I promise I won’t project my thoughts and emotions on you anymore. After all, family is a choice, right? And just because I choose you, doesn't mean you have to choose me as well.”

Unsurprisingly, Jason was the first to explode - practically teleporting across the small distance between them as his large hand forced her head up.

Slightly red-rimmed eyes were practically blazing at her. The tear tracks on his cheeks made something inside her feel uncomfortaböly tight …

“Fuck you, big bird, I choose you too!”, her oldest little brother exclaimed wildly. “You are my sister, and I fucking love you. I was a bastard to you,and that's on me, not you. I know I don't fucking deserve it, but – damn, big bird, I miss my big sister … and … and ...”

His voice broke before his next move shocked her. He sank down on his knees, head bowed. 

“I want to try to be a real family.”

That tightness in her chest - it exploded into warmth as she felt tears prickle her own eyes.

Jay … Jaybird …

“Little wing …”, she trailed off.

A throat clearing made her turn back to Tim - who hadn’t moved an inch. Instead, there was something utterly heartbroken about the defeated look on his pale drawn face. But - he was finally looking at her. Finally.

“Rhea … I understand that you will never be able to forgive me, and I won't ask for it. My actions – inactions – were unforgiveable – and … and it is enough to – to know that you are happy … just, please, I – I want you to know that I deeply regret hurting you and just standing by, and obviously, I fucked up way before that if you really think we never loved you – that you think you imagined us being a family, because - because”, his voice faltered. “I do love you. You are my older sister, and – and I could never not love you. Thank you for everything.”

Baby Bird …

Tim turned around to go, his eyes completely shadowed and body defeatedly slow as he intended to leave them - leave her - again -

And - no.

No - because her words may have been redressed to elicit a certain reaction, but she - she hadn’t exactly lied. There had been truth in them, so much truth - and to hear her brothers (Brothers, because as much as Damian was her youngest brother he was also her first unofficial child, the first child she smothered in maternal love, and their bond had always been just different ) admit that no, she hadn’t made their bonds up in her head, that they had been there -

- that their bonds still were there, between them - bonds as family, as siblings; that knowledge settled heavily.

They had loved her. They still did love her - just as she loved them, because without love, there would have never been (and not still be) the pain that drowned her in despair - to hear them acknowledge that they were family …

Rhea threw herself at Tim, startling all three of her brothers as she had grabbed Jason's hand and dragged him with her as her arms wound around her idiot of a brother, smothering him forcefully.

“Idiots. Such fucking idiots.”

Her voice was fierce but without accusation.

Tim blinked at her while Jason slowly straightened himself up.

“I told you once that forgiveness isn't something taken or  asked for”, she chided her Baby Bird, voice gentling with every word. “It is freely given.”

And maybe she would need to remind all three of her baby brothers of this fact for a long time to come; maybe the message would take years to sink, to anchor itself and grow into the certainty that she too, loved them - that despite the fact that, yes, she may have been Bruce’s ward the longest, she wasn’t like him at all when it came to her affections.

Her love wasn’t built on conditions and accomplishments.

It wasn't built on anything but the mere fact that her idiotic brothers were who they were - and that simply being themselves was enough for her.

She knew, without voicing it, that all four of them would need time to heal, to come together as family - not as they had once been, uncertain of their welcome, but as they would be now, comfortable in their role as siblings.

And her heart soared as slowly, hesitatingly, Tim embraced her back.

It was heartbreaking, simply holding him together as her brother finally let his emotions run free, tears trailing down his cheeks. Tears she shared as she leaned her head against his chest.

And she didn’t look up as first leather-clad arms joined their embrace, and then a second set of slender shirt-covered ones tightened around them as well.

(All she was missing was her baby.)

“You are my baby brothers.”

And yes, it was that easy.

To Rhea, at least, that was all that mattered.

There were her baby brothers.

Maybe she had inkling, maybe she didn’t. But to the three young men holding their older sister in their middle, feeling her warm breathing body, that sentence meant the world.

It meant a chance of redemption.

It meant a chance of family.

It was more than any of them had hoped for.

And this time, they would fight for it.

This moment - all the moments to come - were worth it.

“Big Bird … who is Max?”

They listened as she spoke. Not without interruptions or comments obviously. Even Damian listened intently despite her Baby Bat having already learnt quite a bit of what she was sharing just a few hours previously. 

He didn’t interrupt, simply silently looking at her as the four of them sat on her couch, a little crowded. 

Rheas fingers were carding through the teenager's dark strands while his head was laying in her lap, having claimed the place immediately. She had been a bit surprised, but actually happily so. Damian had always been more than a little brother to her, and to have him show so much trust and affection was not something she would question too much. Sometimes, all you had to do was accept that others could change, too - she certainly had, so why couldn’t her brothers?

Her words were soft as she spoke of being lost in New York. They flowed into something infinitely more gentle as she described meeting Adrien … and falling in love.

(“Oh man, he sounds awesome!”)

(“Wait, he took you to a museum and tried to do what with a dinosaur exhibit?!”)

(“Yeah … okay, I can totally see why you would fall for him. He brought your backbone back, you know? You have always been the best kind of bitch when you had someone to stand up for, and … and somehow, along the way, you became less you to please everyone else - fuck, now I can’t even be all to hard with the shovel talk.”)

She laughed while telling them of her wedding day, of the plans they had made, the future they envisioned.

(And if Tim’s head leaned slightly on her shoulder at the mention of her having married with no one on her side that day … if Jasons’ hand had played with her hair … if both of them hadn’t commented, then she wouldn’t draw attention to their obvious sadness. There were certain things that would be mentioned and discussed in depth later, much later.)

Her voice brimmed with happiness at the mention of discovering her pregnancy. Of how happy they had been - of how their plans had all moved up with the expected arrival of their little miracle.

(“Wow.”)

(“... you got yourself a good man, big sis.”)

And at first, they thought her voice started to break because of all the emotions the mere memory of the Reach Invasion surely carried for their older sister … but it were the tears that escaped her closed eyes as she spoke of losing the love of her life in a fucking car accident during the most strenuous months of her life that made even Jason stay silent.

What could they have even said?

‘Sorry that we were assholes while you were a young grieving widow, pregnant with the child of your dead love, afraid everyday that the stress of it all would make you lose the baby as well?’

Her voice hiccuped as she explained how Adrien made her promise to give no fucks about anyone else’s hang-up’s or sensibilities, and to live her life to its fullest. How she took those words as a lifeline and planned not just her future as a single-mother, but a whole god-damn exit strategy that depended completely on defeating the Reach and having a chance at tomorrow.

(“That’s why … you didn’t ask for help. Oh Di-Rhea, I - I understand. I’m so sorry …”)

(“That’s really good fucking advice he gave you there, Big Wing.”)

She tried to avoid infliction as she spoke of the time after the Invasion, of actually leaving the country and starting over - of her parents-in-law …

(“Thank fuck for them, you have had to have some luck in that shitshow beside your man and baby.”)

… of the birth of her beloved little baby boy, all healthy and perfect …

(“I’m so glad.”)

(“Has he got your lungs? ‘cause you know, you can pack quite a punch.”)

… and the life she had built. Her studies, her job, social life - but mostly, about Max.

And they listened.

With grief and rage, hurt and guilt, happiness and longing.

They listened.

And the more Rhea spoke, the more she acknowledged that the barriers she had put up had never been built by anything but hurt and fear of rejection - deep-rooted emotions that with every second of acceptance, crumbled into nothingness.

It would take more time, but already … the path ahead was clearing itself rapidly.

Taking a deep breath, she made a choice.

(Was it the right one?

Adrien … was she being too emotional - irrationally so? Was she putting her child at risk, trusting the people who had hurt her among her former precious people the most?

A small part of her was screaming, claiming she was a careless, no-good mother who didn’t deserve her own child for being so selfish - but another part, one just a bit louder, was exclaiming that Adrien had never wanted her to give up her family - he had wanted her happy.

… the choice was heavy, but it was hers to make.)

“Well then, I need to call Max”, she stated. “It’s already well past his bed-time, but getting him to sleep without a good-night kiss is impossible.”

She felt Tim nod just as Jay was straightening up. Only Damian was staying as he was, looking at her with anticipation.

Knowing her little brothers a lot better than either obviously took into account, she grabbed their wrists quickly and firmly replanted the two troublemakers back on the couch.

“Sit.”

“Rhea-”

“Bad uncle Jay. Bad uncle Timbo.”

She nearly cackled as her wild little brother went slack with shock. Tim's eyes were staring straight ahead, mouth slightly ajar.

Her Baby Bat had no such inhibitions, his gleeful snickering filling the room as he handed her a black smartphone she immediately recognized as her own. Smirking, she hit speed-dial 1 and opened up a video call to her precious baby boy.

It rang only two times before her worried-looking mother-in-law answered.

"Sweety, how are you? Did it go well? Are you safe?"

Rhea couldn’t help but smile at the older woman’s questions. It still made her feel warm, even after all these years, that her parents-in-law cared for her (even loved her) like she was their own daughter - not just because of Adrien, or Max - but for herself.

Edward and Mathilda Seymour had taken her into their home and heart, and Rhea in turn had done the same.

“Better than I could have imagined, Mathilda”, she smiled happily, angling the Handy camera to show all her brothers faces - who all had the same awkwardly abashed look on their faces.

What. The. Fuck?

She couldn’t help it - this time, she cackled out loud.

“Oh my”, her mother-in-law snorted amusedly. “I take it those strapping young men are your little - or not so little - brothers?”

Still giggling, Rhea nodded: “The one and onlies - aren’t they just precious little cupcakes?”

“Rhea!”

“Ami!”

“Goldie!”

Ignoring the indignant shouts erupting around her, she shared a humorous look with Mathilda before turning a bit more solemn. “These are Jason, Tim and Damian.”

She nodded to each of her brothers while introducing them, allowing the young men to politely greet her mother-in-law. Obviously, they were kind of … intimidated.

Well - between Mathilda and Edward? Her brothers picked the right one to be intimidated.  The older woman wore the pants in that house, hands down. It was one characteristic she shared with Mathilda which the two women had immediately bonded over - and Adrien had never stopped to rib his dad with the fact that his taste in women was officially genetic.

“Boys, this is Mathilda Seymour, she and Edward, her husband, are Adrien’s parents and the best parents-in-law I could have ever hoped for.”

“Sweety, hush - we are the ones happy to have you as family.”

Feeling the tips of her ears heat up, Rhea swallowed her grateful tears at the loving declaration.

“I take it everything went really well then”, Mathilda continued knowingly.

“... are you … okay with that?” Rhea inquired softly, a sliver of doubt worming itself in; Mathilda and Edward had always supported her in escaping her past, in moving on – what would they think of her now, knowing how easily she opened that door back up?

“Rhea, love, I have always told you that the past is part of who we are, that we can’t forget but need to move forward”, we shared a pained look, both of us remembering the first time Mathilda spoke those words. “But your brothers, of all the people you had to leave behind for your own and Max’ well-being, were the ones we always hoped would one day return to be a part of your life. For all that you fought your way forwards, you could never truly close that door. And that was a good thing. I’m so so happy for you, sweety, that for once, you do get your happy end.”

A hiccup forced itself out of Rhea’s throat before she could repress it, and … and the hot burning of tears followed. To have their acceptance, to hear those words …

“I take it that you would like me to get Max?”

The young mother couldn’t do anything but silently nod, pressing her handballs into her eyes even as she bit her lips to quiet down. Jay's arm wound around her shoulder as Tim’s hand settled cautiously on arm - but it was Damian, who sat up carefully, who moved to settle her before him again, to embrace and hold her - Damian, who managed to calm her tears and racing heart the most.

“Please …”

“Just a moment-”

A door banged open.

“Maximilian-!”

Hurried little footsteps.

“Momma!”

And suddenly the video screen changed from displaying her mother–in-law's shocked face to showing her baby’s tear-stained cheeks and red eyes.

“Maximilian!” Mathilda exclaimed, utterly perplexed from outside the frame.

“Max!” Rhea gasped at the same time. “Baby, what -!”

“Momma, don’t be hurt! Don’t let the meanies hurt you!”

Her precious little puffball was torn between looking her over for every little bit of obvious injury and pouting for all he was worth … until his eyes landed on her brothers, and suddenly, fear ignited in them. She couldn't have that.

“Max, baby, I’m not hurt, promise.”

Her words - didn’t have the kind of impact she hoped for.

“You cried!”, her sweet child gasped accusingly, pointing at her face.

… ooops.

“Good tears, love, do you remember the good tears?”, she tried to soothe her upset and afraid child.

And that’s exactly what he was, a child that had seen his mother accosted, had seen her become someone he had never seen her be before - someone who was afraid. And at that moment, she had given him to his grandma - he had left her upset, had left knowing that she herself was in his children's eye afraid (and he hadn’ been wrong, had he?). Hours without contact, and then the first impression he had was hearing and seeing her cry. 

No wonder she couldn’t calm him down that easily, and his distrustful eyes didn’t leave her brothers …

… who gaped at the little brat like they had never seen a child in their lives.

(Idiots.)

(But - they were her idiots.)

(And, it was kind of cute how Damian’s head was craned so far forward that she could see his expression, despite having her back against his chest.

An expression, she noted with love filling her heart even more, that was a perfect blend of protectiveness, wonder and adoration.

Big brother, meet your little brother.

Little brother, meet your big brother.)

Her little brat squinted his eyes as he stared back at Damian.

“Momma, that’s the picture boy”, he declared loudly and surely.

Rhea felt every eye land on her even as a blush crept up her neck and she had to force her smile not to waver at the curious attention settling on her from all sides. Busted.

“Yes, baby boy, that young man is the picture boy”, the picture in question was the only one of her past she had ever taken out of the boxes. ”You remember how I promised that I would tell you about him when you were older?”

“Mhm, pinky-promise.”

“That boy is Damian, he is momma’s baby brother, but I have always seen him as my oldest son”, she whispered like a secret, despite all the ears eagerly listening; Damian’s grip tightened as her words registered. ”So, baby boy, meet Damian, your big brother. Damian, this is Max, your little brother.”

The last words had barely left her lips as Max gasped, eyes glittering in excitement. Her baby had always wanted a brother, and now - she felt her breath stall as she waited for the older boy’s reaction -

“Hello Max, it is an honor to meet you”, Damian greeted her baby boy with a sweet gentleness that looked so good on him that she just about squashed the urge to pepper his cheeks with little kisses like she would do to Max; the youngest Wayne may look all prickly to outsiders, but Rhea knew just how deeply her Baby Bat could care once he let himself open up, and how precious it was to be actually gifted with such an acknowledgement from him. ”I’m very happy to see you and our Ami. And I promise, I won't allow anyone to hurt our mom or you ever again.”

‘Our mom’ …

“And grandma and grandpa?”

‘Oh …’

“And … and grandma and grandpa”, Damian choked the promise out, eyes flickering to the screen's background  but her parents-in-law did not correct their grandson.

“You will protect momma from the mean woman from the museum?”

Ouch.

She could feel her brother's penetrating gazes, connecting the day’s events with her child’s words. It did paint part of the picture they didn’t have, one at that which she didn’t know how they would take. It was kinda obvious who the mean woman was to her baby - and seeing as how they all adored Diana as an aunt …

“Even from the mean museum woman.”

She squeezed Damian’s hand. Max looked consideringly at his older brother …

“Okay”, her baby nodded, obviously satisfied, before brightening up - and lightening up the very room. “Hi, I’m Max, and I’m four, and - and - and I always wanted a brother!”

Oh, fuck, fuck, her heart, it couldn’t take anymore -

“That is wonderful, Max, because I’m very happy to be your brother.”

- okay, this was too fucking much. This - she never did get happy endings like this, it was unreal.

Squealing happily, Max turned his shining eyes to the two other men besides her. His former uncertainty seemed to have melted beneath assurances and excitement, because suddenly, he was her Max again - her bright bubbly child.

“Hi, I’m Max, who are you?”

“Hi Max, I’m your momma’s brother Jason.”

Big blue eyes blinked. Confused.

“Momma’s brother?”

Seemed he hadn’t caught that word in her first explanation about Damian, but well, the day had been long and exhausting for an adult like her, it was a wonder that a four-year-old child was still as fit as he seemed - though, it didn’t escape Rhea’s attention that her baby blinked quite a bit.

She explained:” Momma has three younger brothers, baby boy. You have met Damian, who is my littlest brother, but who I see as my oldest boy. Jason is your uncle Jay, and the other man with the big bad bags beneath his eyes -”

“Like momma before coffee!”

Brat.

(And she heard that chortling, Edward, Mathilda, thanks a lot!)

Tim coughed in surprise, while Jason and Damian snorted.

“... I’m not that bad - anyway, Panda-guy is Tim, your uncle Timmie or Timbo. Uncle Jay is a little younger than me, the oldest after him is Uncle Timmie and the youngest is Damian - and then, the youngest are you, baby.”

A beat. And then -

“Uncle Jay and Uncle Timmie … yay!”

- a bright happy grin split his face.

… that was pure Adrien.

“Yup, little man!”

“It’s nice to meet you, Max, I’m your uncle Tim-”

“Timmie.”

“ - Tim! And I promise, all of us will keep you and your family safe.”

The gaze her son bestowed upon her brothers seemed too old for such a young child, but … Rhea could admit with sorrow that in some ways her baby had matured differently than other children of his age. She shielded him from as much as she could, but when you are a single parent, even one with as much sincere help as her, there’s only so much reality you can hide from your child before little things slip through the unavoidable cracks.

And this - this caution, it was something she never wanted for him. Hopefully, it would turn into a trait that at least could serve him well as an adult.

“Okay.”

And in a blink, her happy child was back.

(She definitely needed to book an appointment with a counselor, and soon. At the very least to have someone talk with her baby who could tell her if she wasn’t seeing ghosts - because to her, this emotional whiplash and pushing aside the darker emotions wasn’t healthy.

It reminded her too much of her own reactions to Bruce.)

“Momma, story time!”

Rhea smiled. The call to the counselor was already painted in her mental calendar, but for now, she had a sleepy little boy who needed his bedtime story to drop off. Leaning back comfortably against Damian, she felt her lips pull up just that bit more as Edward and Mathilda moved into the frame. Edward settled Max upon his lap, and the little boy snuggled into his grandpa.

(Bright eyes never left the strangers around his mother, something cautious lurking in their depths.)

“Once upon a time, there was a young adventurous girl who had made friends with a rascal of an older boy. And these two went on a great adventure - but oh, she didn’t know it was an adventure. Cause you know, the little boy was just that little bit mischievous -”

And on went the story.

(It was a story she had hinted at three times that day, and after retelling it in some fashion so many times, she thought her own flesh and blood deserved to hear more about his father.

It had always been her way to connect those two who never got the chance to connect in person - she put the happy and fun moments his parents shared into child-friendly anecdotes and told them as goodnight stories to their son. 

Once, her baby had asked her who the boy and girl in their stories were. She had shown him one of the first pictures Adrien and her had taken in New York.

Ever since, his eyes alighted when she told a new story …

… about his daddy and momma.)

“Goodnight, baby boy, don’t let the bedbugs bite you. I love you.”

“Nighty momma, luv you too.”

(Life was too short and unpredictable to miss a single moment to say “I love you” to the people dearest in your heart.)

She felt her tired eyes burn.

It had been such a long and draining day, but …

“Rhea, we are not going anywhere”, it was Tim’s voice that broke through the haze settling over her thoughts.

Blinking her eyes back open - she had closed them? - she shifted her gaze to her caffeine-addicted brother, and blinked at the affection that had settled on his face. He looked so much younger, and more like her Timbo … it highlighted just how closed off he had truly been upon his first arrival.

(Had her disappearance truly shaken him that much?)

“Tomorrow is waiting for us. How about we just camp out here?”

“No, no, I can make the guest room-”

“Goldie”, she stopped. “Let's stay right here together tonight.”

But …

Damian drove the final nail in.

"Please, Ami.”

Sighing defeatedly, she sunk back against the youngest brother’s chest. The tiredness returned, and even though all her manners and Alfred’s voice in her ear demanded her to get up and prepare her brother's proper accommodations, she allowed the throw blanket to be draped over her body as fatigue won.

( ‘Thank you!’ to whoever had the idea to slip her stilettos off … sleeping in them was hell.)

She slept surrounded by family.

(Adrien …

I think …

… I believe ….

… I know … I truly do …

… that this is the right choice.

You told me to live, to be happy.

I’m - giving it all I can.

I promised you.

(I love you so much.)

And I promised myself.)

( That night, three people slept happily in an old beautiful manor, their fears abated knowing that the person which two of them saw as their daughter and who one was very proud to say was his mother, was safe.

That night, four people gave into the sleep of the exhausted but content, finally together and forgiven after five long years of separation. They cuddled together, hands touching, seeking unconscious reassurance which was met with only more sleeping cuddles.

But that night did not go undisturbed for everyone, for there were some who could not sleep safe and sound after the day’s unexpected revelation. No.

For those selected few wide awake, the very idea of sleep was an impossibility.

That night, dozens of people arrived at the Justice League Headquarters, buzzing with excitement following the day’s most notable message. And sitting or standing around the meeting table, they absorbed the information unburied about the missing bluebird.

It left more than one person with tear marks on their faces and nail marks gracing the palms of hands. Some took the information with grace or indifference, simply there to be informed; but those who had nearly given up hope to ever see their bluebird again soaked up every little fact - every piece of tragedy and success displayed.

Of all the information that had been found and processed, the fact which shocked everyone present the most were the familiarly blue eyes nearly completely identical to their bluebird looking at them out of a little boy’s face. 

And given the date of the child’s birth …

(Plus nine months of pregnancy.)

… it explained so much.

(The death date listed for her husband did so even more.)

Amongst the voices raised, a tentative course of action was chosen.

One which those sleeping that night were blissfully unaware of.) 

(They should have remembered who they were dealing with.

She may have left as Nightwing …

… but she had been the first Robin.

How sad was it that not even her former teammates and the mentors she once adored remembered just what she was capable of?)

The y should have remembered - now, they would be forced to remember.

Rapid loud knocking startled the four siblings abruptly out of their peaceful slumber.

Rhea’s eyes snapped open with a gasp as she bolted upright, barely avoiding hitting Damian in the ribs with her (admittedly kinda boney and really painful) elbow. Blearily she heard - familiar? - cursing … oh.

Jason.

Tim.

Damian.

She had fallen asleep, surrounded by her baby brothers who wouldn’t let her even sleep in her own room after finally finding her again.

… after five years, they had found her - because Wonder Woman had by luck discovered Rhea in London …

Fuck. Fuckity fuck!

It was as if an electric shock evaporated the last drags of sleep as her mind grasped the situation and connected the dots. The knocking insisted. Swinging her legs hectically over the couch she stumbled upwards, eyes tracing the room to find her shoes sitting right next to the living room table. She slipped into her beloved red stilettos, ignoring her brothers still cursing the only ever-increasing sounds from her front door as she hurried through her home, Damian’s startled voice calling for her.

Fuck. 

This was exactly what she had been afraid of - the reason she had called Mathilda to get Max out of the unavoidable blast zone. Diana may have found her, and while Rhea rationally could understand the woman sharing those news, internally she cursed the Amazonian Princess for blabbering to all and sunder about her location. But -

(Alfred.)

(... Bruce.)

There were only a few people she could - and would - be able to throw the same olive branch that she had extended her brothers - only a few she could even stomach the thought of allowing back into not just her heart but her life.

After all, it wasn’t just her she had to think about.

Max.

She was a mother, and her child came before anyone else.

The front door was in sight. She could hear the heavier steps of her brothers hurrying after her.

(They wouldn’t catch up to her. Not before she faced the more unwanted visitors of her past on her own - something she knew they didn’t want her to do. If any of her brothers could have stopped her, they would have done so in a heartbeat; if they had their way, she would have been shielded from any kind of hurt, protected in a bubble, wrapped in cotton candy. As sweet as the notion was, she needed to do this for herself.)

Carding a hand through her sleep-tousled hair, Rhea straightened her spine as she resolutely answered the door -

- only to lift an eyebrow at the fist barely stopping two inches from her nose.

… how …

Unsurprising.

(What had she expected? Manners? )

Her lips pursed as she looked past the fist down the steps leading up to her home, eyes roaming over the handful of civilian-clad heroes awaiting her -

Utterly unimpressed.

Really, this … was exactly how she had feared it would go.

Woe-begone tearful expressions just screaming guilt-tripping and blame-shifting. Impassive faces while their eyes screamed reproach and expectation. Stances that just exuded a repugnant aura of ‘everything’s going to be as it always has gone - good dog, roll on your back, belly up’.

Yeah … that dog?

It’s dead.

Just as dead as Dixie Grayson.

And - and she could honestly think it without her heart cracking, or beating too fast. She could look at her former Teammates, at the heroes who had been aunts and uncles - at her once best friend.

And she could honestly say, that she had no fucks to give.

 “It’s good to see you is something I should say - only, my mom taught me not to lie”, she smiled, breaking the silence, all razor blade-sharp, eyes glinting dangerously. “Honestly, please get lost. Thank you, and goodbye.”

(Jason had stormed down the stairs after his sister had practically flashed from the room, his younger brothers just behind him. Heart pounding, his mind couldn’t stop conjuring up one horror scene worse than the next.

The League. It had to be the League - maybe even some members of Young Justice and the Teen Titans. After Diana’s message - goddamn shit, they should have escaped with their sister, taken her to safety, to -

He barely rounded the corner as her voice sounded from the entrance hall. 

And Jason Peter Todd-Wayne came to a screeching stop abruptly, mouth falling open at Rhea’s words, because -

Holy fucking shit!

His sister was an amazing bitch!

Jason barely blinked away his proud little-brother tears because - hell yes, fuckers!

That’s his sister, all right!)

(Coffee, Tim needed coffee.

Coffee, Rhea, coffee, Rhea -

“Thank you, and goodbye.”

Tim’s slit eyes opened a fraction more as admiration overcame him. That kind of pitch-perfect bitchy delivery - he needed to learn that.

(Mind-numbing board meetings, idiotic coworkers … dumb team members …)

It was perfection.)

(Damian only rolled his eyes as he strolled past his awe-struck older brothers, frozen behind their sister at her direct dismissals’ unsurprisingly delightful delivery.

Really, what had they expected?

Smirking, he stood behind his Ami and leaned forward just a bit to lay his chin on her shoulder. Her hand came up to caress his cheek for a moment, and Damian barely managed to swallow his content sigh as calculating eyes counted the (opponents) ‘visitors’ polluting his mom’s (and she had claimed him, she had in front of her biological son claimed him, Damian, not only as the child's brother but her oldest son - he needed to get her to at long last file the adoption papers he had found signed and dated in her old room at the manor) frontstep.

… huh.

Which brain-dead ape had chosen that particular group of personal triggers?

… hopefully not Batman.

Damian didn’t think he would have been able to survive that amount of second-hand embarrassment.)

“Fuck, Dixie -”

It hurt. Hearing Wally’s voice speaking her name (former nickname) with such relief - hurt. The last time he had uttered her name, it had been to scream at her what a “disappointment to her own parents and Bruce” she was. This Wally … it was one who appeared like the Wally she had once called her best friend.

But - the focus remained on ‘once’. Maybe he had regained what had once upon a time made him her safe haven, maybe he hadn’t and this hot-red anger he carried in his soul would raise its ugly head, poisonous words dripping down its poised fangs again … maybe …

Maybe - that particular word could hold a lot of vastly different meanings. But she couldn’t let his hang-ups mean anything to her anymore. This time, her exit strategy wasn’t flight - it was fight.

“Wrong.”

She stood her ground, even as Wally reeled back as if hit. It was a bit funny how just as Wally stepped back, Roy stepped forward, the other redhead’s face drawn into a tight frown.

“Stop playing games! You just admitted that you were Dixie!”, the Archer pressed out.

Temper, temper.

(She felt resignation snuff out the tiniest flare of hope that the kind of “ maybe ” she had seen in Wally was one of having dealt with the consequences of his father’s abuse.

Obviously, she had been wrong.

The look in his eyes as he stepped up to be shoulder to shoulder with their (former) friend was beyond telling.)

“Did I?”, she countered.

Everyone looked confused by this time. Not her fault they couldn’t take a hint, nevertheless, as Roy reopened his mouth to continue, neck a startling red, she decided to get this shitshow over and done with.

“Do you need me to actually spell it out for you?”

Wally grimaced.

“Then who do you think you are?”, he challenged her.

Rhea raised an eyebrow and cocked her hip.

(She had been a sassy little brat in Pixie boots and panty-shorts, mocking Gotham’s worst - a speedster with control issues and an Archer who would be laid flat on his ass if she so desired were not even worth one of her infamous cackles.

Too easy.

They had always been too easy.

Her only mistake had been holding back. Hindsight, right?)

“Au contraire to you, I do have manners, Mister Strange Man on my doorstep”, she spoke slowly, a mocking smile in her voice. “My name is Dorothea Marianna Grayson-Seymour. Friends refer to me as Rhea - so please, do use Mrs. Grayson-Seymour.”

Okay, that little tidbit she may have simply added to see Wally’s and Roy’s faces match their hair. And what a sight that was.

Only the steam escaping those fire-red ears was missing. 

(Damian was grinning into her shoulder, while Jason guwaffed. What warmed her heart the most was the amused little chuckle Tim let loose.)

Inevitably, the volcanoes in front of her erupted - spectacularly.

“Dixie, that - the fuck are you saying?! How can you just - what even -”, Roy spluttered nearly incoherent with rage.

Wally didn’t have the same problem.

He took another step forth.

(One more, and he wouldn’t be standing on his own two feet. That was for sure.

Distaste covered her tongue bitterly.)

“Five years - you fuck off for five years and leave us thinking god knows what, only to play happy family in Britain?”

… what … the ever-loving fuck …

Her hand clenched as fury shot through her. Forget any kind of “maybe”, he was still the same fucking idiot who dealt with conflicting emotions the only way he knew - by lashing out and hurting those around him. At one time, maybe she would have fought back the same way. 

That version of her was a lost and angry teenager, not the woman of today. Where she had moved forward into adulthood and dealt with her issues, he had obviously remained caught in responding emotionally like a bratty teenager.

Nevertheless - there were lines you didn’t cross.

“... happy family?”

As if she didn’t know that they had gathered and shared the information about her life from the last few years before approaching her - as if he wasn’t aware how fucked up her life had been in some ways -

As if Adrien hadn’t died.

Ice filled her veins. Ice-cold rage.

“What else -”

But that was all seconds Damian had needed to straighten up - with a fury at the speedster carelessness that was practically tangibly rolling off of him.

“West, you incompetent fool, shut your trap!”, her Baby Bat snapped.

Oh, Dami.

His protective arms around her waist was just what she needed to center herself, and move on from her own rage. Letting that kind of anger override one’s thinking was no less than a recipe for disaster. Her head was her own - and her focus was clear.

No matter what her former acquaintances (friends, family … more) threw at her - she wouldn’t give in.

She could never again give up.

Touching Damian’s hand gently, she gave it a calming caress and felt his attention shift to her.

“... it’s okay, Dami. He is an idiot.”

Huffing, her first baby boy tightened his hold gently, but he did keep silent.

Just as silent as Jason and Tim - huh, she kind of wanted to see the fallout from that explosion once it happened. Not now, but - that would be something spectacular. Honestly, her brothers being calm? Was way worse than them being furious - once Jason got to a point where he was too enraged for words, he usually solved those grievances with his fists.

Which was better than Tim - because her sleep-deprived little brother could hack himself into your life and make it a righteous hell.

Those two too angry for words? … wow …

… strangely, she had no more pity left for those red-headed idiots before her.

“Wow, great comeback.”

… really … really?

Unbelievable.

Finally, the ‘adults’, if one was to call the two senior heroes on her doorstep as such, intervened.

… how timely.

“Wally, let’s all calm down, this isn’t what we discussed.”

Forget ‘adults’.

… she retained her former stance: Really?!

Both redheads looked stubbornly at the incognito Superman.

‘What was that about beating a dead horse? ’

“Spare your breath, Clark. Princess over here needs to hear some home truths, and pronto”, Roy growled, throwing a glare her way that could have melted glass.

She smothered a giggle.

How precious - as if he could intimidate her.

Right here, right now, with her brothers at her back - with her baby boy safe with his grandparents?

Five years retired or not - she could hand that little twit his ass.

“Wally, Roy, take a step back”, Clark ordered sternly this time.

Might as well put the man of steel out of his misery - it’s not as if he privately carried any kind of authority.

For that, he was too much of a pushover.

“That won’t be necessary, Mister Kent”, her voice carried over the heated discussion taking place before her - and abruptly stopped the useless trash talking.

“I think I have heard all I need to hear.”

Rhea had. She had heard everything she needed to know that she could keep her promise to Adrien without losing a wink of sleep over it.

There had never been any doubt in her that Nightwing would retire for good the moment she had first held the positive pregnancy test in her hands. Dixie Grayson was a dead name, and the ashes of the memories which that name carried were blown away in the wind, scattered to never return her to who she once was.

Maybe there had been a chance that she could have started a relationship with some of them as Rhea, but …

Chances had to be taken.

And they had thrown theirs into the dirt, trampling until it had crumbled into dust, nothing left to rebuild.

Inactions spoke just as loudly as actions.

Some never learned their lessons.

“Dorothea, please don’t listen to your team members. Tempers are running high, and while they shouldn't have spoken to you like this I’m sure we can all sit down together and talk like adults.”

… he actually meant that.

Clark Kent actually thought he had adults on his side of the confrontation.

Wow. Talk about rose-tinted glasses. Seemed ‘ Uncle Clark’s ’ blinded not just the world to his identity but him as well to reality.

… time to rip them off.

“No.”

How about that? Rhea shocked Superman speechless.

And Wonder Woman.

And Aqualad.

… but sadly neither Kid Flash (or was he a second Flash now) nor Red Arrow got the memo.

“What, too good to talk to us now?!”

It was Kaldur’ahm who held Roy back as he tried to light her on fire with his angry stare and shouting alone.

At this moment, the one person who had set the ball rolling opened her mouth -

(Yeah, Rhea was just a teeny-tiny bit bitter and angry with her former aunt. Just a bit - or maybe a lot …)

“Clark”, the Amazon Princess called calmly and they exchanged a look Rhea couldn’t quite see, before the older woman turned to her with an apologizing smile.

How nice. At this point, apologies didn't change anything.

“Dorothea, it is so good to see you again. I’m sorry that we have woken you so early, but maybe we could get this conversation moved into your lovely home.”

O…kay.

No.

She didn’t play that particular game with Clark, she wouldn’t play it with Diana.

‘How about we play by my rules?’

“... did your age catch up with you, Aunty D?” Rhea inquired sweetly, her eyes sharp as jagges glass as she watched the older woman recoil. 

Point to her.

”I said no. And no means no - please, do get a fucking dictionary and look the term ‘consent’ up.”

Clark swallowed heavily.

Point two.

Now, for the final set …

“Let's be candid. I didn’t call you. I didn’t write to you. I didn’t initiate any kind of contact with you. At no point in the last five years did I seek your attention and help. You were not invited. I don’t want you, any of you -”

Her frigid gaze drifted remorselessly over the gathered heroes.

“- in my home. I don’t want you to plant bugs or video cameras in my child’s safe space. To be absolutely honest …”

There was no smile on her lips. No warmth colored her voice.

“... I trust none of you to respect me enough to behave like a decent being.”

That was enough to startle Kaldur’ahm into an indignant reaction. Heroes and their sensibilities.

(Her aunt and uncle looked absolutely broken-hearted. Just maybe, the truth was finally being driven home.)

“You are going too far. We have our problems, but we are your friends and team members.”

She snorted at her former team leader’s words. Big claims for someone who couldn’t be half-assed to stand up and take the heat his own actions deserved. Years ago, it would have made her pause, Kal speaking up enough to have her re-evaluate … but that time, well … the past was past them, wasn’t it?

Too bad for him she couldn’t give a single fuck about his opinion today.

(Now for the final blow - the one that would let the last remains of many bridges fall into ash.)

“I’m neither your friend Dixie -”

(‘And I wasn’t your so-called ‘friend’ even before I disappeared - by your own actions, all of your actions. Don’t pin your shame on me and shift the blame. I own my own shit, not yours.’)

“- nor am I the Vigilante Nightwing.”

She stared them all down, unmoved by the emotions thrown at her.

“Who I am is a single mother taking care of her son. And right now, that means one thing only.”

And it never could mean anything else.

“I can’t be bothered to give a single fuck about you.”

Silence reigned as her words sunk in. Rhea knew that by actually voicing her thoughts, that by stating her intentions, she would invoke something dark. Something violent, and maybe, it was a monster that should remain asleep. A monster that once woken up brought nothing but destruction.

This silence was merely the entrance for an inescapable monstrous storm …

“Talking all high and mighty. But what are you going to do? We are here because you ran like the princess you are after we called you out on your shit -”

There it was.

Here she was.

The unstoppable force …

… meeting the immovable object.

“Called me out? If I hadn’t already planned on leaving that life behind - if I hadn’t a real life to get back to, you would have broken me. You, and no fucking Rogue, would have been my death sentence. Don’t play the righteous hero card, Roy, it suits you ill.”

The eye of the storm.

Untouchable.

“Bitch.”

She smirked.

“Proudly.”

Wally had a tight grip on Roy’s wrist. Maybe that was the only thing keeping the Archer constrained - maybe not. 

Frustration, anger - the need for violence. So much flashed over the faces of the two people she called her first friends. The two boys who had made her feel like more than simply Batman’s sidekick (partner) or Bruce Wayne’s charity case foster daughter. Wally had fallen silent, an unidentifiable look on his face. At some point, things had changed - they had grown apart. The friendship once shared, had not survived the transition into the people they had become.

It was her uncle, looking aged and unhappy, who muttered: “You have really changed.”

Not all change was bad.

“... what did you expect, Uncle Clark? That I would welcome you? That we would sit down for tea and biscuits?”, she asked incredulously.

One moment, the past is thrown in her face, the next it doesn’t exist? Were those people for real?

(Had they always been like this? Wilfully ignorant and demanding?)

She shook her head disapprovingly. Obviously, the most important part of her speech had been dismissed.

“Wake up and take your glasses off. You of all people should know that reality is no place for childhood wishes of ‘happy ever after’.”

Her uncle looked at her hurt, just as her aunt (she needed to stop calling them that, really, it was not good for her mental health) took over.

“Okay, let’s calm down -”

Rhea - had it.

“Fuck off.”

She absolutely had it with unwanted selfish pricks talking over her choices.

“I don’t want you here.”

She officially felt her temper ignite.

(Her temper was something even Bruce was wary of. Seems the League truly had forgotten who they were dealing with. All that brain power - and what for?)

“What are you going to do about it? Throw another tantrum? We are heroes, no one is going to be on the side of a little bitch.”

Jason snapped: “Roy, that’s enough!” 

The Archer stepped back, surprised at the other man’s shout before snorting derisively.

“Tch.”

His response only enraged Jason even more as her brother squashed himself into the door frame next to her, furiously glaring down his friend and teammate.

“Oi, Harper, what the fuck is your problem?!”

“Stay out of it, Jay, this is between Dixie and me!”

Since when did that line work with her little brother?

“The fuck I ain’t gonna shut up. Rhea is my big sister!”

It didn’t. This was her Jaybird - Roy should have really known better.

And for all that her heart was filled with so much happiness and warmth because her oldest little brother came to her defense - because all her brothers’ had only reacted in support and defense of her …

“Little Wing.”

… she was their big sister.

And she was a grown-ass woman.

This was a fight she needed to conquer herself.

“I didn’t ‘disappear’ to spite you. I didn’t build a new life out of pettiness. Who I was, and how it defines me today - yes, that has a lot to do with you. With the people I considered team members.”

She looked at Kal. Aqualad - the Atlantean she once trusted to have her back and lead their team.

“Friends.”

Roy. Roy, who always took every slight as intentional, who kept drowning so much in his own problems that he only knew one reaction - to tear others down for the slightest grievance and hold it against them.

“Family.”

Uncle Clark. Aunty D. Adults she had trusted and who had stomped on her trust - who even knowing her background expected the impossible.

“... platonic soulmates.”

Wally.

Brother. Best friend. Confidant. Soulmate. Safe Place.

So quick to abandon and discard.

“But today, who I am, is not someone you know. I am who I am because I have loved and grieved, because I built myself a family and held on with all my might. And you …”

Their actions, former and recent, colored her perception of them. And it hurt, because as much as they had devastated her, she didn’t want that. She wanted to look back at the good times, to not just be hurt, afraid and angry - she wanted to remember the fun, and happiness, and laughter. It hadn’t been all terrible or bad. It hadn’t - but the more she looked at them, the more the good times were tainted.

Rhea was torn. Her heart was raw, beneath its conviction, it was screaming …

“You won’t take that from me. Never again.”

… but she was silencing it.

For the little boy with ten perfect fingers, and ten perfect toes - and the bluest biggest eyes she knew, looking at her with love and trust.

And if she had to break another’s heart for his happiness and safety …

“... Dixie …”

… she would do it.

(Even Wally's. Even Wally, who was starting to look like he was finally seeing what was in front of him …

Too late.)

“You won’t contact me. You won’t stalk me. If you interfere in any way with my family … with my son …”

She would break the one universal rule for all heroes and vigilantes.

“The world will know you.”

(For a second, time stood still.

For one second, her voice echoed.

In a silent world, her words echoed like a never-ending shout.

A threat burning itself into every memory.

But time moved on, and with it, reality crashed.

Some words can’t be taken back.

These words, Dorothea Marianna Grayson-Seymour knew, she wouldn't even if she could.

There was a reason she would have never taken Bruce's place.

She placed love above the mission.)

“You wouldn’t!”

The denial was immediate. Under normal circumstances, she truly would have never even entertained such a course of actions, would have never uttered the ‘ threat ’, but this was not a normal situation, and she wasn’t the aggressor. Rhea was the one pressed into a corner, and behind her back, vulnerable, was her child.

No, Dixie Grayson, the childhood-vigilante would have never even thought of exposing her loved ones (former - former loved ones).

Thankfully, she was Rhea - not Dixie.

And her first priority was the little vulnerable boy closest to her heart.

“I did.”

She had - the second she held her child in her arms for the first time, she knew she needed a stronger detergent. A stronger insurance.

It was a plan born out of fear - a plan enacted out of desperation for her child's safety.

“The information is hidden and coded. A single wrong step, and the whole fucking League as well as the Junior Teams are going down in flames.”

Clark stared at her aghast.

“You would destroy hundreds of lives!”

Diana appeared beyond disturbed.

“That’s - Dorothea, I know you, you would never -”

Right here, right now - this moment was where the differences between them were written into stone. Heroes they may be, adults who understood responsibility as a greater concept - but they weren’t parents. Were those people before her felt obligation and saw the bigger picture, her focus was fixed on one little face.

Her dad (foster father) upheld the mission above any kind of familiar bond. Rhea’s greatest mission was seeing Max live his life safe and happy.

As much as it didn’t come as a shock, there was a part of her that wanted to shake her head in disbelief - information at their fingertips, and still, the greatest heroes of Earth couldn’t look beyond their own circumstances.

(She knew that she was selfish. But it was a selfishness she acknowledged and took responsibility for. 

Maybe the exalted defenders of their world should learn to do the same?

Just a thought …)

Well, obviously she did have to spell it out.

“I’m a mother.”

Her eyes looked dead on with Clark’s - with Superman’s.

Because yes, she dared.

She would always dare.

“I would burn the whole fucking world for my child.”

There was nothing she wouldn’t dare for Max.

(Pride was a familiar sensation for Damian.

He took pride in his abilities.

He took pride in his lineage.

So often, pride had been the only shield he could wield against the insecurities and harshness he had to overcome. When everyone else damned him for his ruthlessness, he took pride in having gained the means to protect himself, to protect his few precious people and even the innocent. When the ones that should have protected him as a child demeaned him for his grandfather, for his mother - sometimes, even, for his father - he took pride in them, in their successes and all they taught him. He knew - despite what he often claimed to outsiders - that those people weren’t infallible - that they were human.

It didn't break his pride - it only was another source of strength.

With age, and hindsight, came another point of pride - the pride of being considered Dxie Grayson’s little brother.

Nightwing’s protege. The only Robin to have received the mantle from the original Robin.

(Even when shit had hit the fan for Nightwing following the Reach Invasion, even when Damian had succumbed to his insecurities; he could never be anything but proud of being HER Robin.)

Therefore, standing behind his Ami, embracing and steadying her, her spine straight with steel while she sat the boundaries that would completely sever her from the present heroes who couldn’t accept consent and the word ‘no’, he felt a smile paint his lips.

A smile that didn’t leave, even as all but one of the heroes who confronted his Ami slowly stepped away. Leaving with disapproval and unmistakable fear in their eyes, reproval and incomprehension spoken aloud even as they disappeared into the early morning.

(It wasn’t the end - no one deluded themselves into thinking that it would be this easy.

But - it was the setting of a line.)

Now, there was only one former friend left …

Damian wasn’t surprised at all at their identity.

(He only hoped the fool wouldn’t be the one to break his sister - because, maybe, that man was one of the few people left in the world with the power to do so.)

He knew … that this was a conversation that needed to happen. He just didn’t have to like it.)

Green met blue.

(So familiar - so so familiar.)

A sad smile tinted the redhead’s lip as the older man sighed.

“That's it, huh.”

She felt her youngest brother bristle.

“West -”

(It was a sadness she understood. One that set heavy on her own chest - in her heart. Maybe the heaviest sadness of all that confronted her that day. But … she couldn't.

Even this - even seeing him regain his composure, appear like her best friend …

It didn’t erase his reactions. The truth always showed when we have the least control of ourselves.)

She cut her Baby Bat off.

“Dami, would you be a dear and start up breakfast?”

He faltered.

“Ami …”

She sighed.

“Please.”

The arms embracing her tightened for just a second, making her doubt his acquiescence, but then they loosened as he turned on his heel.

(Thank you, Dami.)

“Tch. Todd, Drake, your assistance would be preferred.”

Unhappy murmurs answered her youngest brother. 

“If he does anything -”

She closed her eyes.

(This - this felt so good. To know how much she meant to her brothers - that they cared - she felt her eyes burn. Happy tears.)

“I promise.”

Silence reigned between the two left behind on the doorstep, even as the low voices faded the further her brothers headed into her home in search of the kitchen. She didn’t open her eyes, just stayed like that for a moment.

For a moment that didn’t break her heart. Just for one moment in which she didn’t need to reinforce her choices.

(Those moments never lasted.)

“Strange. I never saw them this protective of you before.”

She hummed.

“I was surprised myself”, it was the truth.

(Truth - that had been rare between the two of them. When had they last been true to each other? When had the Speedster not avoided her, while she hadn‘t kept her mouth shut clinging to the fragile facsimile of peace?)

“... Dixie …”

(Truth - that was taking all the pieces, even those that were jagged, that cut you, left you bleeding and hurt, and see your reflection in them. Look yourself in the eye, and admit that even before what was between them had broken, the truth had been a distortion of reality.)

“Dorothea.”

(Truth - that was what she saw looking into those green eyes and seeing herself reflected with sadness; a defeated kind of sadness that never went unaccompanied by anger and the inability to admit that sometimes, it was better to make something new than to desperately reach for the past.)

“... Dorothea.”

Just this once, they both had to look into each other's eyes and admit the unavoidable truth.

“I can’t, Wally. I - just can’t. After everything …”

And that was her truth.

She cherished what they had - and she hated it. She loved who he once was - but she couldn’t love him the same today, not the way they had drifted apart; the man he had slowly turned into years ago, and the woman she had been forced to become - they were too different to have any future kind of relationship.

(Heartbreak - she knew how it felt. It wasn’t the same grief she experienced losing Adrien, no, there was little which could compare to her grief of losing the love of her life, but - this was Wally.

Her Wally.

Only, he hadn’t been hers for so long.

And still, it was the kind of loss which continued to break her heart.)

“Yeah … I - I honestly didn’t expect you to.” He swallowed heavily. “Fuck, I have no idea why I flipped my shit - no -  damn, that’s a lie. I know why.”

She averted her eyes as his fist clenched.

(Artemis going undercover - Artemis, always only Artemis, who faked her death as part of their mission - and hadn’t she turned, hadn’t she turned just that bit as Wally’s enraged fist had hit her afterwards - if he had hit just a bit lower than her upper body -)

“We both do.”

It was one of the reasons - of the major reasons - she couldn’t give him another chance.

(It plagued her - that moment, that memory, it made her shoot up screaming at night, stumbling in blind panic from which only her baby boy’s warm living body could bring her down.)

“Yeah, we do.”  

She looked up at the rustle of clothes. His arms laid at his sides, fists unclenched, and the look in his eyes -

It was knowing - and remorseful.

“For what it's worth … I am sorry. I truly am. You were my best friend”, he whispered brokenly.

Blinking, Rhea felt a tear roll down her cheek.

(All out of fucks to give … yeah …

Her worst lies had always been the ones she told herself.)

“You as well”, she admitted quietly. “You were my best friend, and my older brother. I won’t forget the good times.”

A promise she would truly try to keep.

“Me neither.”

They looked at each other. Thousand words unspoken, so many promises already broken …

But this one, they would fight to keep.

For the love once shared. For the memories untainted, the comfort remembered in the dead of the night.

For what once was, and never again could be.

“Live well.”

For who they had been to each other …

“Stay safe.”

… and who they would remember each other as.

Rhea watched his back as her former best friend disappeared from her life. This time for good.

He didn’t sped away, and she didn’t look away. Neither would do the other that disservice.

For what once was.

(It was the comforting smell of coffee that met her first.

Entering the kitchen to the bickering of her little brothers, she allowed the smell of strong - gratefully fully-caffeinated - coffee to comfort her as she settled on a chair next to Tim.

Tear tracks drying on her cheeks, they thankfully didn’t stop to question her. Instead …

Tim pressed a steaming hot cup of coffee into her hands.

Sighing, her eyes slipped close as she leaned her head against his shoulder and let their voices sooth her agitated mind.

This - this, she could get used to.)

“We should get going.”

“Tch. There is no need to hurry.”

“Stay here if you want - but I'm getting my things as quickly as possible. The longer the League has time to stew, the greater the possibility that they will act just when we are away. I, for one, won’t risk Rhea or little Max.”

“... what are we waiting for?”

“... why would you get your things?”

“Sis, you didn’t actually think that we would leave you again after just having found you - especially after that shitshow this morning? Fuck no, you got your own personal pitbull bodyguards right here. I’m just gonna get my shit, and then I’m parking my ass right back on this chair. Just try to stop me.”

“For once, I agree with Jason. I won’t leave you and Max, Ami.”

“Rhea, we have been the worst kind of brothers - but I promise you, all three of us - we will make things right. Besides, I can work from anywhere as long as I have internet access and coffee. Lots of coffee.”

“Hey, I’m a crime lord. My underlings shit themselves when they see me - I make more money when I leave them alone.”

“... Ami is still registered as my secondary guardian. I will simply do Online Course Work and graduate early.”

“Damian!”

“Ami - please.”

“...”

“Alfred the Cat and Titus have missed you.”

“... what did I do to deserve you three adorable headaches?”

“Kill a president in a past life?”

….

Thud.

“Really, Jason?!”

(Maybe she didn’t kill a president, but there had to be some sort of heavenly (or hellish) punishment at play here … right?

Right?)

‘You can only be hurt by those that matter.’

The phrase had always resonated within her. As a child, the whispers and mutterings of her guardian’s business associates, of the socialites fluttering around during galas; they played at her insecurities of that time, but seldom did they stay with her. More often than not, a heavy but gentle hand would settle on her shoulder and chase the thoughts away.

But her own mind had always been her worst enemy, and sitting at the kitchen corner with the last lukewarm drags of her third cup of coffee between her hands, while her brothers had hurried off to get their belongings intending very vehemently on staying with her - with her, and her baby boy, of their own free will, simply because they were family (they were family, she hadn’t been projecting her own feelings onto them, and wasn’t that the kind of mindfuck she really needed time to process later, when shit calmed down) - left her mind to wander in the resulting silence.

Wandering thoughts that always circled back.

Bruce.

Batman.

… no.

Not Batman. 

It was Bruce.

Returning the Nightwing suit had been her way to close the chapter on her vigilante activities, and it closed the door to her connection with Batman. Batman was Gotham’s very own Dark Knight, he was a symbol, but he was also the root of so many problems she had with her guardian - her dad. Because while they had both been vigilantes, their ideals and methods had clashed too often to count all the times that harsh blows and even harsher words had fallen. It had bled over, tinted their real - their first relationship with each other. The pain of that falling out still haunted her.

Batman had been disappointed in her, his words harsh and unrelenting in the fallout of the Invasion, and while she understood his first reaction rationally - it hurt. It hurt that the greatest Detective didn’t stop to consider getting all the facts, that he didn’t look underneath the obvious to notice the discrepancies and question her about them. He had taken the facts others had shown him at face value - facts which didn’t fit her character at all.

And while Batman’s denouncement cut deep, she hadn’t seen his abrupt abandonment coming so easily at the time. Yes, their relationship had been stained, something broken back when he had first taken Robin from her and thrown her out of her second home; her second family. But …

She had … expectations.

Loyalty.

Trust.

Acceptance.

In hindsight, it seemed foolish. But back then, she still had faith in her dad. Beyond all the shit that had gone down between them, beneath her resolution to not care for anyone else’s hangups - giving up on him had been impossible.

Honestly, she had expected Batman to at least be one of the first ones to approach her if she was ever found - if for nothing else then to reproach and reprimand her. Some kind of contact …

But it had been a full day now since Diana had crashed Rhea’s life, and her father …

… had not appeared.

It - it was painful. Like a bitter pill that was stuck in her throat, tasting ugly and stinging, dull but persistent. She wanted to swallow it down, to be done and over with it, but it - refused. Just as her heart refused to heal - refused to let the scabs scar over.

Would her father’s absence forever be a wound unable to heal?

She didn’t know, and that uncertainty, it was eating at her.

Why couldn’t she just stop caring ..

.. why?

(How horrible was it, that her brothers’ love had given her back a part of herself she had nearly completely smothered before and made a tiny spark of hope bloom that maybe, just maybe, she truly hadn’t imagined that they all had been family.?)

(She didn’t have any more fucks to give - but then again, her chosen family had always been the unspoken exception, hadn’t they?)

As a teenager, she had been a little shit, blasting hard rock, heavy metal and the occasional pop song with exceptionally catchy tunes through the manor like the annoying brat she was. Having a child with sensitive eardrums slightly altered her taste and made her branch out - hell, she did not just mean “Old MacDonald”, or the dreaded “Baby Shark Dance” -

(Don’t think about it, don’t think about it  - now she was thinking about it …

‘Doo doo doo dooo’

… fuuuuck!)

- but more along the lines of peppy pop, alternative or soft rock - fuck, just songs whose lyrics hit a string within her soul. And right now, swaying to the newest song of one of her favorite bands playing gently in the background, she simply enjoyed the moment. 

Music playing, light caught from the midday sun across the kitchen as she put the finishing touches on her rainbow cookies, all finished to be decorated by her baby boy once Mathilda and Edward brought him over later that day. He adored her rainbow sugar cookies and always loved decorating the colorful swirly creations with all kinds of sprinkles and frosting.

She heard the front door opening and the sound of male voices - the three stooges had returned. A smile crossed her face - she would need to hide the cookies.

All three of them had a tendency to devour her baking experiments when she didn’t put them under lock and key.

Hearing a single set of footsteps enter the kitchen she turned around, eyes sparkling mischievously -

The towel dropped.

Rhea felt her knees weakening in shock and barely managed to catch the counter of the kitchen isles as she disbelievingly eyed the man before her - a shock which was mirrored.

It couldn’t be …

Her knees buckled.

But the old man before her belied his apparent age as he seemed to cross the distance in an instant, catching and embracing her.

He trembled.

“Miss Dorothea … my girl …”, that painfully familiar voice broke as she felt his hands, aged capable hands that had held her so so many times growing up, clutch at her dress.

(Thankfully, she had showered and changed. Oh god, oh god, she couldn’t have faced him unwashed and in yesterday's clothing - no, no, thankfully, her dress was fresh out of the wardrobe and she was clean.)

“Alfred …”

Even when she thought she had cried all her tears, they flowed, burning from still red-rimmed eyes, but even if she had tried, she couldn’t have stopped crying. Not with her - her grandpa holding her.

She had thought the man had - he hadn’t come for her, hadn’t called - and she had thought he hated her for seemingly adopting Batman’s methods; methods which the old man had always disapproved of so much, but - but he was holding her - which, did that mean that he still -

“I can’t express how sorry I am, my dear sweet girl”, he whispered in her ear, and it was all she could do to hug him back.

“You are here … you are really here, grandpa Alfie.”

And if her brothers were suspiciously absent despite the enticing smell of her famed cookies …

If her hair felt wet where her grandpa’s face was buried in it just as his perfectly pressed white dress shirt gained a darkening spot as her mascara ran wild …

If they sank to the hard floor of her kitchen, holding each other, neither willing to let go …

“My dear sweet child …”

It was a part of home.

(There had always been a silent fear, deep down , that she would never see the man who had been like her grandfather growing up, ever again. The man had been old when she had been a child, and watching her own child grow up, it only drove home how quickly time went by, and how fast life could pass.

Rhea had still felt dread at the thought of being discovered.

But when it came to him, this dread was always accompanied by regret - regret that despite how they parted, her own grandpa, the man who while not blood was family, would never meet his great-grandchild.

Seeing this, seeing how the old man hungrily devoured every picture in her home, how nostalgy and adoration painted his features as he took in Max during the various moments of his life which she managed to catch on camera, from holding her little baby for the first time in the hospital, to his first day at kindergarten; happiness blossomed in her soul.

It was another piece clicking into place - a picture forming, being created, from the shards once discarded and the new ones just coming into existence.

It wasn’t the same, could never be, but that was good. This new and different picture they were painting, stroke by stroke, the bristle of the brush knew while the paint remained familiar, was a good one. It was one of healing.

Of family.)

A family which wasn’t whole.

(She feared it never would be ...)

Darkness and silence.

They had always accompanied him. Familiar, trusted, safe.

Right now, they only served to drive home just how alone he was - how his own actions had accumulated in this moment. Sitting by himself in a living room designed for a big family, holding his Scotch in one hand despite being unable to stomach a single sip and drowning in the silence that should have been filled with mayhem and laughter.

With the presence of his family.

Instead, it was cold. Empty. His sons had disappeared the day before, and he had heard at least Damian and Tim gather their belongings late that morning before disappearing again - this time, with Alfred. He hadn’t been able to handle seeing his last children flee from him. The fact that even his own father figure had looked at him and simply informed Bruce that he would take an immediate prolonged holiday said more than he wanted to admit. But … he had to.

At least to himself.

Jason barely spoke to him without aggression on the best of days. Tim was lost in his work and insecurities. Damian saw him as an authority figure, but he could never be a real parent to the boy whose head had been filled with whispers of the League of Assassins, no matter how much his rational mind knew that the boy wasn’t to blame (there was apart of him that always whispered of exactly how Talia had become pregnant) . Alfred had never made a secret that he disapproved of exactly how much of Batman bled into Bruce with time.

And Barbara? Stefanie? Cassandra? The girls were gone more often than not, saying please and thank you to get something out of him, but he knew that they didn’t consider him or the boys’ family.

How could they? Besides Barbara, none of them had actually known the true glue holding them together, the light laughter and twinkling eyes that made even stoic Damian quirk a smile. 

Dixie had been his baby girl, his little monkey, and he had abandoned her. Again and again, he had let his fear, his ideals as Batman bled into their father-daughter-relationship (had even let it keep him from telling his baby girl that he had secretly adopted her) which was the worst mistake he ever made. And he had made many. But losing her ..

He would never forgive himself for his reaction upon returning from Rimbo. Never.

The abject fear and horror the day he opened that package which contained his baby’s Nightwing suit had only been overshadowed by the terror of her complete disappearance. He had looked for her, on the down-low, because he knew - he knew just how talented she was, and if she had even an inkling that he was looking for her so desperately - he would have no chance of ever finding her again.

She was the first and best Robin, after all.

Everyone else may have forgotten just how brilliant his baby girl was, but he never would. Even after having five children, one of them even his own blood, she was still his pride and joy. And she always would be.

He couldn’t find the words to describe the utter and all-encompassing relief at Diana’s message. Seeing her face lit up the screen was like catching hold of a lifeline he didn't know he was grasping for. Like a drowning man, he had greedily devoured every word, every little piece of information on her - on who his baby girl had become, not because but despite of him.

His heart broke for her grief, for her loss. To become a widow - and to know that she was grieving alone while she should have found a safe place in her fathers arms and home, made him hate himself only even more.

To learn of the son-in-law he never would be able to meet, but who saved his baby girl and gave her a future even in death, made him pray for the young man he knew he would have welcomed.

And seeing the tiny adorable face of his grandson - his grandson, oh god, he had a grandson! - had driven joyful tears into Bruce’s eyes.

Dixie had exceeded all his wildest hopes for her. 

And he was so unbelievably grateful for her strength to keep going.

Knowing his children were together, that his own father (figure) was with them, settled a tightness in his chest he hadn’t even known was there until it had released. The stabbing pain that remained was one he had to endure. It was his own fault, after all, that he was back in this manor, alone …

… once more unable to form the words burning on his lips.

‘I have grown to hate Batman. To hate him not for what he does, for he does do good, but for how he affects the man I see as my son. Because Bruce, you are a son to me, and those children you do call your own, they are my grandchildren. We have lost so much, I can’t bear to lose even more of our family. This time, we have a chance so few people get. A chance of redemption and a future together as family. I know that Batman can’t have weaknesses, but I always thought that the love you, Bruce, have for your children, is your greatest strength. So I beg of you, my son, be yourself this once.’

He eyed the alcohol in his hand, his gaze drifting to the other hand … which had been holding onto his dark phone the whole evening.

His greatest strength …

Twinkling blue eyes filled with laughter teasing him as his beloved little girl dangled like a monkey from the chandelier …

His greatest strength …

Jason. Tim. Damian. Cass. Alfred … Dixie.

His thumb pressed on the tiny green symbol …

(The number had been typed in but uncalled since he had found it in her folder.)

It rang.

And rang.

And …

“Hello?”

His breath caught.

“Hello, who is there?”

It was her - it was her voice. He would never mistake his baby’s voice.

“I’m hanging up if this is a joke call -”

NO!

“Baby girl …”

her breath hitching sounded over the speaker before …

“D-Dad?”

And …

… Bruce Wayne broke.

(His baby girl still called him dad.)

She feared it never would be …

… but if she had the chance …

… if … if for once, the man she called dad would reach out …

… maybe, the final piece would click into place.

Because she knew that if he ever did reach out, she would take his hand.

Despite all the hurt, and all the grievances between them …

… he was her father ..

… and she loved her stubborn old dad.

(Only Bruce Wayne would adopt her without telling her.)

- The End. For Real. -