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Bruce Wayne’s always been one to prepare for the worst. He’s the kind of man that believes in the darkness within everyone, the chaos in everyone, and perhaps that’s why he is the way he is. He’s also the kind of man to plan out how to kill every single one of his friends on the off chance they one day turn evil, corrupted by the powers they were born with, or gifted with (even if he is the only one to truly be corrupted by power, to turn against everyone and put his own son in critical condition for standing up to him). He’s not an optimist, he’s a realist. He looks for the worst possible outcome of every scenario and plans for it, then he looks for the worst scenario resulting from his plan and plans for that too.
He doesn’t know why he’s surprised by Jason’s face on the monitor, the way his lips pull back into a snarl as he shoves the muzzle against Oswald Cobblepot’s monocle. He doesn’t know why he’s surprised when Jason’s fingers near the trigger, mask pulled back on and helmet furiously blank.
He reads the words off Cobblepot’s lips,
“No one here believes you have the stones to pull the trigger. You can play at being one of the bad guys all you want, but at the end of the day you’re just a kid playing dress-up…”
He reads the way Jason’s shoulders straighten, the way he seems confident in a way he’s only been when killing, when he’s sure of his righteous actions, or when he’s doing something to spite Bruce.
He reads Oswald’s death as the officers call for Red Hood to drop the gun.
“…He’s harmless…just another Bat Brat.”
“I’ll let you in on a secret, Cobblepot,” Jason says, voice an icy-cold Bruce heard when his son spoke of the Joker, of his death and the bad memories Bruce tries and fails to ignore, “I’m my father’s son.”
He doesn’t mean Bruce.
“Good on you, kid.”
“…moments ago…point-blank…local mogul…critical condition…”
Bruce’s fist slams down on to the Batcomputer desk as the bullet fires. Jason doesn’t look guilty, and Bruce can tell from Penguin’s face that he was expecting it, the same way he can tell that Jason shot to kill.
“Master Bruce, Masters Dick and Timothy are on the phone, sir. The others as well. They are asking what they should do.”
Bruce looks up from the monitor, fingers interlocked in front of him, eyes still narrowed in focus at his son and Oswald...
“Tell them to stand down. I’ll bring him in.”
Alfred frowns, watching the Red Hood’s shaky grip on the gun, on the audio he can’t hear as Oswald’s lips move and Jason’s grip tightens, finger itching towards the trigger...
He can’t help but think of the small boy who’d always helped him in the kitchen, the small boy who’d wanted nothing more than to be a good man, to make Master Bruce proud, desperate to be Robin.
(“Master Bruce is not breathing, you need to—” … “With all due respect, Alfred, shut the hell up… C’mon! Damnit, Bruce!”)
He’d saved Bruce’s life that night, at the risk of his own. “You’re only human,” Alfred had warned Master Jason, but he’d been stubborn enough to ignore him, to carry Batman to the shore and force life back into his lungs. Master Jason had always been stubborn, firm in his beliefs and decisive in his actions. He didn’t hesitate to act on what he thought was right, and he was identical to Master Bruce in that way. They had their morals, their guidelines, and they didn’t hesitate to act based on those morals, sometimes ignorant of the consequences of such actions.
“Master Bruce, with all my heart I’m sorry it has come to this.”
Master Bruce doesn’t respond, not that Alfred expected him too. He has a target now, somewhere (someone) to direct his anger. Bruce Wayne has always had a darker rage, simmering beneath the cool façade most never saw through. He had a darkness about him that reflected those he combated each night, the darkness lingering in each dilapidated and grimy crime-ridden corner of Gotham city. Bruce Wayne has always stared into the pits of depravity – the pits of corruption – and the pits stare back, seductive whisperings easily ignored, at first, but eventually…(Ra’s Al Ghul hadn’t always been cruel, driven to near insanity as he was by the world around him, the tender embrace of darkness at his pool’s edge a siren song even the strongest can’t deafen themselves to).
The Batman acts as a sniper for Master Bruce, a scope to block out all that is not in his sights. He believes it keeps him separate from the darkness, but his shoulders fall a bit more each night, footsteps a little more downtrodden and weary, tiring in his age as all do, morality not as clear as it once had been. Each night the Batman returns to his home, and each night some of that darkness, some of that cruelty Bruce Wayne had dedicated his life and his fortune to fight, comes with him.
Alfred blames himself for it, sometimes, when he isn’t too worried about the others to think of anything else, when the manor is quiet and the children he’d helped raise are scattered. He visits the alley, sometimes, on days where Master Bruce is sleeping off sedatives Alfred had placed in his food, or too absorbed in a case to move. The alley where Martha and Thomas Wayne had been gunned down, the alley where the Batman had been born.
He wonders at times if letting Bruce leave had been the right decision or if he should’ve been more firm with the boy. He supposes it’s pointless to muse on the past, but there are times where he can’t help it. Times like now, when the boy he loves like a grandson runs from his kill, red spray covering the concrete cracks of the blockaded street. He thinks of the lunch he’d shared with Master Jason just last week; at a new café he’d been eager to share. Alfred treasured those moments with him, moments that were few and far between.
He can’t always protest Master Jason’s killings, not with the way he’d killed before and the way he wished he still could occasionally, but he knows Master Bruce won’t stand for it. Killing is the only rule the Batman operated on, a bold line he didn’t forgive crossing. A childish view, idealistic in the black and whiteness of it, but Bruce has never swayed on it. Not once.
The Batmobile roars out of the cave with a vengeance, and Alfred lets out a weary sigh, face briefly resting in his hand.
He looks at Master Jason’s old costume, the one he’d worn when that damned clown stole him from them. He hates the display case, hates the memories that came with the blood, but he keeps it clean. He supposes it’s good to remember the past, but Master Bruce dwelled in it, immersed himself in it as a punishment.
He rests his hand on the ‘R’ insignia through the glass, letting a few tears fall. His silver tray clatters to the floor, forgotten.
“Oh my dear boy,” he murmurs, feeling grief for someone still living, grief for the laughter and joy that used to fill the hallowed halls of Wayne Manor, a light long gone…
“What has happened to this family?”
Alfred wonders in the quiet confines of his mind if it was ever a family, wonders if a family is supposed to have this much death and misery. Each one of them had died, been lost, at some point. Masters Jason and Damian and Dick, Mistresses Stephanie and Cassandra… Even Mistress Barbara had seemed dead when the Joker paralyzed her, had felt distant and made the family grieve the loss, the theft, and Master Bruce had been lost to them for long enough that they’d thought him dead.
He wonders when everything became so grim, when family became corpses and love turned to grief, to darkness.
Alfred hopes Master Bruce isn’t too hard on the boy, but he knows he will be.
He’s too hard on all of them.
*
Selina Kyle is curled on her couch petting Isis when the news breaks, when the live stream replaces the dull news anchor that was repetitive yet comforting. She’s found herself mindlessly watching the news more often than not these days, craving the mindless activities that didn’t require her to think or feel, when she was still grieving her failed marriage and impossible decision.
(Gotham or Bruce, Batman or her love…. It wasn’t fair, but Selina Kyle’s life hasn’t been fair since long before she’d put on a leather suit with a matching criminal record.)
Her apartment’s a chaotic mess of takeout containers and fancy cat food cans. She kind of likes it, in the way that means she’s forced herself to like it. She doesn’t have the energy to clean beyond the bare minimum and has decided that that’s okay. She’s been accepting a lot of things she hates as okay lately.
She’s wearing one of Bruce’s few hoodies when Jason’s bare and bloodied face appears, helmet broken into fragments scattered where the camera cannot see. Her eyes narrow in on the bruises, the blood, and before she has the chance to question who was capable of doing such a thing to Jason, her ex-fiancé enters the frame.
Bruce isn’t angry, he’s explosive, the kind of anger Selina rarely witnessed, the kind she’d only really seen when Luthor ended Dick’s life to save theirs (and the death of her Little Bird still haunts her, on some nights, the feeling of his hand in hers going limp as his heart stops and she can’t save him). She watches Bruce’s clever fingers, fingers that had been gentle, soft, had caressed her and worshipped her, brought her pleasure and love, clench into fists, watches Bruce’s eyes narrow as Jason spits blood.
“I was a fool for ever believing in you.”
And Jason, the street rat that had snuck his way into her guarded heart, just grins his shark-like grin at his father.
“You are a character. I’ve never seen you hit the Joker that hard, and you hate him.”
She calls Alfred and he doesn’t answer.
She calls Tim and gets a busy signal.
She calls Dick and he hangs up.
Selina throws her phone to the wall, frustration warring with the panic slowly building in her chest at the sight of the man she loves, the man she’d nearly married, beating his son with an anger that seems misplaced, wrong.
Bruce has always had his darkness, they all have, but he’s pushed it away, never letting it linger near his heart, never letting it affect his emotions, but that’s a lie, isn’t it? She’s seen the criminals in full-body casts around the time Jason died, the petty thieves with shattered collarbones and hired help with broken legs…
“Bruce,” she murmurs, pulling Isis closer to her cheek, “What the hell are you doing?”
She wants to look away, but she can’t. Selina’s fixated on the TV, unable to look anywhere else.
“Fucking hell.”
She’s silent as the feed continues, even as Oswald Cobblepot is pronounced dead on the operating table.
She wonders if she knew Bruce Wayne at all, or if Bruce Wayne was just another one of his masks.
*
He’s about to bounce off the walls when he gets Alfred’s response, nerves and anxiety manifesting in his hyperactivity. He’s rocking back onto the balls of his feet, watching Jason fire the gun and watching as the bullet embedded itself in Penguin’s brain. It’s on loop, and he’s going to go insane, and…
(“We don’t kill,” delivered in that static tone, cold and unyielding, and not even the sight of his resurrected son changes it, and Dick hates Bruce for it sometimes, for how he alienated Jason)
“Master Dick, Master Bruce will apprehend Master Jason…he has ordered everyone to stand down.”
Dick’s fist goes through the wall, a hole he knows he’s going to regret making later, wanting nothing more than to scream, but Alfred doesn’t deserve that. He pulls his fist out and sighs, ignoring the slight throbbing in his knuckles.
Alfred, thankfully, doesn’t comment on the noise Dick’s sure he heard.
“Are the others actually listening to that?”
“I do believe so. Master Damian is sulking in his room, and Master Tim has taken residence at the Batcomputer. The others have agreed to remain behind.”
Huh, the one time everyone decides to listen to Bruce…
“Alfie, what are your thoughts on this,” He gestures with his hand, feeling like an idiot when he realizes Alfred can’t see him. “Whole thing.”
Alfred sighs over the line, and he can hear the stress in the man’s voice.
“I…I don’t know what to think, Master Dick. I care deeply for Master Jason, but Master Bruce can’t forgive this kind of betrayal.”
“Jason’s his son, why is he—”
“His crusade has always come before personal matters, even when detrimental to his health and happiness, much like some others I could name…”
There’s a reprimand hidden in there that Dick ignores.
“He thinks Jason’s hopeless, that this means he’s the enemy, but he’s not. He’s not.”
He doesn’t know if he’s trying to convince himself or Alfred of that.
“Master Bruce is doing what he believes best,” Alfred responds, and Dick notices the deliberate phrasing, “and that is all anyone can ever do.”
“Bruce is wrong, I can feel it. Alfred, Bruce is wrong.”
If it weren’t for the sound of the other man’s breathing, Dick would have thought Alfred disconnected.
“Master Bruce is doing what he believes is best,” the butler repeats, “but Master Bruce can often blind himself to what is truly best. It does not mean he’s right, nor does it mean he’s wrong.”
Dick loves Alfred, but sometimes the cryptic messages really grate on his nerves.
“Are you saying…?”
“All we can do is what we believe is right, Master Dick. Master Bruce’s orders are to stay back, as they often are. The question is not what Batman believes right; it is what do you believe right?”
“I can’t… Alfie, I can’t stay back. Jason is…”
Complicated? His?
He can’t ignore the times Jason’s arms had held him tight, a warm shield between Nightwing and the pouring rain.
He can’t ignore the warmth in Jason’s eyes when they kissed, the way he looked at Dick as if Dick was precious, something to be valued and worshipped.
He can’t ignore the swarms of butterflies in his stomach when Jason smiled or laughed, the way his entire face lit up.
He doesn’t know what they are beyond the occasional fuck, but Jason means a lot more to him than he’s willing to say.
“…family.” He settles on. “And Bruce… His anger is never rational. He loses his head.”
Alfred doesn’t disagree.
“I wouldn’t expect you to, Master Dick. You’ve never listened to Master Bruce’s orders before, why would you start now?”
Why indeed.
He snorts to himself, thinking of the countless times ignoring Bruce had been the right call.
Dick’s made his entire nighttime career out of ignoring Batman’s orders, and even if he isn’t Robin anymore, it’s no time to stop.
*
Kate Kane doesn’t see the news until later, doesn’t see the Red Hood shoot the Penguin point-blank until it’s everywhere, and Commissioner Gordon is releasing a statement.
Her lips thin as the footage plays back, the Penguin’s taunt clear as day on his lips, and she isn’t surprised when he finds a bullet in his monocle.
“I am my father’s son,” Jason says, and Oswald’s eyes widen in understanding.
It reminds her of Clayface, of Red Robin’s warnings…
“You destroy people, piece by piece, like an infection. You will ruin Gotham…”
She flinches, even if the future Tim is no longer there, his words haunt her, taunt her. Every dream ends as a nightmare, pillars of flames and the Batfamily’s bodies surrounding her, small voices whispering to her how it’s her fault, how she caused it…
Not Batman enough, not Beth enough, she was never quite enough, not as Batwoman and sure as hell not as Kate.
Kate knows Bruce Wayne’s anger, knows it intimately from the moment she’d valued Cassandra’s life over Clayface’s instability (“What, was I supposed to let her die?!”… “There’s always another way.”), and she hopes it’s better for Jason, hopes Bruce has more compassion for his son.
Even if it pisses off Bruce, she can’t feel grief for the monster that’s now dead, the wolf in sheep’s clothing no longer able to prey on the unknowing. She’s always thought Bruce was stupid for his idealism, his black and white view of living, but maybe that was just the Army Brat in her. She’s seen her fair share of dead soldiers, some dead by her own hands, so there’s always been a difference between killing and murder, a thin line of justification and rightness she’d once had.
(She watches Gordon talk about the footage, watches him stutter as they show Bruce beating Jason with a ferocity she’s never seen, and she feels ashamed of the symbol painted on her chest. Was this… did Tim mean…? Is this her fault, her punishment?)
She rips the emblem from her chest and leaves it in the trash as the interview continues.
She doesn’t want to be associated with a hypocrite that thought it was okay to raise his hand to children, but not okay to kill. She’s had to deal with enough bullshit from Bruce, but this was too far.
*
Dick doesn’t do well with orders, never has. Bruce’s furious command to stand down – delivered through Alfred rather than in-person – tells Dick all he needs to know. He knows where Jason is, the world does, and unlike his other brothers, he’s not going to listen to B. Robin was created in exact opposition of Bruce’s rules and orders, and Dick may be Nightwing, but he’s always going to carry a piece of Robin, of that rebellious and fun-loving childhood, with him.
Jason will too, and that’s what B won’t see in his anger. He can’t see past Jason’s snark and anger, past the reputation bathed in blood and marinated in death, past the duffle bag full of severed heads that the entire criminal underground never shuts up about. That had been B’s issue with Damian, one he’d finally gotten over when he came back from his time trip (after Dick forcibly removed his adoptive father’s head from his ass), and now it’s his issue with Jason.
Bruce doesn’t let things go, never has, to the point where he always hesitates allowing Dick to patrol areas the Joker might be alone, always has a pause whenever Dick plans something where he would’ve just acted before. Dick lost Bruce’s trust when Joker died, and not all of it returned when Bruce brought him back. Jason lost Bruce’s trust when he came back to life, when he threatened him and broke damn near every rule Bruce had set out. Jason had been perfect in death, A Good Soldier, static the way Bruce liked, and Dick’s always thought Bruce resents Jason for ruining that picture-perfect label, that static certainty only possible in death.
B has ten minutes on him, and the advantage of the Batwing, whereas Dick is twenty minutes from Jason’s location and only has his Nightcycle, but he’ll make it work. He has to, before Bruce does something stupid like before, when he’d picked the damn Joker over his own son (and part of him will always silently resent Bruce’s part in bringing the Joker back to life because the death would have weighed heavy on his soul, but he could live with it, could live with some blood on his hands) he has to stop Bruce’s anger that always comes before his compassion (not that there was much of that these days). Jason is family and the Penguin… the Penguin isn’t worth more than Jason, more than their relationship with him.
And maybe he’s saying that because he feels guilty for the way his own relationship with Jason is – tattered remains that amount to something that is not quite brotherhood, not quite friendship… Quick and dirty sex in back alleys and shady bars with a silent agreement of avoiding labels…
(“I’m gonna make you scream my name, Bluebird…”)
But he has a point, and he knows Bruce best (besides Alfred) and he knows when Bruce is about to cross a line (better than Alfred).
“Dick, I know you left,” Tim’s voice sounds through his comm, panic barely noticeable in his tone, “You need to hurry, B…it’s bad.”
Dick frowns, pushing his bike to go faster as he weaves in between cars in a highly illegal way, ignoring the furious honking he leaves behind.
“What do you mean? Baby Bird, what’s happening?”
Tim’s breath hitches and Dick hates that he can picture what he’s seeing, what Bruce is doing…
(“I don’t want to fight. Bruce, I’m alive!” and fists, fists on his skin, beating him and cutting him until he can’t repress his own reactions, until he can’t help fighting back… “Then prove it.”)
Tanned skin a fading canvas of blacks and blues and purples, new scars and old scars, blood-red lacerations marked down his back from the Batmobile’s glass…
“He’s…Jason’s…Bruce is hitting Jason, and Jason’s not fighting back.”
Dick curses under his breath, repressing the immature desire to flip off a car as it cuts him off.
“I’m five minutes out. How bad is it?”
Tim is silent again, hesitant.
“It’s bad?”
“Yes. Jason…his helmet is completely shattered.”
So Bruce was going down that route of ‘taking Jason in’. Violence, great. At least Dick knows how to treat this, knows how to react to this (Dick knows B’s violence better than he knows his compassion, these days).
It’s sad how easy it is to believe, how easily he accepts Bruce’s flaws. There had been a time where he’d thought Bruce morally infallible, thought him perfect and untouchable. He’s long since accepted that no one is perfect, but it hurts every time Bruce’s flaws rear their ugly head, it feels like a personal betrayal every time he pulls a stunt like this.
(it’soverNightwing…itrainedyoutoliveandiwatchedyoudie…proveit…youweremeanttobeaTalon…)
One breath in…
One breath out…
This isn’t about him.
“Timmy, I need you to pack your bags and your gear and go to my place. Grab Damian too, and ask Alfred to come. I’m… I need to know everyone is safe when I…”
Tim swallows, barely audible over the line. His breath is soft, like a whisper.
“Do you think..?”
Tim doesn’t need to finish the question – Dick knows what he’s asking.
Dick kicks the kickstand of his bike down, pocketing his keys and eyeing the rooftop across from where Jason and Bruce are duking it out (even if it’s more one-sided than the statement suggests). There’s a cube falling from the sky, and what looks like Bizarro floating near it. And where Bizarro is, Artemis is sure to follow (who, for some Jason-shaped reason, can’t stand Dick, and factoring in the fight him and Jason had not even a week ago – a fight they haven’t talked since – he can’t imagine the Amazon will be happy to see him).
Looks like his life just got a lot more complicated.
“I don’t know, Tim. But I don’t want to take that chance. My apartment, fast as you can.”
“Okay.”
Dick readies his grapple, finding the perfect hook when Tim says,
“Dick…what should I tell the family?”
Dick runs a hand through his hair, sighing.
He doesn’t want to think of how Cass is going to take this, not with the ghosts of David and Shiva still so present,
He doesn’t want to think of how Damian is going to take this, not with how he’d been raised and how hard Dick had worked to teach him that no, hitting your children is most definitely not normal or okay.
“They already know what Bruce did, but tell them I’ll handle it.”
He’ll deal with the fallout later, once everyone is safe.
“Be careful.”
Dick grins a performer grin, knowing now isn’t the time to let his little brother worry any more than he already is. He’s the oldest, and it’s his responsibility to protect them, even if it’s from their father.
He feels calmer as the grapple lifts his feet off the ground.
“Always am.”
He disconnects without waiting for a reply, and across the city in a dark cave, Tim Drake mutters, “Liar.”
*
Cassandra is… confused, she doesn’t quite understand what she’s seeing. It’s unusual because her first and best language was and still is movement (‘Violence,’ her mother whispers) and this…
She wants to believe her eyes are lying to her, that her first language is lying, and something was lost in translation… but…
“Please tell me I’m not seeing this right, Babs. Please.”
Stephanie and Barbara’s faces contain the same horror Cassandra feels, the same confusion and loss and even betrayal, because this is a betrayal, even if it isn’t them Bruce is beating and bleeding… Because the anger in his face, the threat his fists carry like a promise? Cassandra reads her father in Bruce, and it scares her more than it should, more than David Cain himself scares her, because that at least is demon firmly in her past, one she’d faced and defeated. She’s conquered her fear of David, even if some signs of his abuse linger in her hesitance to speak, the disconnect in her thoughts and her words. Bruce… she’s never known him to be this violent with a loved one, with her family, his family…
(“…But it’s your choice, and so is this… Something I should’ve done a long time ago… If you’ll let me, when we get back to Gotham, I’d like to start the adoption proceedings. You’re one of us, Cassandra, you always have been, and I’m sorry I didn’t let you know it sooner…”)
Bruce had been safety, love, her safe haven, and protection even if she hadn’t needed it. He’d held her when she woke screaming from nightmares that were memories, he’d trained with her when she’d needed to hurt and to hit the way she’d been trained, to let out everything she forces herself to hold in…
Bruce is her father, the way David never had been, but fathers aren’t supposed to hurt their children…
She’s silent as Stephanie and Barbara try to connect with anyone, both furious when they receive no answer, and she can’t help but think of Bruce’s speech, his… request to adopt her. She was one of them, he’d promised, and always had been, but Jason…
Jason’s one of them too, more so than her, he’s been part of them longer than Cass, been Bruce’s son longer than everyone excluding Dick… And yet…
“I was a fool for ever believing in you.”
She can see Jason crumple slightly, on the inside if nowhere else, and she feels tears spring to her eyes. Jason’s always masked his true feelings with anger, afraid of vulnerability and his own weakness. He loves deeply, completely, and he was kind to her even if he didn’t always seem like a kind man. He was hardened, but weren’t they all, to some extent? He’d always been unafraid of her, comfortable with her kills and the fact that she’d been immersed in the Lazarus Pit, comforting when the blood on her hands haunted her – when she couldn’t tell if she was here or there…
(“It’s like that for me too, sometimes,” He’d said one night, staring across the skyline. “Sometimes I feel like I’m still in that fuckin’ pit, drowning in green while that damn clown laughs…”)
She and Jason weren’t the same, but they were similar, felt the same pain and different pain. She’s never been afraid of hurting him, and he’s never held back with her. She loves him for it, and she remembers the wonder in his eyes when she’d first called him brother…
Unlike Bruce, she’s never cared about Jason’s kills, not in the way he did at least. She cared for how they stripped Jason’s soul, how they tore him apart. She’s never grieved for the monsters he’d taken, only for how it hurt him in the end, the same way it had hurt her.
Cassandra had killed in the past, bloodstains lingering on her soul, a poison tainting and slowing her every move. She’s more careful now, haunted by the corpses and death that used to follow her like a plague, like an infection, but Bruce had believed in her… Like he’d believed in Jason… Would he say that to her, one day? Would he disown her, raise his hand to her the way he’d sworn to never do?
(“…You’ll always have a family as long as I’m around.”)
Were those just pretty lies, ones to soften her, or had he meant them at one point? Had he said them to Jason before Jason had killed again? Had he made the same promises before taking away his support after one misstep?
“Hurt,” she says, pointing to Jason. She aches for him, feels his pain like a gaping wound where her heart should be, and she tries to hold back her tears.
Her brother… He’s her brother…
Steph’s eyes are sympathetic.
“Yeah, Jason is hurt, I don’t know why—”
“No,” she interrupts, feeling a flare of frustration that they can’t see it, even though she knows people don’t always see what’s on the inside, not the way she does, “He hurts…inside, pain, devastation…”
Cass tries to think of the word and finds it in his teal eyes. Loss…
“Grief.”
Barbara looks at her carefully, fingers unconsciously tapping on her thigh. It’s a nervous habit, one Barbara only does when she’s truly stressed. She taps in code; a pattern Cassandra doesn’t always recognize. She supposes it doesn’t matter, even if David’s voice berates her for her imperfection, her ignorance…
“Jason is… grieving?”
Cass nods, and her fingernails cut into her palm. It hurts, but it centers her, separating her from Jason. Pain always did, and it was one of the few lessons from David she lets herself remember and use.
“Shit, Tim needs to pick up, or I’m driving us to the manor.”
Steph tries calling one more time, and this time, Tim answers.
“Sorry, I’ve been packing and talking Demon Brat into the car with Alfred…”
“Tim,” Steph interrupts, voice bordering on hysterical, “What the fuck is going on?”
Tim sighs, and he sounds so much older than he is when he speaks.
“Penguin is dead, and I’m assuming you’ve already seen Bruce’s reaction. Dick… Dick is going after him. He wants Damian, Alfred, and me to stay at his penthouse for now.”
Barbara frowns, and Cassandra notices that she stops tapping.
“Shouldn’t one of us go with Dick? Should we be letting him face Bruce alone when he’s like that?”
“I… have no clue, Dick is… he’s angry. He’s also scared, I don’t think he wants us near Bruce like this.”
Steph glares at the TV, fists clenched. Cass places a gentle hand on her shoulder, and her friend slumps.
“We’ll… we’ll meet you at Dick’s. Dami at least likes me, and I’m going to lose it sitting here watching the news.”
Tim gives his affirmation, signing off.
They all turn their attention back to the TV.
“That’s…” Cassandra doesn’t recognize the man she thought of as a father, can’t see the gentleness through the rage, the compassion and promises to help her find a life outside of death and ruin, “I don’t recognize him.”
Steph pulls her into a hug, Barbara around the both of them.
“Me neither, Cass. Me neither.”
Cass stops looking at the TV.
She wants her eyes to lie, but the body never lies. Motion is a language she’s fluent in, and Bruce Wayne’s is damning.
*
“There’s going to be times when you’re going to want to talk to someone. Call me at this number. I’ve been where you’re at, and I’m a good listener.”
“I’ve got you, Little Wing. B is okay, you’re safe, Scarecrow is back in Arkham. I’ve got you…”
“I care about you, Jay. You’re my brother, my legacy. If B can’t see how amazing you are, screw him.”
“I’ll always be here for you, Little Wing, I’m only a phone call away.”
Lies. He was a liar, wasn’t he? Dick Grayson, the so-called “Golden Boy” of the sidekick generation, the first Robin, the ex-leader of the Titans was a liar, a failure.
He’d promised Jason his ear, and he’d been off-world when his Little Wing called, when he was beaten to death in Ethiopia at the hands of someone Dick wouldn’t kill until it was far too late.
He’d promised Jason his place (in the family, in Bruce’s crusade), and he hadn’t been able to stop Bruce’s acceptance of Tim, hadn’t been able to stop the mantle being passed down (even if he’d never wanted it to be a mantle, never wanted it to go beyond him and his grief).
He’d promised Jason his protection, and here he was failing him again.
When Dick’s parents died, he’d made a vow to be his family’s safety net, to catch them at their lowest and protect and defend them the way he hadn’t been able to do for his parents. He’d vowed…
“Bruce,” he breathes, unable to tear his eyes away from the blood-stained fragments of the Red Hood’s helmet next to a large hole.
“What the fuck have you done?”
Jason’s head is in his hands, furious attempts to wipe away his tears proving unsuccessful. He’s crumpled, defeated in a way Dick’s never seen him. Helmet in fragments, right eye swelling and face a bloody bruised mess…The cube is gone, and Dick doesn’t see any sign of Bizarro or even Artemis (who always seemed eager to keep him from Jason, making it her duty to acquaint his face with her right hook), but he can’t worry about that beyond a twist of fear in his gut when Bruce is stalking towards Jason with a laser-eyed focus and danger in the set of his shoulders…
(and he can’t help but think of Bruce’s fingers curling around his throat, the warning and the threat from a man given power, a man he’d thought incorruptible… “Another hit will kill you. Did you really think this would work?... It’s over Nightwing.”)
He runs towards them as Bruce strikes, and Jason fights back, furious and devastated all at once, but Jason’s distracted, blind, and Bruce is deadly.
He can faintly hear his father’s voice carry across the rooftop…
“I once told you, if you ever left, it would be your choice, not mine…”
And Bruce is dragging him, and Jason’s bleeding so much, eyes unfocused and seeming to look past Bruce rather than at him.
Dick can’t….
This doesn’t cross one line; it crosses all of them.
Bruce’s limit may be murder, but Dick is an acrobat. He’s always been more flexible, and morality is no different. But this…
“Batman!” He calls, and both Jason and Bruce turn to him, glancing at him. Bruce glares at him, unashamed, not an ounce of guilt in the fact that his son is bleeding more than the Joker ever had under the Bat’s anger, and Dick… Dick’s done.
His escrima sticks crackle with electricity, and he cranks them up to their max voltage. Bruce isn’t touching Jason again, not if he has anything to say about it.
“Nightwing, I told you to stay back, I have it handled.”
Jason slumps again, and Dick doesn’t know if it’s from blood loss or something else. It only makes him angrier, surer of what he’s about to do.
“No, B, you don’t.”
He shakes his head, giving a slight laugh, even though this is the opposite of funny.
“You’re going to drop Jay right now, or I’m going to make you.”
Jason looks at him, and there’s still that naked devastation on his bare face, still tears in his teal eyes. It’s a vulnerability Jason hates letting others see, hates letting Dick see, and he takes a deep breath, focusing, finding the words caught in his throat.
Dick nods to himself, getting into his fighting stance, and when B doesn’t move or let go of Jason, he glares back.
“You once told me your backup plan for you was me, and I’m here to pull you back B. You are way off base, you’ve already gone past every fucking line in the damn book and somehow managed to blind yourself to it.”
“Dickhead,” Jason tries, but he coughs, and blood spills onto the concrete. Shit…internal bleeding is looking more and more like a possibility, and from the way his right cheek is swelling, Dick isn’t ruling out a fractured cheekbone either.
“Damnit, B! Look at him! What the fuck?!”
Bruce’s eyes harden, but he still doesn’t move. Typical.
“Stand down, Nightwing.” It comes as a growl, a command, and Dick doesn’t answer.
He looks at the man who’d raised him, the man who’d taken him in when he’s lost everything and everyone he’s ever loved, the man who helped him let people back in and find a purpose in life when everything felt so hopeless. The man who’d laughed at his shitty jokes, who’d sat at the dining room table helping him puzzle over Chemistry problems. Bruce had been his father when his own died…
And Dick doesn’t know who he is, right now.
The man who raised him, who he respected with everything in him, who he would die for without question, is dead. He’s gone, and a monster walks around in his skin.
People change, and Bruce changed too much. He has to draw a line, to have a limit… and this…this is his.
“Violent way it is,” he mutters, and throws himself into Bruce, escrima first.
Bruce does love forcing decisions on people through violence, so why shouldn’t Dick turn the tables?
Bruce releases Jason, anticipating his move and flipping backward. Dick stands in front of Jason, glaring at Bruce.
“You okay J?” he asks from the corner of his mouth, unwilling to take his eyes off of Bruce even if he wants to inspect every inch of Jason, find every injury and deliver it ten-fold to Bruce, but that is his temper talking, and that is what caused many of his worst decisions, so maybe he shouldn’t listen to it. It’s tempting though. His father does have a very punchable face…
Batman’s own eyes narrowed on him, analyzing his every twitch. Dick would bet money Bruce can see Dick’s anger building.
“M’fine,” Jason mutters, voice softer than Dick’s comfortable with, “Jus’ a scratch.”
Dick’s lips thin, but he steps towards Bruce, twirling his escrima in his right hand.
“I thought you were the best of us, B. You were my father, my role model, my everything when you took me in.”
Bruce’s leg goes to his head, but Dick steps clear under it, stabbing his weapon into Bruce’s ribs. The man winces, fist flying out towards him. Dick dodges that too, dancing out of range.
“I don’t know who you are, anymore. I don’t think anyone does. And I don’t want to, either.”
Bruce’s punch catches him by surprise, knocking him to the ground. His feet dangle above the ground as Bruce’s fingers curl around his throat…It’s eerily similar, enough for him to nearly forget when he is…
(“It’s over Nightwing,” and he can’t breathe, he can’t breathe, hecan’tbreatheandhisfatherisgoingtokillhim…)
“Are you… proud?” He chokes, breathing ragged and heavy. “Are… you proud… of the… man you’ve become…? The kind of… man who would… let his sons die… before he lets… them kill? The kind who would… beat his son… into the ground, for… avenging his own father?”
The hand on his throat tightens, and his vision blurs a bit, but he’s not done.
“I wish you’d stayed dead, B. I wish you’d… have stayed dead and let us believe you were a good man, a good father.”
The kind of man Dick had wanted to be, once. The kind of father Bruce had been, once.
(“He’s my son!” Bruce had snapped, glaring at Dick in accusation, and so Dick had left because he’d thought Bruce cared, that Bruce would be a good father for Damian, but he’d also thought Bruce would never treat Jason like this, so who knew what the man actually was like with Damian)
Bruce drops him, an unreadable expression on his face. Electricity dances up Batman’s leg, and Dick sees the arrow embedded in his flesh.
Roy’s appearance is no surprise, nor is the anger on his face.
“Take him to my place,” He says to Roy before the archer can say a thing, nodding at Jason. “There’s medical supplies, and the others should be there.”
Roy’s eyes are hard, and his hesitance to put trust in Dick is a sign of the way things have changed. There are questions where before there would have only been action, his fault, his mistakes.
“Others…?”
Dick shakily gets to his feet, retrieving his sticks as Batman gets back up.
“B did something unforgivable, and Jason needs help. Please, Roy, trust me.”
It’s more a measure of how bad Jason’s doing than trust that makes Roy agree, and Dick doesn’t watch them leave.
“I got you, buddy.” He hears Roy murmur, and even if Roy hates him, Dick’s glad Jason has him.
Dick kicks Bruce, slamming his body weight into him with all the strength he possesses.
Bruce falls down, and Dick lands on top of him.
“Your parents would be so ashamed of you,” He whispers, tears pooling in his eyes. “I am so ashamed of you.”
“He killed,” Bruce snaps, throwing Dick off him. “He knew what would happen, what the consequences were. He could operate here so long as no one died.”
Dick raises his arm to his mouth, wiping the blood from his busted lip. His ribs curse the decision, but he’ll deal with them later. Probably only bruised, but knowing his luck lately, maybe cracked.
“He’s family, B!” Dick shouts, dodging Bruce’s outstretched leg, “You don’t… you don’t hurt family like that, and I don’t know how the fuck you don’t see it!”
Bruce’s jaw clenches, but Dick is unafraid.
“He is your son, and you beat him bloody because he killed a monster… Would you have done that to me, if the Joker had stayed dead? To Robin, if he’d gone after Riddler? Batwoman, if she slipped up again? What about Red Robin? The girls? How about Catwoman, you know she’s killed, right? Did you just not witness it, so it wasn’t as bad?”
“We don’t kill,” Bruce says through clenched teeth, right hand twitching slightly, as Dick manages to dodge every hit he throws, to dance around every kick. “He knew that, and he shot the Penguin anyways, you know that.”
Dick’s torn between screaming in frustration and crying, because Bruce used to care, used to love with his whole heart… Bruce used to empathize, to value things besides the mission, besides the Bat…
Dick’s tired of everything, suddenly, more exhausted than he’s ever felt.
“I don’t know when you changed, B, but I don’t like the kind of person you’ve become.”
“We’re at the location, Dick, the girls are here too.”
He hums in acknowledgment, forcing himself to calm. Wouldn’t do to have his siblings panic and charge out here, not when he has no clue how Bruce would react.
“Arsenal and Hood are inbound, have A prep medical.”
“Dick, what…?”
He disconnects, meeting Bruce’s eyes.
“I need to bring him in, Nightwing. You need to stand down, last chance.”
(“It’s over Nightwing.”)
It’s a threat.
And to think, he’d once thought love was free, that you didn’t threaten your loved ones…
Dick laughs.
He’s not a little kid anymore, not as optimistic or sunny. He’s seen the darkest parts of himself and others, seen the cruelty in his father-figure’s love, and the condition in ‘unconditional love’.
He tries to be optimistic, but he’s not stupid enough to believe Bruce will put his children before the mission, emotionally or physically. He’s already made that mistake enough times for the lesson to be beaten into his skin.
“Or what? You’ll kill me? Throw me in Arkham?”
He smirks that cocky smirk he’s spent years perfecting, kidding his pain behind a smile like he always does.
“I once told you, that things could never be the same between us, that I wasn’t your boy anymore. I said that, and now it’s time for me to show you that.”
And then, before anything else can be said, Dick Grayson tackles Bruce Wayne off the building, into the glass walls of the GCPD building, and it all goes further to hell.
*
“Master Jason!”
Jason’s a frighteningly pale shade of white by the time Roy manages to break into Dick’s penthouse, security measures a pain in the ass he hadn’t thought of. The Bats, minus Batman and Nightwing, all seem to be assembled around the kitchen counter as Roy hoists Jason through the door, the latter unconscious and bleeding in a few areas Roy hadn’t noticed.
‘Fuck Bruce,’ He thinks fiercely, ‘If Jay dies, I’m going to kill him.’
“Harper,” Damian Wayne says, arms crossed in front of him, “Release Todd at once so Pennyworth may attend to him.”
Roy blinks, suddenly hyperaware of the death grip he has on Jason, of how tight he’s holding his best friend to him. He doesn’t trust them, but Jay does. Jay trusts them, and Roy’s going to have to take a risk or Jay might not make it.
“Help him,” He mutters, glaring at Alfred.
Alfred takes it in stride without comment, directing him on where to set Jason.
The Bats had made a makeshift operating table out of Dick’s dining room, all the necessary supplies surrounding it.
“Mister Roy, I understand you don’t trust us, I understand you, perhaps, don’t like us, but Master Jason is family. I will do all that is in my capabilities to ensure he is alright.”
Alfred’s eyes linger on him for a moment, before he nods, setting Jason down.
Alfred pulls on a set of blue medical gloves and a mask, ordering them back.
“Alfie?” Jason murmurs, pupils dilated and eyes hazed, confused.
“It’s me, Master Jason.”
“What…”
“You’re safe,” Alfred says in a pleasant tone, motioning to Tim. “You’re at the penthouse in downtown Gotham.”
Jason coughs, and to Roy’s horror, it’s more blood. Alfred’s eyes narrow in on it too.
“Is Dick…?”
Another cough.
“Is Dick okay?”
Jason moves as if to get up, and Alfred lays a hand on his chest. Gentle, but firm.
“Master Dick will be alright, but right now we need to worry about you.”
“M’fine,” Jason mutters darkly, “It looks worse than it is.”
Alfred raises an eyebrow, giving him a pointed look.
“To my knowledge, Master Jason, a shattered clavicle, a fractured cheekbone, severe concussion, and by your shallow breathing I would hazard a guess on cracked or broken ribs with a strong possibility of internal bleeding, are often worse than they look. In your case, I would say it is exactly as bad as it looks.”
“Hear that, Jaybird?” Roy teases, trying to suppress his own panic at the injury total (because Jason looked like a monster truck had run him over, and then invited its friends to run him over too). “Looks like I’m the more handsome of us, now.”
“In your dreams, Harper.” Jason murmurs.
Tim brings an IV cart in, passing it to Alfred.
“We’ll have to lower the morphine dosage, due to Master Jason’s concussion, Master Tim. Half the normal should do.”
Tim does as he’s instructed, and Jason is out in seconds.
Alfred holds the scalpel in a death grip.
“Time to clean up after Master Bruce once again, I suppose,” he murmurs, and the butler gets to work.
No one notices Cass quietly slip out the spare bedroom window and into the night.
*
Nightwing’s arms are tight around Batman’s shoulders as they break through the glass, shards cutting into his cheek. He should’ve worn his red suit, at least then the bloodstains would fit in.
“Nightwing!” He hears Commissioner Gordon call as he lands on top of Bruce, throwing another punch at Bruce’s jaw. They’re both bruised to high hell, and Dick knows how to keep up with his mentor. He gives as good as he gets, and they’re both pissed.
“Commissioner,” he acknowledges without looking, leaping back as Bruce moves to attack.
“What in the blazes—!”
He flips over Bruce’s shoulder, getting the man into a headlock in one sleek move. He squeezes the blade of his arm into Bruce’s throat.
“You’ve gone too far, B. This… isn’t something the others can forgive. It isn’t something I can forgive.”
Bruce judo-flips him, bending his right arm behind him hard enough that he hears a pop.
‘Shit,’ he thinks, ‘My shoulder might be dislocated.’
“Stand down, Batman!” Gordon shouts, and Dick looks up from where Bruce’s knee pins him.
Officers all have guns trained on them, safety off, except they aren’t trained on him. They’re pointing at Bruce, and Gordon does not look happy.
“Do you remember when you forced me to stay dead, Batman? Cause I do. Do you remember how I died, and before I could even process that you beat me into submission, sent me across the world to do your dirty work, forced me to lie to my family when I’d just had my world ripped from me? Do you know what it was like to have my identity revealed to the world, and then to lose not just Nightwing, but my real name too? I was a number, B. A fucking number. I could forgive you for that, I could even forgive you for nearly killing me when you got superpowers, but this…”
Gordon’s eyes widen, but Dick’s held this in for too long to stop now.
“I thought it was just me. I thought you only treated me like this, out of jealousy or hatred or something else I’d missed, something that was probably my fault, but you know what Boss?”
Dick twists out of Batman’s pin, wrapping his legs around the man’s waist and reversing their positions. He puts his escrima to the man’s throat, electricity crackling in warning.
“It isn’t my fault, it’s yours. I’m done making excuses for you, forgiving you, and I’m not letting you near any of us again. I don’t trust you, not after what you did to Hood, and if you try to go near any of them again I will kill you.”
Dick lifts himself up, cradling his injured arm gently.
“I love you, B, but the man you are now is not the man that raised me. I’m done.”
Bruce’s eyes are cold, hard and empty the way they never had been before. Dick expects nothing less of him.
Dick staggers to his feet, dizzy and nauseous all at once. His world begins to tilt, dark spots dancing at the edge of his vision, and Gordon looks like he’s going to catch him…
“Black Bat,” he murmurs affectionately, feeling his little sister’s arm tighten around his waist to prop him up.
She smiles at him, pointedly ignoring Bruce and the police officers surrounding them.
“Needed. Come, Penny One will help.”
“Nightwing, Black Bat, you know there will be consequences if you continue.”
Dick opens his mouth to talk, but Cassandra puts a finger to his lips, smile dimming slightly. She gently deposits him in a chair before she turns to Bruce, her entire demeanor changing. Dick forgets her strength, sometimes, an easy mistake with how small she is. Cass’s terrifying even without the sewn-up Batgirl mask.
“You’re a liar,” She starts, “You say we are…family, yet you hurt our brother, my brother…You care only for…” Cass points to his symbol. “Not us. Not family, never family.”
She glares at him as he steps forward.
“Black Bat—”
Cassandra slaps him, open-palmed and hard enough to leave a mark. She lifts her right hand up to her chin, rubbing the underside before slamming both her hands downwards.
‘Liar’ Cassandra had signed, and Bruce looks shocked.
‘Liar.’
Cassandra helps Dick to his feet, pulling his arm around her once again.
“Come,” she says quietly to him, “our family is waiting.”
Bruce doesn’t call for them again.
*
“Dick?!” Stephanie exclaims as Cassandra carries him through the door.
“Thas’ my name, don’ wear it out,” he slurs, winking at Stephanie as she shuts the door.
“What happened to him?” She looks to Cass for an answer.
“Batman.”
Steph looks at her in surprise.
“I know he did that to Jason, but somehow I—”
Stephanie cuts herself off with a laugh.
“Doesn’t matter. Let’s get Dick to Alfred, I think he’s just finished stitching Jason together.”
Cass manages to seat Dick next to the makeshift operating table when Damian comes barreling into the room, katana brandished in front of him.
“Where’s Grayson?! Where’s my father?!”
“Lil’ D!” Dick shouts, nearly falling out of the chair as he attempts to get up. “You’re here!”
The fire in Damian’s eyes dim slightly, the stiffness in his posture relaxing as he sees his mentor. It’s only then Cass notices he’s changed out of the Robin uniform, into his old League of Assassins robes.
“Grayson, you’re alright.”
Dick grins, reaching over to ruffle Damian’s hair.
“Of course I am, jus’ some bruises, my Lil’ Robin.”
Damian’s affronted expression is all for show, Cass sees the way he slightly leans into Dick’s touch.
“Where’d Alfred go?” Steph asks.
Damian huffs.
“He’s settling Todd in the guest room under Harper’s eye. The others are doing…” His mouth twists into a frown. “Damage control.”
Dick’s eyes snap onto Damian, laser-focused.
“Damage control…?”
Damian clicks his tongue, arms crossing tightly over his chest. He looks…lost.
“The footage of Todd and Father, and subsequently Father and you was broadcast live, to the world. No one…” Damian slouches slightly, muttering, “No one is happy.”
“I…I need to go—”
Cassandra pushes him back down into the chair.
“You need to heal, brother.”
She presses a soft kiss to Dick’s forehead, resting her hand against Dick’s heart.
“Kindred. I will watch over them.”
He nods, wincing and clutching at his ribs.
“Jay’s okay? He’s safe?”
Cass nods, and Dick relaxes against her, melting as she cards her fingers through his hair.
“Thas’ good, thas’ good. Watch them, Lil sister, I’m…”
“PENNYWORTH!”
Alfred rushes in at Damian’s screech, eyes immediately drawn to Dick’s unconscious form, still slumped against Cassandra.
“Oh dear lord,” Alfred mutters, shifting Dick onto the table, “Can you boys please not all get beaten to a bloody pulp on the same day?”
*
Despite the combined efforts of Tim, Barbara, and Commissioner Gordon (unknowingly working with the other Bats), the press went wild with the news footage. The world seemed divided on the ethics of Batman’s treatment of Red Hood, a known ally of the superhero community, and an alleged family member of the ‘Batfamily’.
Tabloids sold out as they printed, reporters chased members of the masked community in hopes of a reaction, or better yet, an official stance. In the first week, any hero close with Batman or Red Hood remained tight-lipped, refusing to comment one way or another. Conspiracy theories were reported on more than the actual news, especially with the lack of Red Hood on Gotham’s skyline, but nothing was confirmed or denied.
Then, the footage of Nightwing and Batman’s fight over the Red Hood and the death of Oswald Cobblepot was anonymously leaked to every news station on the East Coast. Calls for the Justice League’s reaction, and the Superhero community at large, tripled overnight, with many calling for the Batman’s severance from the Justice League. Reporters in Gotham analyzed the footage like hawks, eager for Nightwing’s interference and reaction to Batman’s assault on the Red Hood (‘who didn’t fight back initially,’ reporters were quick to point out, zooming in on the Red Hood’s hunched over form as Batman whaled on him). The other members of the Batfamily had been absent from the public eye ever since the initial footage initially went viral, with reported sightings that couldn’t be confirmed and no reports of Robin alongside Batman.
The image of the Batman holding Red Hood off the ground, fingers clenched tight around his alleged son’s throat garnered speculation, with mounting public outrage as the footage’s view count grew. The only defense any media outlet or Batman fanboy seemed to conjure was that Red Hood was decidedly not a hero, and he had killed. Some saw the footage as justified, or as the Red Hood’s punishment, and others saw it as a criminal act. Up until the secondary footage was leaked, the divide was about even on public opinion. The image of the Batman holding the paragon of the caped community, the first Robin, Nightwing in the same way he’d treated Red Hood became the banner of the anti-Batman movement, sparking a wildfire no one could put out.
“Are you… proud?” Nightwing chokes, breathing ragged and heavy. “Are… you proud… of the… man you’ve become…? The kind of… man who would… let his sons die… before he lets… them kill? The kind who would… beat his son… into the ground, for… avenging his own father?”
The Titans publicly distance themselves almost immediately, and Starfire was quoted in an interview to have said:
“Red Hood may operate on a more ambiguous morality, but he is an ally that has saved my own life many times, and the way the Batman treated him is abysmal, regardless of who he killed. Nightwing, another close ally of the Titans and original member, defended Red Hood and was struck down.” The princess’s lips twisted, fiery hair more like molten lava at that moment, “I do not condone this behavior and had Nightwing and the Red Hood not asked me to stand down, the Batman would be dust. The Titans do not stand with a man willing to strike his own and let that be known.”
And with Starfire, a well-known teammate of both Red Hood and Nightwing, releasing her statement, the floodgates opened.
Despite the Justice League’s official silence, members spoke out against Batman, most notably Wonder Woman, Cyborg, and Black Canary.
Heroes posted clips to their social media reacting to the footage, publically offering support to Red Hood and Nightwing and distancing themselves from Batman. Villains made their disapproval known by targeting Batman related stores or merchandise. One such incident where Harley Quinn stole every Batsuit costume in Gotham City and set them on fire in front of the GCPD building to protest the Batsignal (“I thought ya were ‘posed to arrest abusers! Now ya workin’ with them?! Where the hell is this world goin’?!”) garnered a great deal of media attention and inspired a wave of similar instances near the Hall of Justice.
The Batsignal, still in operation by the GCPD despite the protests, was vandalized each night by a variety of Gotham citizens with determination, Spoiler, and on one notable occasion, Flash, Troia, and Arsenal. Commissioner Gordon had never had cameras installed on the rooftop, but a cop patrolling nearby swore that the heroes had jumped off the rooftop giggling over it.
The world became decidedly less divided after the interview went up, where even the most devoted fanboy had to acknowledge that the other side wasn’t entirely wrong.
*
“So Catwoman, you were involved with Batman for how long, exactly?”
Catwoman throws her legs across the chair, smirking.
“Do you want to know romantically, or how long we were screwing? Because those are two very different answers.”
Lois Lane flushes slightly.
“Whatever you’re comfortable sharing,” but at the look Selina gives her, Lois backtracks, “within reason, of course.”
Selina pouts.
“No fun. Bats is pretty great in bed, makes up for his emotional constipation at all other times of the day.”
Lois hums.
“Let’s start with how long you’ve known him, and how long you’ve known Nightwing and Red Hood.”
“I’ve known Bats since before Robin was a thing, although I was allegedly less on the legal side of things.”
She shrugs, amused.
“As for Nightwing, I’ve known him since he wore the scaly panties. He’s always been someone I’ve cared for— little bird’s annoying that way. It’s impossible not to like the kid. Hood I met when he became Robin, and he was a sweet kid. He operates differently than most capes, but I like to think it keeps things interesting.”
Lois taps her pencil, motioning for Jimmy to zoom in on Catwoman.
“And what is your take on your… lover and his actions towards his ally, and alleged child, Red Hood? Not to mention the allegations coming out regarding his actions, past and present, towards Nightwing?”
In an instant, Catwoman’s entire figure stiffens, playfulness entirely gone.
“I do not stand with my ex where his treatment of those boys is concerned. He was too harsh, and I don’t…”
She trails off, and Lois squeezes her hand.
“The footage relating to Nightwing defending the Red Hood from Batman has several statements that many, myself included, find shocking. Many of his statements, including, and I quote, ‘I thought it was just me. I thought you only treated me like this, out of jealousy or hatred or something else I’d missed, something that was probably my fault…’. As someone who has known Nightwing since he first joined Batman’s crusade, what is your take on this?”
Selina frowns, looking at her hands.
“I…I’m not entirely sure. I know that there was some conflict between Bats and Nightwing because of Robin, but I…I didn’t know.”
Lois hums again.
“Another thing Nightwing said, the threat if Batman approaches the other members of the Batfamily, do you believe it to be legitimate? And on which side do you stand?”
Catwoman meets Lois’s eyes.
“I stand with my little bird. As for what he said, it’s legitimate. Wing is fiercely protective of those he cares about; he’ll do whatever it takes to keep them safe. I don’t stand by the Batman, not now, not ever again.”
“Can I quote you on that?”
“You can quote me on this: ‘Fuck Batman’.”
Lois Lane’s red-painted lips stretch into a grin, and she turns to look directly into the camera’s lens.
“You heard it here, folks, Catwoman does not support nor condone Batman’s behavior in relation to Red Hood and Nightwing. The only question left is how exactly will the Justice League respond with the mounting allegations of child abuse towards one of their founding members?
She doesn’t have any more questions, Lois Lane got exactly what she wanted.
By the time this interview goes live, there will be protests for Batman to resign from the League, and Smallville’s nonconfrontational ass won’t be able to hide from the issue anymore.
She turns to hide her smirk, satisfaction at finally doing something against Bruce Wayne making her downright bubbly.
Fuck Batman indeed.
*
“Did you hear Batwoman’s going by Legionnaire now?” Dick asks, flopping into the armchair next to Jason’s bedside. Jason shoots him a glare but sets down his book. “Apparently she didn’t take kindly to Bruce’s… you know.”
Beatdown? One-sided MMA match? Fisticuffs?
He avoids thinking about it because thinking about it means remembering, and remembering means feeling…
(“I was a fool for ever believing in you.”)
…and he doesn’t want to feel that, not when he has so many bruises to remember Bruce’s tantrum for him.
Jason quirks a brow at him, pushing the blanket aside to show his still bandaged torso.
“This?” He drawls, and Dick flushes, nodding slightly.
‘Adorable,’ Jason thinks, but he shoves that thought away.
“Speaking of, shouldn’t you still be in bed?”
Dick shoots him a grin that makes his heart race.
“Donna and Wally left with Roy a few minutes ago, I think they’re going to go vandalize the Batsignal.”
Jason sits up.
“What?! I wanna go!”
Dick puts a hand on his bare chest, pushing him down slightly.
“You, mister, are on bed-rest. Actual bed-rest, my ribs aren’t cracked, yours are.”
Jason glares at him.
“It’s not my fault B needed a fuckin’ punching bag—” He cuts himself off as Dick’s face falls. “I don’t blame you, Dickhead. It’s just how he is.”
Dick stares at the ground.
“I should’ve been there faster,” He mutters, “I shouldn’t have waited for Alfred’s call. I knew he was going to overreact.”
“Hey,” Jason grabs Dick’s hand and laces their fingers together, putting their hands against his racing heart. “You did your best. I’m okay, you’re okay. Everyone is fine.”
For all the fucking they’ve done, for all the times he’s watched Dick fall apart screaming his name, this feels different. More intimate. Jason’s been careful to keep his emotions separate from their whole affair, because as much as he loves Dick, as attracted to him he is, he knows this is temporary, knows it’s a brief fling Dick just needs to get out of his system, and no matter what the man says he will eventually get Jason out of his system.
Jason’s been cast aside enough in his life, it’s better to be the first to leave so you aren’t the one left behind. Even if it breaks his heart, that’s always been his motto. But Dick…He makes it really hard to not fall in love with him.
Dick’s other hand reaches up to cup Jason’s cheek.
“You’re okay,” He breathes, and Jason’s breath hitches in his chest.
Dick’s touch is soft, achingly soft, everything Jason wants but can’t have, everything he craves and denies. He looks at Jason like Jason’s his whole world, like there’s nothing more important to him at that moment.
Jason breaks eye contact, cursing Dick Grayson in his head.
“I’m always okay, a little rough and tumble with Captain Constipated ain’t gonna change that.”
Dick snorts, squeezing his hand gently.
“I was worried about you, asshole,” he murmurs, pressing his forehead against Jason’s. “Is that so hard to believe?”
“Yes,” Jason responds, “I still don’t know why you chose me over Bruce. He’s your dad.”
Dick pulls away, jaw clenched.
“He was your dad too… can’t say I agree with his parenting techniques.”
“How’s the Demon Brat and Replacement taking this?” Jason asks, ignoring the look Dick sends him. Dick knows he’s avoiding the topic, but Jason’s injured enough to avoid it. He’s never been above injuring himself further to avoid questioning, and Dick knows that better than anyone.
The Dick Grayson Guilt Complex™ comes in handy every once in a while.
“Dami’s…he acts okay, but he’s pretty shaken. I’m taking him in, permanently. He doesn’t feel safe around B anymore, and I don’t trust B with him anymore. As for Tim, I don’t think he’s fully processed it emotionally. He’s just looking at the facts without acknowledging them…”
“Sounds like Replacement. He’ll be fine, we all will, but I never understood why you didn’t keep Damian in the first place, he was attached to your hip. Big with the threatening bodily harm to any who dare touch his Grayson.”
Dick sighs, leaning back in the chair, and Jason tries to ignore the fact that Dick hasn’t let go of his hand.
And why, Jason wants to scream, can’t Dick be ugly? It would make his life so much easier. But no, he’s gorgeous on the inside, outside, AND backside. Asshole.
“B wanted to bond with Dami, and I felt…guilty? He feels like he’s my kid, but he isn’t my kid. He only came to Gotham to meet his father, so who am I to deny him that?”
Jason gives him his patented ‘you are a fucking moron’ look, Roy-tested and Roy-approved.
“He and Bruce never got along, and you didn’t have to leave Gotham to give the kid a chance to learn that his father is a jackass.”
Jason almost doesn’t notice it— the full body flinch Dick gives – because Dick has always been good at hiding his body language, his tells, so Jason feels it more than he sees it.
“Please don’t tell me Bruce actually kicked you out of Gotham, because I will go shoot out his goddamn kneecaps right now.”
Dick winces.
“He didn’t, you know, physically kick me out. It was more like a strongly worded suggestion.”
Jason is not amused.
“So he guilted you out of Gotham? What was his excuse? ‘My demonic offspring likes you more than me, and that is unacceptable’?”
“It was more like ‘if Damian doesn’t get friends other than you and he becomes Batman, he’ll trigger the Apocalypse.’”
Dick uses air quotes, and Jason makes a face at him.
“That is bullshit.”
Dick shrugs, trying (and failing) to smile.
“B said he got a vision, and I believed him.”
Jason rolls his eyes.
“Ah yes, I forgot that Batman was a psychic. Ya know, if Babs would have said it, then I’d believe it, but B’s just a jealous bastard. He only sees what he wants to see.”
“Maybe,” Dick responds absently, eyebrows scrunched in concentration…
‘Great, now he’s brooding.’
“C’mere,” Jason says, opening his arms. Dick looks at him, confused.
“One-time cuddle offer, you look pathetic.”
Dick grins and slips under the covers next to him as Jason scoots over.
“I look gorgeous and you know it.”
‘Yeah,’ Jason thinks, looking at Dick’s pretty blues, ‘That’s half the problem.’
And he most certainly does not blush when Dick cuddles into his embrace, no sir. He’s as hard as stone, completely unaffected—
“Motherfucker,” He mutters, and he feels Dick’s smile against his chest. “Are you always this clingy?!”
Dick’s answering hum tickles his chest, limbs curling around Jason’s less bruised areas like an octopus.
“You would already know the answer to that,” Dick begins, looking up at Jason through his lashes, “If you’d stop taking off every time we have sex in one of my safe houses, or if you’d stop kicking me out of yours the second you come.”
Jason shifts, both to move his crown jewels away from Dick and to move away from this conversation, but Dick holds him gently in place.
“It’s just fucking, Pretty Bird, you know that just as well as I do.”
Dick has a knowing look in his eye that makes Jason want to run, but he can’t because mandatory bed-rest and Alfred.
“It isn’t Jay, and it hasn’t been for a while. You know that… I know that.”
And wow, of course Dick would choose to have this conversation when Jason’s too beaten up to leave, and his guns are hidden god knows where. Fuckin’ hell.
“It’s just sex, Dick. Don’t make it out to be more than it is.”
And normally, on any other day of the week, Dick would let it go, would run away, virtue aflutter, and the natural order of things would return as soon as they crossed paths on their patrols. Normally, Dick would take Jason’s words at face value, and accept his denials. Normally, Dick didn’t just fight Batman for Jason, so Jason has to give him that.
“Little Wing, I don’t know if you actually mean that, but it’s not just sex for me, hasn’t been for a while. I love you,” Dick cups his cheek, smiling in that soft way that Jason hates loves, “I love that you care so much about kids, and how gentle you are with rape victims. I love how strong you are, despite all the things life has done to try and break you. You’re still one of the strongest people I know. I love how smart you are, even how much of a literature nerd you are with your endless collection of Jane Austen and Shakespeare. Even if I don’t entirely understand how anyone can enjoy Shakespeare.”
“You’re just uncultured,” Jason murmurs, unable to break the siren hold Dick seems to have on him, unable to stop looking into his eyes like a fuckin’ rom-com.
Dick leans in, lips ghosting over Jason’s with a tenderness that makes Jason want to cry.
“I love you, Jason Todd. And I want to be with you, beyond just sex.”
“Well shit, how can a guy say no to that?” Jason drawls, pressing his lips to Dick’s.
It’s not an ‘I love you’, but it’s close enough.
*
“There shouldn’t need to be a vote!” Diana shouts, slamming her fist down onto the meeting table. “He hurt our Robins, two boys we watched grow up. Jason looks up to me! And Clark, you know Dick looks up to you! By Hera’s name, we shouldn’t need to vote.”
Clark sighs.
“Diana, you know that’s not how the League operates. We have to have a vote to sever any member, especially a founding member and key financial sponsor to the Justice League.”
Clark winces at Diana’s glare.
“And we shall have a vote, and if he remains on the team because of his financial contributions, not only will I leave the Justice League, I will ensure the League loses all funding.”
“Ouch,” Hal mutters, raising his hands when Diana turns her glare on him. “I’m voting with the princess!”
“You’ve always been spineless, Jordan.”
“Hey!” Hal protests, but it immediately dies down when he sees Bruce. “Bats, you’re not supposed to be here.”
“He’s right,” Clark says, trying to keep the edge out of his voice when he speaks to Bruce, “How’d you learn of the meeting?”
Bruce rolls his eyes.
“I built this tower.”
He offers no further explanation.
“You,” Diana says, and Clark really doesn’t want to deal with this. He, frankly, isn’t paid enough to deal with this. Despite his no-killing policy, he is sorely tempted to let Diana eviscerate Bruce.
“Diana,” Bruce responds, not a hint of fear in his voice.
“You should be hanged for your crimes,” She hisses, “You should be killed.”
“Diana,” Dinah murmurs, and the Amazon turns to her.
“He doesn’t deserve to be here, not after what he did.”
Dinah rests a hand on her friend’s shoulder, sending Bruce a look of contempt.
“He doesn’t. But we need to vote.”
Clark clears his throat, drawing the attention of the League.
“So we put it to a vote. All in favor of Batman’s continued presence on the Justice League?”
Aquaman is the only one to raise his hand, and Dinah and Diana both send him scathing glares.
“All in favor of Batman’s severance from the Justice League?”
Excluding Aquaman, it is a unanimous decision.
“You’re a monster, and if you so much as look at those boys in a way I believe wrong, I will wipe your existence from this Earth.”
Diana leaves without another word, but Dinah hesitates, eyes locking in on Bruce. Oliver and Barry knowingly plug their ears.
Dinah doesn’t say anything, but her Canary Cry speaks volumes.
Bruce’s jaw clenches, and Clark puts a hand on his shoulder, forcing his friend to look at him.
“Clark, what do you want?”
Clark raises an eyebrow, arms crossed.
“How about an explanation? I know I seemed calm compared to Diana, but I am unbelievably angry. How in the world did you think that was okay? That any of it was okay?”
“Dick was in my way,” Bruce starts, and Clark cuts him off.
“This isn’t just about Dick, it’s about Jason too. They are your sons, and since when has beating kids, your kids, been a line you were okay with crossing?”
Bruce’s glare is stubborn, and Clark can see the frustration in him, the defensive anger that always came when Bruce was wrong and didn’t want to admit it.
“Neither of them are children, and there has to be consequences for their actions.”
“Oh cut the shit, B,” Hal interjects with an eye-roll, feet propped up on the meeting room table. “Aren’t you the one ragging on me for killing because that isn’t our job? Is it your job to punish Jason for killing, or Dick for helping Jason resist your arrest?”
Bruce’s fists clench.
“They’re my children, therefore they are my responsibility.”
Oliver laughs, moving next to Hal.
“So now they’re your kids, convenient how you only admit that when it justifies your actions, or when they aren’t fucking up. Roy’s my kid, even when he’s being an idiot. I didn’t disown him when he became an addict, and I didn’t disown him when he got his ass locked up. Am I the greatest parent or parental figure? Hell no! But being a parent isn’t meant to be convenient; you can’t just go from having kids one day and not having them the next day because they screwed up.”
Barry nods in agreement, vibrating nervously in his chair, and Hal snorts.
“And if they’re your kids, why did you treat them like that, B-man? Did you need some anger relief? Was Jason an easy target? After all, he didn’t hit back at all until after that cube thing disappeared and that didn’t seem to stop you.”
Bruce doesn’t comment, eyeing Clark with that same stubborn anger, that same bull-headed insistence that he wasn’t in the wrong. Clark wonders if Bruce is in denial because if he is wrong than he lost everything for no reason, or if he’s so deluded that he truly thinks he’s in the right.
“Bruce,” Clark sighs, dropping his arms to his sides, “We’ve been friends for years, and I don’t… I don’t know what changed, when you changed, but the Bruce Wayne I was proud to know, the Bruce Wayne I was proud to follow… you aren’t him. You are everything he was against, and he’d be disgusted to see the man he’d turn into.”
Clark levitates slightly, eyes glowing red in warning.
“You aren’t welcome on league property, anymore. You aren’t welcome in Metropolis—”
“OR STARLING CITY!”
“—or Starling City, and it would be best if you leave before I have to use force.”
Bruce’s glare drops, and his face doesn’t give anything away.
“So be it,” He mutters, and something in Clark aches as he watches the man leave.
“What happened to him?” Oliver asks, shaking his head.
“No clue. He’s always been an emotionless bastard, but I didn’t think…”
Barry doesn’t need to finish his train of thought.
“None of us did,” Clark says, pinching the bridge of his nose as he stares after Bruce. “I don’t know if that makes me feel better or worse.”
*
“Grayson? Are you alright?” Damian calls through the empty penthouse. He frowns as he comes upon the empty bed.
“Grayson?”
He grabs the doorknob to Todd’s room, preparing to ask (read: interrogate) Todd on where Grayson had disappeared to, when—
“You.”
In Todd-the-messed-up-Robin-that-went-and-got-himself-blown-up’s bed, lays none other than his Grayson, whose neck is absolutely covered in red bruises Damian wishes he couldn’t see. His lip curls in disgust.
He decides, in the split moment it takes for Todd to conjure a smirk and for Grayson to clutch at the sheets to cover his nudity, that Jason Todd must die.
“You defiled my Grayson!”
“Little D! He’s injured!” Richard shouts, but he pays him no heed, katana in hand and a target in sight.
“I promised Grayson I wouldn’t kill, but this is for his own good.”
Todd manages to evade his blade, mostly due to Damian’s slow strikes. He doesn’t want to strike Grayson, after all.
“You’re insane, Demon Brat! And just so we’re clear, this isn’t the first, second, or tenth time I’ve defiled ‘your’ Grayson! I do it on a weekly basis!”
Damian’s katana sails over Jason’s head, skimming the top of his hair. Todd glares at him.
“Jason!” Dick cries, “Stop goading him! And Dami, please stop trying to kill my boyfriend!”
“Boyfriend?!” Jason asks, eyes wide and ears turning a bright shade of red.
“Boyfriend?!” Damian screeches, fingers white around his second katana blade’s handle.
“BOYFRIEND?!” Stephanie shouts, leaning in through the doorway with Cass and Babs next to her.
“OH MY GOD!”
Grayson hides his face in a pillow and screams.