Chapter Text
He finally gave up and recruited Alfred.
Damian showed up for training and disappeared whenever Dick tried to talk to him, Tim was so far in denial that Dick was tearing his hair out, and Jason nearly shot Dick the last time he tried to talk on patrol.
He needed the big guns—Alfred called everyone, insisting that he was making dinner and he expected everyone there, and Dick smiled so wide his face hurt, because none of them would’ve ever shown up if he’d been the one asking.
But for Alfred, everyone was on time—Damian observed what Alfred was making with fascination, Jason showed up without a speck of blood, and Tim had even deigned to look up from his wide array of papers at the smell of Alfred’s lasagna.
They ate in the kitchen, warmth and light chasing away shadows and darkness and, for an hour, Dick dared to hope. They’d taken dessert to the den, Tim’s and Damian’s argument over explosions turning into a movie night as Jason egged them on, and Dick settled back against the couch as the documentary began to play.
Warmth curled happily inside of him as he observed his family, Bruce was gone but he still had his brothers.
If he could get Jason back to the house, if he could coax Damian out of the shell he’d retreated back into, if he could join with Tim to patrol the city, if—
“Bruce is alive.”
The cheesecake abruptly tasted like ash. (Ash and failure and disappointment.)
Dick swallowed with difficulty and got off the couch. His blood felt like ice in his veins.
“Drake—”
“Look, Tim—”
“No, stop, I have proof!” Dick could hear Tim scrambling with his papers and the music cut off abruptly as Tim switched the TV screen to mirror his tablet.
Dick walked to the window and stared out into the darkness. It was raining, a soft pitter-patter of droplets against the glass. He remembered standing here, back when he was nine, and trying to wrap his head around being Bruce Wayne’s ward.
He remembered feeling numb, colder than cold, unfeeling because to feel would be too much.
He knew what it felt like when the people you loved fell and didn’t get back up, no matter how many times you prayed for it to be a dream.
“See, we already know there are inconsistencies in the body—”
“Replacement, if this is your cloning theory again—”
“Tt. If the body is not Father’s, then where is he? He would have returned to Gotham by now.”
“Shut up, Jason, and I’m getting to that, Damian. See, this is the footage of the attack—notice anything strange about the flames?”
Dick wanted to turn. To check. To see. He didn’t. His fingernails were biting into his palms.
“That does not look like normal fire and believe me, I would know.”
“Yes, exactly! I’ve run the calculations, and there’s a huge surge of energy around that time—it’s not normal fire and there’s an energy transference that can’t be accounted for in the temperature rise and according to the law of entropy, it—”
“English, Tim, jeez.”
“Right. Uh, the fire has a lot of energy and that energy just…vanished. Energy doesn’t vanish. It had to go somewhere.”
“It could’ve just vaporized Batman.”
“Then why was there a body?”
Dick rested his head against the glass. It felt blissfully cool. Unfortunately, he couldn’t drown out the voices behind him. He dully entertained the thought of covering his ears, tearing at them, until they were bleeding and he could hear nothing but his own heartbeat.
“This is beginning to sound like the clone conspiracy theory—”
“Jason, just. If we accept that the body isn’t Bruce’s, then we have to accept that someone put it there. Someone wanted us to believe that Batman was dead.”
“Which means…he’s not?”
“Your logic is circular, Drake.”
Tim sighed, loud and heavy, and Dick could feel the weight of gravity in his bones.
“The body isn’t Bruce’s. Which means we haven’t found a body. And I am not going to accept that Batman’s dead without a body!”
Dick wanted to go back, to envelop Tim in a hug and sooth away his frustration—but he didn’t know how to get Tim to listen. How to counter his arguments. How to get him out of the spiral of denial.
“Then where is he?” Jason asked, breaking the tense silence.
“Yes, Drake, if Father is not dead, where is he? You cannot possibly think he would do anything other than return to Gotham or, failing that, attempt to contact us.”
That had been about as far as Dick had reached with him last time before Tim had stormed away, eyes alight, to hunt for proof.
“I think he’s lost in time.”
“What?”
“What?”
What?
Tim’s voice became more and more eager as he shared the details of what he found, the bat sightings throughout history, the whispers of a strange man who appeared and disappeared without a trace, and Dick’s heart clenched as Damian’s mutters died to a contemplative silence and Jason’s questions went from idle to focused.
It sounded convincing. Hearing Tim lay the whole thing out, it made sense, it was logical, and given everything that happened to them over the years, stuck in the time stream was probably not the weirdest.
But Dick just…couldn’t. Couldn’t believe. Couldn’t make himself do it.
He wanted to. He wanted to so badly it hurt. His throat had closed and his eyes were burning—he wanted Bruce back. He wanted it and he was terrified of that want.
He felt like he was standing on the edge of a cliff. That all he had to do was take one little step. A leap of faith. Like his parents had taught him, swinging high above the ground. A leap of faith, and they would catch him.
A leap of faith. Batman wouldn’t let him fall. Batman never let him fall.
But Batman was gone.
Batman was gone and if Dick took that step and fell, he wasn’t getting back up.
If he jumped, if he leapt, if he stepped out and fell, it would break him.
Dick knew it and wanted to do it anyway.
Tim’s argument wound to a passionate close and a heavy silence descended over the room.
Dick carefully uncurled a fist and reached out to splay his fingers against the glass. They looked thin and pale against the stormy night.
“Alright.”
“What?”
“You heard me, Replacement. Alright. It isn’t even the weirdest thing we’ve seen. Hell, I woke up in my coffin and we still haven’t figured that one out.”
“Your logic is perhaps less than dismal on this one, Drake.”
“Thank you, Damian. So…so you guys really believe me?”
“Yup. How are we getting the old man back? I presume you have a plan.”
Dick’s fingers clenched on the glass. He didn’t want to hear this. He wanted nothing more than to hear this.
He wanted his father back. And he was terrified of it.
“I—yes, I do. Dick? Dick, you believe me, right?”
Dick didn’t move. He couldn’t move. He couldn’t do anything but stare into the darkness. If he squinted just right, the shadows would almost look like a cowl and a cape. He didn’t squint.
“Dick?”
“Grayson?”
“Hello? Earth to Dickhead!” He could hear Jason’s voice getting closer and didn’t resist as his brother pulled him away from glass. “Were you even paying—Dick?”
Dick blinked. Jason’s face was blurry. “Dick, what’s wrong?” Jason asked, softer this time.
He couldn’t open his mouth. It felt like it had been clamped shut.
“Dick, it’s okay. Bruce isn’t dead. We’ll find him. I promise.”
Batman had made him a promise too. And here Dick was, trying to gather up all the shattered pieces.
He wanted to believe that Bruce was coming back. He wanted it with all of his heart. But he’d learned the hard way that sometimes people fell and didn’t get back up.
And Dick couldn’t throw himself headlong into that leap of faith without knowing that someone was there to catch him. He couldn’t do that to his family. He wouldn’t do that to his family.
“Dick,” Tim said softly. Dick blinked and tears slipped soundlessly down his cheeks. “We’ll get him back.”
The hope was right there. All he had to do was reach out and take it. To put his faith in Batman. To put his faith in Bruce. To put his faith in his dad.
It felt like he was standing over Bruce’s grave again, a shovel of dirt in his hand. It felt like he was teetering on the edge because the dirt would make it real, would mean that Bruce was gone, he was really gone, and Dick was selfish, he didn’t want to accept it, he didn’t want it to hurt—
But they had all been staring at him. His brothers. Alfred. If he didn’t accept it, neither would they. And Dick couldn’t do that to them.
He was the eldest. It hurt, it hurt so much, he wanted his dad back, he wanted his family back—
But he was the eldest. And he couldn’t drag them all down with him.
“No,” Dick croaked out.
Tim jerked back like he was struck. Damian’s eyes narrowed and Jason crossed his arms.
“Dick, look at the evidence! He’s not dead—”
“Grayson, the Pretender’s logic is not entirely without merit—”
“You’re going to take that track, Dickhead? Going to break this family up again—”
“I am trying to keep this family together!” Dick shouted. They all fell silent. “I am trying to keep this family together,” he repeated, his voice cracking.
“We’ll get Bruce back,” Tim said quietly, “Dick, we’ll—”
“Stop.”
“No, listen to me—”
“Tim, stop.”
“You aren’t listening—”
“Robin,” Dick said, aching and hollow, “Stop.”
Tim fell silent.
Dick took a couple of wavering steps forward and let his hands fall on Tim’s shoulders. “Don’t,” he said simply, “Just don’t. I can’t believe you, Tim. Don’t ask me to.”
“And here I thought the Golden Boy would be the first one chomping at the bit to get dear old dad back,” Jason bit back.
“He’s dead,” Dick said, cold—not to hurt, but because he couldn’t make his tone any warmer.
“Grayson—”
“He’s dead,” Dick repeated, staring at Tim. The younger boy’s face was twisted, half-stubborn, half-hurt, and Dick knew he would never let it go. If Dick wanted him to stop, he’d have to break him and he couldn’t—wouldn’t—do that.
What was the point if Dick didn’t learn from Bruce’s mistakes?
“Why don’t you believe me?” Tim snapped, his voice cracking from frustration.
“If I believe you,” Dick started, and it tore at him, seizing him, dragging him to taste the hypothetical, to try it out, to see, to take a peek—
He couldn’t finish his sentence.
“Shit.” Jason, surprised and bewildered. “You’re afraid. You’re actually afraid.”
If he believed them, then there was nothing in the world he wouldn’t do to get his father back. If he believed, then he would take that leap at a run, rushing into the void, leaving everything behind.
Leaving his family behind. Leaving his brothers behind. Leaving it all for a desperate hope that Bruce was there to catch him.
Strong fingers broke his grip on Tim’s shoulders and Dick was enveloped in the smell of gunpowder and leather. “I can’t,” he said, his voice breaking, “I can’t, Jay. Don’t make me.”
“No one’s going to make you do anything,” Jason whispered and, clinging to him, Dick could close his eyes and almost pretend he was Bruce.
One moment. Just one. He was entitled to that, surely. Just one before he let go.
There was a conversation happening over his head—no one was making a sound, but Dick could tell that something was taking place. Dick raised his head in time to catch Tim’s narrow-eyed glare, but they broke off as he straightened up.
Dick scrubbed at his face. He was perpetually exhausted, and keeping track of the city and his brothers was turning his hair grey, and Dick had no idea how Bruce had managed to do it all for so long.
“Tim, I’m sorry but—”
“I’m going on a trip,” Tim announced, crossing his arms, “For a…long-term project. Don’t know when I’ll be back.”
“What?”
“I’m leaving,” Tim repeated, “Research.”
“Where—Tim, you can’t just leave.”
“Sure I can,” Tim blinked at him.
“I am not letting a sixteen-year-old gallivant around the country—”
“Actually, the first stop is going to be in France.”
“Around the world.” Dick could feel the hysteria creeping into his voice. “By himself!”
“You’re not my dad,” Tim said flatly, and Dick felt like he’d been shot.
Tim’s eyes widened, “No, I didn’t mean it like that! I—I just. You aren’t. Legally. You—you can’t stop me.”
He was right. Dick was trying so hard to hold onto family, but—but he could do nothing if they decided to let go.
“You can’t go away by yourself,” Dick repeated, hoarse. Terrible scenarios flitted through his mind—Tim hurt, Tim alone, Tim trapped in a warehouse with a bomb, calling frantically for Nightwing—
“He won’t be by himself,” Jason said roughly. Tim’s expression flickered in shock.
“What?” Dick rasped.
“He won’t be by himself,” Jason repeated, scowling. Tim looked like he was unsure of whether he wanted to accept this offer or not. “Might as well put the fear of the Red Hood in some other cities. Crime Alley will keep.”
“Jason,” Dick started, unsure of what he was going to say. Jason had barely hung around when Bruce was alive, what could Dick possibly do to make him stay?
“It’s not going to be forever, Dickhead, get that look off your face,” Jason grumbled, “Replacement wants a field trip, I’ll shoot anyone who looks at him funny. We’ll come back.”
With Bruce was the unsubtle glance they shared.
“And I will accompany them to ensure—”
“No!” all three of them shouted.
“You—you, I am in charge of, and you are not leaving this city,” Dick hissed, his heart racing.
“What do you expect me to do here?” Damian scoffed, scowling, “I am more than qualified to join Hood and the Pretender, and I wish to retrieve Father. You cannot stop me.”
“If you’re under the impression that I will not lock you in the Cave,” Dick started threateningly, but Tim cut him off.
“I need to find—I need to finish this project,” Tim said quietly, “But Gotham needs a Robin. Batman needs a Robin.” Tim darted a quick glance at Dick before turning back to Damian, “So, if you’re willing…”
Damian’s eyes were round. He stared at Tim for a long moment. “You have finally accepted that I am the superior choice of partner?” he tried to huff, but they could all hear the wonder in his tone.
“Sure,” Tim laughed softly, “We can go with that.”
Dick stared. Jason stared. “Damn, I can’t believe they’re actually getting along,” Jason muttered, sotto voce, and Dick elbowed him as twin glares turned their way.
“Great, it’s all settled,” Tim said, “Jason and I will leave, Damian and Dick will stay, and we’ll—we’ll come back with Bruce.”
Dick felt his face twist, but didn’t say a word.
Dick had at least managed to wrangle them into staying for another day—Tim had been half out the door and Jason didn’t seem inclined to stop him—with bribes, pleas, and finally the threat of what Alfred’s reaction would be if he woke up to see them both gone.
Damian had been no help whatsoever—Dick was half-convinced that he’d find a way to sneak into Tim’s luggage, Robin or not, and Dick spent the next day white-knuckled at the thought that they’d all leave before their agreed-upon time.
If Bruce had been here—
No. No. He couldn’t do that. He was going to lose his mind if he did that. He needed to let Tim go and blow off steam and Jason would either keep him out of trouble—or drag him straight into it—and Dick needed to make sure Damian wouldn’t vanish back to the League of Assassins if he took his eyes off of him.
They would be back. He had to hold onto that. They would be back.
Dick watched, silent and pale, as Jason and Tim loaded their luggage in the car—Dick hadn’t offered the Batplane, and they hadn’t asked—with Alfred in the driver’s seat. Alfred had made it clear that he didn’t approve, but he was driving them to the airport anyway.
Finally, the trunk slammed shut and Jason meandered back to the front stoop. “Catch you later, Dickie,” he said, blank-faced.
“Call,” Dick said. Jason raised his eyebrows. “Call. Check in. So that we know you’re safe.”
“Sure thing, Dickiebird,” Jason smiled and Dick felt it carve something deep inside his heart. “We’ll be back.”
Tim raised a hand in farewell, his expression still a little pained, and Dick returned it, trying for a smile. Jason turned to face Damian, who was hovering on the steps. “Remember what I showed you,” he said, and Dick spun around in sudden concern.
“Jason, what did you—”
“I do not believe the maneuver will be as effective as you promised.”
“Trust me, Demon Brat,” Jason laughed, grinning at the look on Dick’s face, “See you later.”
“Damian, what did Jason teach—”
The boy lunged at him and Dick froze—he wasn’t expecting an attack, he didn’t want to hurt Damian, was the kid planning to escape already—
There was no knife. Or punch. Damian had wrapped his arms around Dick’s stomach and it took him an embarrassingly long time to realize that this was a hug.
Dick choked on a sob and gently wrapped his arms around his baby brother. The car was gone.
“Hood was right,” Damian scowled up at him as he disengaged. Dick let him go. “That is…perplexing.”
“This family is perplexing,” Dick sighed, taking a seat on the front stoop to wait for Alfred’s return. “You’ll get used to it. Robin.”
Damian didn’t respond, but Dick could see his face light up at the name.
It was late evening by the time Alfred returned and Dick watched him make his weary way back to the house. He sighed when he reached Dick and Damian. “They will be back, Master Dick,” Alfred said, placing a hand on Dick’s shoulder.
“All of them.”