NIGHTWING

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[officialnightwing]

Thanks for agreeing to this interview with Bludhaven Men’s Interest Magazine, Nightwing. The number one question we got through the online poll: Do you sleep with men?

I'm a vigilante! ofc I've had sex with men?

[anntova]

bump

[dottie-mcveigh]

Dottie strode confidently into the executive office, just behind the efficient secretary who announced her name. Coming to the desk, she offered her hand to shake. "Mr Drake-Wayne. Thank you for taking the time to see me."

He was dressed impeccably, but it did not wholly disguise his young age. The office carefully constructed not to dwarf his pre-adult height and slim body. The suit expertly tailoured to hide the gangliness of youth. Timothy Drake-Wayne, the seventeen year old Chief Executive Officer.

He rose to greet her, expression a mask of blank professionalism, and shook her hand. A little too firmly for a confident hold. "Ms McVeigh. Please, have a seat."

Calmly, she settled into one of the uncomfortable hard-backed chairs on the guest side of the executive desk. Watching him expertly tuck the tails of his suit as he sat, so it didn't bunch. Every movement meticulous and purposeful.

"I had intended to speak to Mr Bruce Wayne," she answered. "As it isn't precisely a business matter."

Mr Drake-Wayne rose a single eyebrow. A delicate little arch, clearly conveying his lack of intention of allowing her to see Bruce.

It would always be a gulf between them, wouldn't it? The... Wayne Family, and herself. Insurmountable, even before her actions with Luthor, and the article. And believing herself capable of crossing it, that He would catch her on the other side if she leapt, had always been delusional unrealistic.

"Very well - I'll get directly to the point," she began, looking at he young CEO seriously. "Your eldest brother once offered me protective gear, kevlar blend. I am wondering if I can still cash that in."

Timothy Drake-Wayne held up a single finger. Turning slightly away, to angle himself not to face her, he took out - a device that certainly was not a regular cellphone. After a few moments, he asked a simple question: "Did you offer a redhead kevlar?"

[dottie-mcveigh]

@officialnightwing

[officialnightwing]

The only thing worse than B's critical, paranoid, self-destructive, emotionally stunted opinion was when the damn man had been right. All without having to do more than give Dick a measured look from behind reflective lenses as he set down Dottie's life's work.

And yeah- Dick could see where he'd been caught up, balancing on a highwire, blissfully oblivious to the net. Dick knew his emotions ran bright like şofranel blooms, all quick in the spring time. He'd been besotted. He'd been careless.

He'd learned his lesson; his crush's work had not only been so incandescently dangerous to not only him, but his family. He'd been too caught up to recognize the risk to not only dear Alfie, to his stoic batdad, to Jay and Tim and Cass and Damian.

Even people he hadn't thought could be in danger.

As a young boy, Dick had learned viciously fast that not only where his talented, brilliant, daring parents not nearly as invincible as he'd thought, but that even the Bat bled. But Clark. Uncle Clark, surely he was someone who could be invulnerable, someone Dick had allowed himself to think of as safe.

And Dottie had almost sold Clark out to Lex. And Dick couldn't begin to guess what Lex had done to Clark before that. But it was bad. Bad bad.

Dottie's betrayal had initially ached with anger and even hate; she'd exposed a refugee to xenophobia. It was hard not to keenly feel the roots of his family tree, the history that he always alighted to, no matter how far he flew. Hard not to draw the comparison and realize that Dot would have been a person who condemned his grandparents to the bari yag.

Someone willing to put his father in danger, his brothers in danger, his Robin in danger - his boy.

That had been when the hate and fury had dulled to a sick feeling, all hurt and ache and disgust. Mostly with her, but there had been plenty of revulsion for himself too, for getting caught up and- and- twitterpated. Besotted out of his wits.

The entire thought still felt like a hot bar. Something metal and flash-sear that he couldn't touch a thought down on without flinching. So he avoided it altogether- something difficult when his brother called him on that line and asked--

Kori wouldn't need it. Roy had other sources. Wally too. Babs especially. Gordon had gone gray yonks ago.

So yeah, Dick kinda knew who Tim was talking about...

"You are so gonna have to be more specific."

[dottie-mcveigh]

Tim raised an eyebrow. Dick would hear it, even if he couldn't see it directly. "If I have to be more specific, I'm inclined to think the answer is no."

Dottie's brow furrowed into a little frown at that, and she gave a soft sigh. Ready at a word to pick up her bag to go.

"Reporter," Tim continued. "Civilian."

[officialnightwing]

"You really underestimate how many redheads I know, Tim," Dick heard that askance eyebrow, and rolled his eyes. Something Tim wouldn't know unless he'd taken a page out of B's manual on family, and bugged his apartment again.

"Ah. Hm." Dick paused. "Yeah, she should have some armor. Think she's doing B a favor."

Dick's flat affect was transparent over the line as he added, "I should come by. Confirm status." He'd gotten the flashdrive from Luthor's assistant, but B had alluded to more strategy under way. "I can handle the request," that and he didn't want his little brother around that kind of civilian.

[dottie-mcveigh]

“If you think that’s best,” Tim replied. A hard edge to his tone that suggested that he opined it wasn’t. Although he didn’t offer any argument. Dick’s business was his own, especially when it came to affairs of the heart with redheads.

Dottie shifted in the seat as Tim ended the call. Unsettled to not know how the discussion had went. But the CEO simply instructed her to wait and turned back to his email.

She stood, the familiar urge to flee gripping the knot in her chest. “Dick is coming?” Her hands gripped the strap of her messenger bag tightly.

[officialnightwing]

Tim had his emails open, beside the break-evens, and on his other screen, a nutshell study besides the relevant police reports for the case. His eyes flicked slowly over the contents of the dollhouse, a slow, seeping analysis that was interrupted by Dorothy standing.

"Mmm..." Tim hummed, moving his eyes back to his monitors. "He'll check out the gear for you here."

Impossible to focus with an antsy civilian in his office. He needed peace and quiet.

"I have a meeting." He exhaled through his nose, locked down his screens and pushed his chair back. "You can wait in here, there's drinks- snacks." Tim waved a hand towards a minifridge of ice coffees and charcuterie tupperware snacks- his fancy lunchables. "Help yourself."

[deathstrokewilson]

//The Hunter had entered the gala, cool blue eye sweeping the perimeter subtly as he accepted a flute of champagne from a passing waiter and took a measured sip. It was a good night, and he was content to prowl the edges of the permitted space until his partner arrived. After all, they were to be mirrors of each other. It was oddly ironic, delicate accessories combined with the sheer lethality of the man wearing them...// //But he was mostly unknown here. And Slade was happy with that, for once. It was a night to relax- at least marginally. No mess, no fuss, just fun. Now... What sort of fun could be conjured up?//

[officialnightwing]

It was impossible to shake the sense of safety and sheer, stunning calm that had permeated Dick from tip to tail. It set a spring in his step, and a smile effortlessly on his face; Wayne Manor had been his home, a sanctuary since he had been a young boy.

And after all those years, even with the arguments he and Bruce had had, others they had never had but should have, and more countless nights returning with bruises and breaks… even then, this was Dick's home. For better, for worse.

He had perfected half a dozen aerial stunts from that chandelier. He had used the stairs as a slide. He knew exactly which high shelf Alfred kept the snacks at. This was Dick's home, just as much as Haly's had been.

And being here filled Dick with a calm he rarely enjoyed at the public event galas. Not least because the last time the family had hosted, Bruce had been shot. Something that remained Dick's fault, regardless of what anyone had to say about it.

Even recalling that, even instinctively searching out his father in the crowd to confirm that Bruce was not bleeding out on the polished floor, Dick still felt calm. At ease, as he instead picked out the silver of Hunter's outfit, and slipped through the crowd to press into Hunter's side with a content grin.

"Aren't you supposed to be circling me…?" Dick purred.

[deathstrokewilson]

[TEXT]: u up? look how cute my puppy is!! xo

Text: Slightly up. Both puppies in the picture are adorable.

[officialnightwing]

[Text] only slightly? losing my touch :p

[officialnightwing]

Thanks for agreeing to this interview with Bludhaven Men’s Interest Magazine, Nightwing. The number one question we got through the online poll: Do you sleep with men?

I'm a vigilante! ofc I've had sex with men?

[stephcantspell]

// This is an amazing introduction to this blog. Thank you so much for this beautiful message. Whatever the hell this is 😭

[officialnightwing]

ooc. Thank you, I'll never change this pinned post haha!

[officialbruciewayne]

Gala Runway - outfit thread

(Art credit to FudaArt)

[deathstrokewilson]

[officialnightwing]

Outfit credit to @pixiepopboutique thank you!

[deathstrokewilson]

[TEXT}: Heyy babe cool if I crash at yours?

[TEXT}: Miss you ( っ˶´ ˘ `)っ

Text from Hunter: Of course, looking forward to seeing you. Text from Hunter: Let yourself in, but use the key I've hidden outside, please.

//After sending the returning texts, Slade was off like a shot across the low rooftop he'd been crouched on, the lava in his marrow settling and cooling with movement. He could have made it easier on himself, of course, by delaying the texts a few minutes, or using some of his newer skills, but it was satisfying to get his blood pumping, to have the thrill of a race, even if the other runner didn't know one was occurring.// //Upon reaching the suburbs, the mercenary dropped down into the yard of one of his nearby neighbors and leapt over fences. The local dogs knew him by now and kept quiet, only wagging their tails as he loped like a wildcat across their lawns. No time to stop and lavish attention on silky ears or feed them a snack tonight.// //Once in his own backyard, Slade slid swiftly in through a cracked window and shut it tight, stripping his gear off as he strode through the house, turning on a light here and there, closing curtains, and starting the shower running. Everything Deathstroke went into a hidden panel in the back of his closet, impossible to discern from the rest of the wall due to how it was built unless one knew it was there. Not even knocking would give it away.// //Slade tossed a set of black sweatpants onto the bed, set his phone on the bathroom counter, and stepped into the shower, not wasting any time as he lathered shampoo into his long hair.//

[officialnightwing]

Using the open maw of the grotesque, Dick swung back onto the ledge with a practiced, playful motion. Pulling an escrima, Dick checked his wrist, where the text comm could be accessed through haptics, and cocked his head.

"Hidden...?" Dick mouthed.

Had Hunter forgotten to show him the hidden key? Well, he could text back, ask about it, or...

Dick leapt out into the dark air, suspended over the glitter and howl of Gotham, weightless for that single, stunning moment. Aimed his escrima, and angled the grapple- the line caught, turned from slack to taut as it took up Dick's weight. There were faster routes through Gotham, but there was a joy in Dick's journey, an unnecessary flip here and there, a trick twist for the sheer delight of it.

A brief stop in a safehouse to switch to civs, a message to Damian to ask if he could mind Haley for the night and then Dick was back on his way to Hunter's place.

You could always tell a good suburb of Gotham by how quiet it could be at night. No occasional gunshots, no screech of brakes, no shouting voices, just sleeping residents and a round of dog barks as Dick's bike came to a stop.

And instead of texting Hunter to ask exactly where the spare key was, Dick began the enjoyable game of finding it himself. He'd initially not even attempted the doormat and around the door frame, though he did think about doubling back after-all, but even a civilian would know better in Gotham. Instead, Dick had found a false rock in amongst the others, and mentally reminded himself to get Hunter some decent security when it turned in the lock.

"At least a dummy key, or three..." Dick mumbled to himself, before calling upstairs, "Hunter? It's Dick!" He could hear the flush of water from the shower, as he took the steps.

[deathstrokewilson]

//Slade glanced towards the door when he heard it open- quiet under the rush of water, but not too quiet for his enhanced senses. He rinsed his body off, hair having already been taken care of, then stepped out of the shower as he shut off the water, grabbing the towel and wrapping it around his waist.// //Strolling to the bathroom door, the Hunter leaned against the frame to wait for Dick's ascent, a tiny smile playing about his lips. He would do just about anything to cradle this moment, this relationship, to his chest and keep it safe. His starvation had been slowly ebbing over the past year, and more and more often he felt full when they parted, but still he glutted himself when Dick was around... Just in case the day came where Slade's cupboards were opened to reveal barren shelves, dust lingering where warmth and love had laid.//

[officialnightwing]

There was no regret for Dick, no sense of complication, no awareness of the ephemerality of the moment. There was just this; his boyfriend, hipshot against the doorframe, wet and flush from his shower. There was just this; Dick stepping in close and toying with the end of the towel, tugging and teasing, and tilting his head up towards Hunter with a grin. There was only relief after a concerning, veiled warning from Deathstroke, that Dick could come here to Hunter, who- may not have understood Dick's fears, but could still ease them.

"Aw, you didn't wait for me to join you," Dick tugged a little more surely at the towel, threading his leg between Slade's as he pressed in close. Damp spots bloomed in Dick's shirt, a pleasant friction as Dick tipped his head up.

"You know," his fingers were now decidedly plucking at the towel, all but sliding it off Slade's hips, "your security is kinda lax." Eyelashes flitted, deliberate, prettily, playing, "just anyone could come in here..."

[deathstrokewilson]

//He let Dick's hands wander indulgently, enjoyed how the vigilante crowded up against him, searching as surely for a kiss as a stranded man in the desert hunted for an oasis to slake his thirst. After a moment, Slade obliged him, wrapping broad hands around Dick's hips and leaning down to close the distance between their mouths. It began chaste at first, until he swiped his tongue over Dick's lower lip and was allowed entry.// //After drinking in the sweetness of Dick's mouth for a minute, swallowing the other's quiet, needy sounds, Hunter pulled back, a grin curving his kiss-reddened lips. He brought his hands up to sign.// 'Luckily for me, you're here. And luckily for you, there's still plenty of hot water.' //With that, he scooped Dick playfully up in his arms and marched for the large shower. The towel fell away then, but that didn't matter at the moment.//

[officialnightwing]

Dick sighed softly into Slade, both arms coming up to rest on his partner's shoulders as he contently, steadily melted into the kiss. Opened his mouth with a quiet moan, one hand coming up to run through damp ash blond strands. Leaned into the sure grasp on his hips and gave over to it entirely.

Which was why, still making gentle, wanting noises, Dick looked so dazed when Slade pulled away. "Hmm..." He looked towards the sign, and then chuckled. "Yeah I'm getting luckier by the second."

Half-leaning in to reignite the kiss, Dick laughed when he was easily taken up and walked towards the shower. "I'm not injured," Dick made a point of murmuring in his ear, all teasing, "I'm not even sore."

Alighting on the shower tiles, and this time, pulling his partner in flush and close. Near enough that he shivered eagerly, felt the heat of their bodies align. Ran his hands up Slade's spine insistently, and asked in a hopeful whine, "maybe you can change that...?"

[deathstrokewilson]

[TEXT}: Heyy babe cool if I crash at yours?

[TEXT}: Miss you ( っ˶´ ˘ `)っ

Text from Hunter: Of course, looking forward to seeing you. Text from Hunter: Let yourself in, but use the key I've hidden outside, please.

//After sending the returning texts, Slade was off like a shot across the low rooftop he'd been crouched on, the lava in his marrow settling and cooling with movement. He could have made it easier on himself, of course, by delaying the texts a few minutes, or using some of his newer skills, but it was satisfying to get his blood pumping, to have the thrill of a race, even if the other runner didn't know one was occurring.// //Upon reaching the suburbs, the mercenary dropped down into the yard of one of his nearby neighbors and leapt over fences. The local dogs knew him by now and kept quiet, only wagging their tails as he loped like a wildcat across their lawns. No time to stop and lavish attention on silky ears or feed them a snack tonight.// //Once in his own backyard, Slade slid swiftly in through a cracked window and shut it tight, stripping his gear off as he strode through the house, turning on a light here and there, closing curtains, and starting the shower running. Everything Deathstroke went into a hidden panel in the back of his closet, impossible to discern from the rest of the wall due to how it was built unless one knew it was there. Not even knocking would give it away.// //Slade tossed a set of black sweatpants onto the bed, set his phone on the bathroom counter, and stepped into the shower, not wasting any time as he lathered shampoo into his long hair.//

[officialnightwing]

Using the open maw of the grotesque, Dick swung back onto the ledge with a practiced, playful motion. Pulling an escrima, Dick checked his wrist, where the text comm could be accessed through haptics, and cocked his head.

"Hidden...?" Dick mouthed.

Had Hunter forgotten to show him the hidden key? Well, he could text back, ask about it, or...

Dick leapt out into the dark air, suspended over the glitter and howl of Gotham, weightless for that single, stunning moment. Aimed his escrima, and angled the grapple- the line caught, turned from slack to taut as it took up Dick's weight. There were faster routes through Gotham, but there was a joy in Dick's journey, an unnecessary flip here and there, a trick twist for the sheer delight of it.

A brief stop in a safehouse to switch to civs, a message to Damian to ask if he could mind Haley for the night and then Dick was back on his way to Hunter's place.

You could always tell a good suburb of Gotham by how quiet it could be at night. No occasional gunshots, no screech of brakes, no shouting voices, just sleeping residents and a round of dog barks as Dick's bike came to a stop.

And instead of texting Hunter to ask exactly where the spare key was, Dick began the enjoyable game of finding it himself. He'd initially not even attempted the doormat and around the door frame, though he did think about doubling back after-all, but even a civilian would know better in Gotham. Instead, Dick had found a false rock in amongst the others, and mentally reminded himself to get Hunter some decent security when it turned in the lock.

"At least a dummy key, or three..." Dick mumbled to himself, before calling upstairs, "Hunter? It's Dick!" He could hear the flush of water from the shower, as he took the steps.

[deathstrokewilson]

//Slade glanced towards the door when he heard it open- quiet under the rush of water, but not too quiet for his enhanced senses. He rinsed his body off, hair having already been taken care of, then stepped out of the shower as he shut off the water, grabbing the towel and wrapping it around his waist.// //Strolling to the bathroom door, the Hunter leaned against the frame to wait for Dick's ascent, a tiny smile playing about his lips. He would do just about anything to cradle this moment, this relationship, to his chest and keep it safe. His starvation had been slowly ebbing over the past year, and more and more often he felt full when they parted, but still he glutted himself when Dick was around... Just in case the day came where Slade's cupboards were opened to reveal barren shelves, dust lingering where warmth and love had laid.//

[officialnightwing]

There was no regret for Dick, no sense of complication, no awareness of the ephemerality of the moment. There was just this; his boyfriend, hipshot against the doorframe, wet and flush from his shower. There was just this; Dick stepping in close and toying with the end of the towel, tugging and teasing, and tilting his head up towards Hunter with a grin. There was only relief after a concerning, veiled warning from Deathstroke, that Dick could come here to Hunter, who- may not have understood Dick's fears, but could still ease them.

"Aw, you didn't wait for me to join you," Dick tugged a little more surely at the towel, threading his leg between Slade's as he pressed in close. Damp spots bloomed in Dick's shirt, a pleasant friction as Dick tipped his head up.

"You know," his fingers were now decidedly plucking at the towel, all but sliding it off Slade's hips, "your security is kinda lax." Eyelashes flitted, deliberate, prettily, playing, "just anyone could come in here..."

[deathstrokewilson]

[TEXT}: Heyy babe cool if I crash at yours?

[TEXT}: Miss you ( っ˶´ ˘ `)っ

Text from Hunter: Of course, looking forward to seeing you. Text from Hunter: Let yourself in, but use the key I've hidden outside, please.

//After sending the returning texts, Slade was off like a shot across the low rooftop he'd been crouched on, the lava in his marrow settling and cooling with movement. He could have made it easier on himself, of course, by delaying the texts a few minutes, or using some of his newer skills, but it was satisfying to get his blood pumping, to have the thrill of a race, even if the other runner didn't know one was occurring.// //Upon reaching the suburbs, the mercenary dropped down into the yard of one of his nearby neighbors and leapt over fences. The local dogs knew him by now and kept quiet, only wagging their tails as he loped like a wildcat across their lawns. No time to stop and lavish attention on silky ears or feed them a snack tonight.// //Once in his own backyard, Slade slid swiftly in through a cracked window and shut it tight, stripping his gear off as he strode through the house, turning on a light here and there, closing curtains, and starting the shower running. Everything Deathstroke went into a hidden panel in the back of his closet, impossible to discern from the rest of the wall due to how it was built unless one knew it was there. Not even knocking would give it away.// //Slade tossed a set of black sweatpants onto the bed, set his phone on the bathroom counter, and stepped into the shower, not wasting any time as he lathered shampoo into his long hair.//

[officialnightwing]

Using the open maw of the grotesque, Dick swung back onto the ledge with a practiced, playful motion. Pulling an escrima, Dick checked his wrist, where the text comm could be accessed through haptics, and cocked his head.

"Hidden...?" Dick mouthed.

Had Hunter forgotten to show him the hidden key? Well, he could text back, ask about it, or...

Dick leapt out into the dark air, suspended over the glitter and howl of Gotham, weightless for that single, stunning moment. Aimed his escrima, and angled the grapple- the line caught, turned from slack to taut as it took up Dick's weight. There were faster routes through Gotham, but there was a joy in Dick's journey, an unnecessary flip here and there, a trick twist for the sheer delight of it.

A brief stop in a safehouse to switch to civs, a message to Damian to ask if he could mind Haley for the night and then Dick was back on his way to Hunter's place.

You could always tell a good suburb of Gotham by how quiet it could be at night. No occasional gunshots, no screech of brakes, no shouting voices, just sleeping residents and a round of dog barks as Dick's bike came to a stop.

And instead of texting Hunter to ask exactly where the spare key was, Dick began the enjoyable game of finding it himself. He'd initially not even attempted the doormat and around the door frame, though he did think about doubling back after-all, but even a civilian would know better in Gotham. Instead, Dick had found a false rock in amongst the others, and mentally reminded himself to get Hunter some decent security when it turned in the lock.

"At least a dummy key, or three..." Dick mumbled to himself, before calling upstairs, "Hunter? It's Dick!" He could hear the flush of water from the shower, as he took the steps.

[deathstrokewilson]

Funniest case came up the other day; just your average scumbag joe shot in his apartment, except his girlfriend swears an orange and black ghost came in through the window with a sword.

Know anything about that? Beau McEwan? No?

"The incident sounds familiar. The name as well. You could put it on the news, see if it jogs my memory further."

[officialnightwing]

"Way past that; GCPD's been all over the scene, and released some details. Should see it on the news cycle tonight actually," Dick was perched high over Gotham on a grotesque, talking into the comm line, whilst one leg swung out over the distant gleam of traffic below.

"If it's meant to be a warning, I dunno who's gonna care," he remarked bluntly. "I can't find a single connection to anyone in your price range."

He hesitated, then asked because the worst that would happen is he'd get no answer. Slade wasn't given to lying to him. Misleading, sure, but outright lie? No.

"This isn't the target you've been lingering in Gotham for, is it?

[deathstrokewilson]

//That was a pleasant thing to hear, that the news would announce it. It meant the little girl's brother, the one who ran away because of Beau, had a chance to see it was safe to go home. Slade allowed himself a slow, languid smile, masked up as he was. No one was there to witness it.// "He's merely a side job. I have bigger things to hunt." //His deep voice, smooth as caramel, rolled through the air, through the comms. Confident and assured, with a casually-alluring menace. Though it was only a voice, it was practically a physical thing, hanging near-tangible around the vigilante.//

[officialnightwing]

Dick's eyes didn't close, but they did lid slowly as Slade's voice spoke sleekly in his ear piece. Familiar, dangerous and thrilling. Like the moment of weightlessness at the height of a jump. This was his nemesis; a force of entwined gravity, locked in orbit together; it made sense to Dick, here, high up against Gotham's cold winds, with night splashed dark in the air.

"Figured, not your usual job," Dick swung his leg idly, contemplating throwing himself out into the night. The electrifying pleasure of it.

"Anything I should worry my pretty little head about?" He asked, playful and probing at the same time.

[deathstrokewilson]

//Slade shifted fractionally at the question. Was there a way to say it without giving everything up? Every date, every moment he spent unmasked and silent by Dick's side, every kiss, gone like the taste of volcanic ash now lingering in his mouth as a reminder of what he could lose. He longed for a drink of cold water, then, just for a moment, but ignored the pang of thirst with ease. He was used to worse from him.// "Most likely. I'd keep a keen eye on someone you care for, if I were you." //Instantaneous, searing punishment rolled through him, and he closed the line between them swiftly to let out a quiet, agonized sound in peace. He was paying closer attention than Slade had hoped. But Slade had finished the room, and was close to pulling all the threads into place.// //Only then could he keep his little slice of heaven, his kids and Dick, a few others he cared for.// //The world just had to burn for him to get it.//

[officialnightwing]

Someone you care for.

Dick's heart slammed into his ribcage; an awful reel of everybody in his life he couldn't bear to lose. The flash thought of his parents, broken on the floor beside him. Of Jay, bleeding into the Robin uniform. Damian run through. When he'd thought Bruce dead. Tim. Alfred.

Not just his family, his friends too. The Titans, everyone of them his responsibility.

His boyfriend. Just a civilian. Hunter. Hunted down by Deathstroke.

Dick had meant to prod at Slade, tease him for leaving cash behind and having a soft spot, but the warning ran a chill through Dick instead. He inhaled sharply, sucking his breath in with that same tight feeling of guilt, fear and the desperation to reach out and catch someone.

Deathstroke closed the line.

[deathstrokewilson]

Funniest case came up the other day; just your average scumbag joe shot in his apartment, except his girlfriend swears an orange and black ghost came in through the window with a sword.

Know anything about that? Beau McEwan? No?

"The incident sounds familiar. The name as well. You could put it on the news, see if it jogs my memory further."

[officialnightwing]

"Way past that; GCPD's been all over the scene, and released some details. Should see it on the news cycle tonight actually," Dick was perched high over Gotham on a grotesque, talking into the comm line, whilst one leg swung out over the distant gleam of traffic below.

"If it's meant to be a warning, I dunno who's gonna care," he remarked bluntly. "I can't find a single connection to anyone in your price range."

He hesitated, then asked because the worst that would happen is he'd get no answer. Slade wasn't given to lying to him. Misleading, sure, but outright lie? No.

"This isn't the target you've been lingering in Gotham for, is it?

[deathstrokewilson]

//That was a pleasant thing to hear, that the news would announce it. It meant the little girl's brother, the one who ran away because of Beau, had a chance to see it was safe to go home. Slade allowed himself a slow, languid smile, masked up as he was. No one was there to witness it.// "He's merely a side job. I have bigger things to hunt." //His deep voice, smooth as caramel, rolled through the air, through the comms. Confident and assured, with a casually-alluring menace. Though it was only a voice, it was practically a physical thing, hanging near-tangible around the vigilante.//

[officialnightwing]

Dick's eyes didn't close, but they did lid slowly as Slade's voice spoke sleekly in his ear piece. Familiar, dangerous and thrilling. Like the moment of weightlessness at the height of a jump. This was his nemesis; a force of entwined gravity, locked in orbit together; it made sense to Dick, here, high up against Gotham's cold winds, with night splashed dark in the air.

"Figured, not your usual job," Dick swung his leg idly, contemplating throwing himself out into the night. The electrifying pleasure of it.

"Anything I should worry my pretty little head about?" He asked, playful and probing at the same time.

[dottie-mcveigh]

Dottie strode confidently into the executive office, just behind the efficient secretary who announced her name. Coming to the desk, she offered her hand to shake. "Mr Drake-Wayne. Thank you for taking the time to see me."

He was dressed impeccably, but it did not wholly disguise his young age. The office carefully constructed not to dwarf his pre-adult height and slim body. The suit expertly tailoured to hide the gangliness of youth. Timothy Drake-Wayne, the seventeen year old Chief Executive Officer.

He rose to greet her, expression a mask of blank professionalism, and shook her hand. A little too firmly for a confident hold. "Ms McVeigh. Please, have a seat."

Calmly, she settled into one of the uncomfortable hard-backed chairs on the guest side of the executive desk. Watching him expertly tuck the tails of his suit as he sat, so it didn't bunch. Every movement meticulous and purposeful.

"I had intended to speak to Mr Bruce Wayne," she answered. "As it isn't precisely a business matter."

Mr Drake-Wayne rose a single eyebrow. A delicate little arch, clearly conveying his lack of intention of allowing her to see Bruce.

It would always be a gulf between them, wouldn't it? The... Wayne Family, and herself. Insurmountable, even before her actions with Luthor, and the article. And believing herself capable of crossing it, that He would catch her on the other side if she leapt, had always been delusional unrealistic.

"Very well - I'll get directly to the point," she began, looking at he young CEO seriously. "Your eldest brother once offered me protective gear, kevlar blend. I am wondering if I can still cash that in."

Timothy Drake-Wayne held up a single finger. Turning slightly away, to angle himself not to face her, he took out - a device that certainly was not a regular cellphone. After a few moments, he asked a simple question: "Did you offer a redhead kevlar?"

[dottie-mcveigh]

@officialnightwing

[officialnightwing]

The only thing worse than B's critical, paranoid, self-destructive, emotionally stunted opinion was when the damn man had been right. All without having to do more than give Dick a measured look from behind reflective lenses as he set down Dottie's life's work.

And yeah- Dick could see where he'd been caught up, balancing on a highwire, blissfully oblivious to the net. Dick knew his emotions ran bright like şofranel blooms, all quick in the spring time. He'd been besotted. He'd been careless.

He'd learned his lesson; his crush's work had not only been so incandescently dangerous to not only him, but his family. He'd been too caught up to recognize the risk to not only dear Alfie, to his stoic batdad, to Jay and Tim and Cass and Damian.

Even people he hadn't thought could be in danger.

As a young boy, Dick had learned viciously fast that not only where his talented, brilliant, daring parents not nearly as invincible as he'd thought, but that even the Bat bled. But Clark. Uncle Clark, surely he was someone who could be invulnerable, someone Dick had allowed himself to think of as safe.

And Dottie had almost sold Clark out to Lex. And Dick couldn't begin to guess what Lex had done to Clark before that. But it was bad. Bad bad.

Dottie's betrayal had initially ached with anger and even hate; she'd exposed a refugee to xenophobia. It was hard not to keenly feel the roots of his family tree, the history that he always alighted to, no matter how far he flew. Hard not to draw the comparison and realize that Dot would have been a person who condemned his grandparents to the bari yag.

Someone willing to put his father in danger, his brothers in danger, his Robin in danger - his boy.

That had been when the hate and fury had dulled to a sick feeling, all hurt and ache and disgust. Mostly with her, but there had been plenty of revulsion for himself too, for getting caught up and- and- twitterpated. Besotted out of his wits.

The entire thought still felt like a hot bar. Something metal and flash-sear that he couldn't touch a thought down on without flinching. So he avoided it altogether- something difficult when his brother called him on that line and asked--

Kori wouldn't need it. Roy had other sources. Wally too. Babs especially. Gordon had gone gray yonks ago.

So yeah, Dick kinda knew who Tim was talking about...

"You are so gonna have to be more specific."

[dottie-mcveigh]

Tim raised an eyebrow. Dick would hear it, even if he couldn't see it directly. "If I have to be more specific, I'm inclined to think the answer is no."

Dottie's brow furrowed into a little frown at that, and she gave a soft sigh. Ready at a word to pick up her bag to go.

"Reporter," Tim continued. "Civilian."

[officialnightwing]

"You really underestimate how many redheads I know, Tim," Dick heard that askance eyebrow, and rolled his eyes. Something Tim wouldn't know unless he'd taken a page out of B's manual on family, and bugged his apartment again.

"Ah. Hm." Dick paused. "Yeah, she should have some armor. Think she's doing B a favor."

Dick's flat affect was transparent over the line as he added, "I should come by. Confirm status." He'd gotten the flashdrive from Luthor's assistant, but B had alluded to more strategy under way. "I can handle the request," that and he didn't want his little brother around that kind of civilian.

[deathstrokewilson]

Funniest case came up the other day; just your average scumbag joe shot in his apartment, except his girlfriend swears an orange and black ghost came in through the window with a sword.

Know anything about that? Beau McEwan? No?

"The incident sounds familiar. The name as well. You could put it on the news, see if it jogs my memory further."

[officialnightwing]

"Way past that; GCPD's been all over the scene, and released some details. Should see it on the news cycle tonight actually," Dick was perched high over Gotham on a grotesque, talking into the comm line, whilst one leg swung out over the distant gleam of traffic below.

"If it's meant to be a warning, I dunno who's gonna care," he remarked bluntly. "I can't find a single connection to anyone in your price range."

He hesitated, then asked because the worst that would happen is he'd get no answer. Slade wasn't given to lying to him. Misleading, sure, but outright lie? No.

"This isn't the target you've been lingering in Gotham for, is it?

[butlerofthecave]

It had all happened so fast. One second he was stocking a food table. The next he was applying pressure to a bullet wound in Bruce's chest. People were screaming. Damian and Tim were screaming. Dick was struggling for purchase against Damian. Where was Jason? Jason had shown up right?

Then they were taking Bruce, Tim, and Dick away leaving Alfred and Damian behind. Some how through the grace of higher forces Alfred had been able to get Damian back to the manor.

"We need to change. He wouldn't want to see us in such a state." Alfred moved about grabbing the boys civilian go bags. Alfred presenting Damian with a set of clothes from the boys room as well. Bruce wouldn't want to see his kids covered in blood or still in their Gala clothes. He'd want them comfortable. Clean. So Alfred changed and washed the blood from his hands... not that it felt gone. Not clean.

He picked up the landline as if to call someone and then hung up. It was all over the news. He picked up the phone again feeling this huge need to call someone as if that would make it right. As if it would fix things. Again his mind blanked on who to call so he hung the phone up again. As the phone rattled back into place he noticed he was still shaking despite trying to be strong. His son had been injured. His grand kids had nearly met the same safe. One was missing. It was his fault. He'd been in change of security like always. He'd background checked everyone on that detail over 3 times using the batcomputer one of the best systems with the most access in the world and still he failed. He'd failed to keep his family safe. Again.

His mind shifted again. Bruce would want some comfort. Bruce would never ask for such a thing but Alfred... maybe Alfred wanted the comfort this object would bring as well. He disappeared deep into the house to a hiding spot where a small chest sat. It was full of letters and old important but not decorative Wayne artifacts. Among them included an off white baby blanket. Hand crocheted and stitched together.

As he thumbed over the precious squares he remembered their creation. Each square was made with love crocheted stitch by stitch by either Alfred's hand or more importantly Martha's. The pregnancy had been long and boring for her. She struggled with the process so she couldn't do much without risking hurting the unborn Bruce. Alfred cared for her during most of the day and parts of the night while Thomas labored to make a better world for his son and wife to live in.

She'd begged Alfred for company 'You can't expect me to lounge around the bedroom lonely and bored. Come crochet with me. I need to have this done by the time her arrives.' Not that she wouldn't have had it done at the pace she was going. So Alfred obliged her request sitting for hours by her side slowly crocheting different styles of squares for the to be born master or mistress. They'd talk. She'd nap. Alfred only working while she was conscious. When Thomas would get home no matter how late she chitter at him and show off their progress on the squares from the day. Until one day it was done. There were no squares to be made. She was showing them like usual to him when she put on a begging face. 'But now I'm so tired love and it's nearly time. Would you stitch them all together?'

And Thomas pushed back a little against this idea. Not that he meant it. 'But you and Alfred have worked so hard don't you want to finish it?'

Martha day as ever but nobody was fooled 'Alfred can't labor any more he's already done more than his fair share and I'm tired. You told me not to work too hard. Please? You have nicer stitching anyway.' And with gentle laugher the doctor agreed and stitched all the squares together under Martha's instruction and gaze. Bruce's baby blanket. It was big enough to comfortably fit over a twin bed with how many squares they'd made but it was for their baby so it was still a baby blanket. Alfred thumbed over it again.

(Part of the closed rp with @officialbruciewayne @damian-demonspawn @tim-moth-thy @redhoodedalleydog @officialnightwing )

[damian-demonspawn]

Damian lingered in the front hall before toeing off his shoes, noting the blood on them. He was covered in it, messy on his hands and pants legs where he'd knelt in the red. It had dried for the most part, so he accepted the attire Pennyworth had chosen for him. "I'm going to shower before we leave posthaste for the hospital," he heard himself say, and headed upstairs. Time shuddered, and Damian blinked away hot water as it pelted him in the bathroom. He then scrubbed at himself, using a nail file to remove every last speck of rust from under his fingernails, crouched to rub his knees and calves raw with the pumice stone, refusing to let his father's lifeblood linger on him. Blood was a familiar sensation. Damian had caused it to run like rivers before, slaughter after slaughter, until he was a hell-drenched little demon. Trying to stop the flow, to save, was still relatively new to him. And he didn't know if it had worked, if he had done anything at all. Again he scoured himself with the stone and file, even though by now Damian could see he was free of the blood, but the stickiness, the tang of metal, clung. Perhaps it was futile to try to come clean. He gave up, stepping out and toweling himself off swiftly, then pulled on the clothing Pennyworth had handed over. It was somewhat childish attire, something Jason had bought him to help Damian blend into his surroundings. Though quite simply a black t-shirt with a lion emblazoned on the front of it and soft green sweatpants, it felt different, less of a costume than usual. The black hoodie that finished it off was zipped up, and when Damian looked in the mirror, he could have been any child at all. But he knew who he was, and he had never really been a child to begin with. Turning away and flicking off the light, Damian pattered downstairs and into the kitchen, looking around for Pennyworth. It was surprising that he wasn't there putting together food or somesuch, given the rumors Damian had heard of hospital food being bland and uninspiring.

[butlerofthecave]

Alfred was lost until he could have sworn he felt a hand on his shoulder. Turning quickly he was greeted with nobody and walked out the blanket tucked safely away long with the families go bags and if they'd let him some comfortable pj's for Bruce. He found Damian once again in the kitchen as he left his section of the home. "Alright I've got everything we should need. Let's get to master Bruce. Are you opposed to me break several road laws to get their in quick order?" Alfred normally would never but that didn't mean he couldn't. He wanted to be by Bruce's side and he was fairly confident Damian might agree with the feeling.

[damian-demonspawn]

"Break as many as you desire- we must be swift," Damian agreed firmly, taking some of the burden from Pennyworth by scooping a few of the bags up, slinging them onto his arms and shoulders. Anything to hasten their movement. "Do we need to smuggle in food, or is that a later endeavor?"

[butlerofthecave]

"Fffffffflaater. Later. I've nothing prepared." He'd nearly sworn. He still had to be good in front of Damian no matter the stress. Setting the good examples and all that. "I've nothing prepared but he will get good food." Alfred resolved to fix the food issue later some how. He didn't trust take out right now and he didn't want to be away from Bruce any longer then they'd already been. Family needed to be together. If only he'd started food prepping for his April day sooner, then his family could eat good safe food. He was once again lacking this day. Failing where his family needed him. Regardless he made his way towards the door with a lighter load thanks to Damian grabbing a set of keys and slipping into the garage to the families fastest sports car. Thankfully Brucie Wayne liked sports cars to keep up appearances.

[damian-demonspawn]

Damian helped to load the bags into the back seat before buckling up in the front. "Later," he agreed. Getting to his father was more important, by far. Bland food would not equate to the death of the family. Soon enough they were flying down the roads, heading into Gotham itself, and Damian rested his cheek lightly against the window, peering out at the gray city. The streetlights dazzled over the fine mist clinging to the roads, the vestiges of winter clutched onto the tarmac. Damian wished he could understand the city Father and Jason loved so much. She held an allure, most certainly, but on nights like this, with the veil of fog hung low like mourners about a coffin, all he longed for was sun. Once at the hospital, Alfred was able to secure prime parking for them, and they disembarked the vehicle, toting bags to the elevator. Damian toyed with his hoodie strings as they sped to the highest floor, trying to make them even. He felt bone-weary, aged, from this horrible, harrowing evening.

[butlerofthecave]

Alfred was moving as soon as the doors began to creak open one hand pushing against the metal frame that kept them contained willing the machine to open faster. Bruce was still in surgery but they'd been directed to Tim's room. With swift practiced long legged steps that'd taken him around the manor with confidence, he now strode swiftly and boldly into the unknown of this hospitals wings. "Tim." He announced himself as he opened the door laying eyes on the boys. "Tim are you alright?" Alfred asked sliding Dick's civilian go bag over to him. While he knew exactly how bad Bruce had been hurt it was unclear about Tim and of course the lady at the desk below hadn't given him anything useful other than 'he's resting'.

@officialnightwing @officialbruciewayne @damian-demonspawn @tim-moth-thy @redhoodedalleydog

[officialnightwing]

It had been like pulling a dog away by a leash, but Dick knew that he wouldn't help Tim by hovering over him as he tried to sleep. How could it? Their every instinct, trained already to be cautious, would be paranoid taut after the attack at the Gala. Tim would never be able to rest and recover with Dick looming over his bedside.

Still, he couldn't quite stop himself from throwing glances towards Tim's door. Then back to the empty room set up for Bruce. And finally back down at the surgical suites, hidden behind doors at the back of the corridor.

Dick took a lap of the hallway, up and down, listening and looking and checking, before circling back to sit down. He checked his phone, put it away, checked it again, opened his social media. Scrolled blindly. Put it away.

Another lap. Another heavy return to sitting. Dick all but jumped out of the seat towards Alfred's voice, rushing in to impulsively embrace Alfred. He'd meant it to reassure Alfie, but instead, there had been a pull of need in it; still a child, clinging for comfort from the old butler.

"Tim's..." Dick's voice creaked, and he cleared it. "Tim's resting. He's... he's uh, he's doing good. Sleeping off a concussion." He let go, long enough to take the civilian go bag, blankly looking at it. "Bruce is in PACU."

Dick's eyes flicked to the end of the corridor, swinging the go-bag to his shoulder. "I haven't heard anything much. They said surgery went well." He swallowed. "Stable."

He looked down at Damian, a cavernous feeling of grief and fear nearly making Dick's insides crumple. Damian looked so small, in his hoodie, and this was one was so young, and instinctive, Dick opened himself towards Damian.

@butlerofthecave @damian-demonspawn

[butlerofthecave]

Alfred gasped at Dick coming to run into his arms. Strong thin arms embraced Dick tightly. Holding him fiercely against the storm that was their situation. He stood a bit straighter. His grandchildren all needed him to be present and here for them and so he would be. Alfred only let go when Dick pulled back seeing the boy slip into old reporting patterns. "Stable is good." Alfred smoothed down some of Dick's hair looking deep into the oldest one's eyes for a flash sharing worry and love in equal measure. Silently thanking the other for saving Tim, and for being ok himself as well as deeply apologizing he ever needed to do that in the first place. Alfred moved aside for Damian to see Dick and Tim. Alfred moving to the other side closer to the machines, checking the chart machines they currently had Tim hooked up to as well as gently petting the boy's hair. Third oldest was safe but in a hospital bed.

@damian-demonspawn @officialnightwing

[damian-demonspawn]

Damian had held his bag tightly in hand, listening as Grayson gave his report. Baba- Bruce- Father was stable. That alone was a relief. Damian's hands hadn't finished him off. When Grayson turned to him, with those shine-dulled blue eyes, arms opening, the youngest Wayne didn't flinch, exactly, but stilled for just a moment, like prey before a circling beast. If he felt those arms wrap about him again, those arms belonging to a snake wearing the face of his brother, he would very likely go ballistic in this temple of healing, and make a scene most unbecoming. His knuckles had gone whiter around his bag's strap, and without a word, Damian turned sharply away and headed into the room listed to be where Father would stay. Part of him listened keenly for Grayson's steps, wondering if he would be caught up in those arms after all. @officialnightwing

[officialnightwing]

Damian stilled, and Dick stopped reaching for him. Withdrawing away from the refusal outlined in Damian's body language. It hurt. Ached awfully.

He didn't regret it, precisely. If Bruce had died, it would have been his dying wish that Damian not kneel in his blood, and as it was, the EMTs had needed access. But he also couldn't bring himself to question Damian's rejection. Dick probably would have done the same.

Fighting to keep hurt off his face, and in his chest where it deserved to be, Dick looked back at Alfred and bit his lip.

In Dick's head, he ran through their numbers- and it was like missing a step on a staircase. A gap where there was none that left you fumbling for balance.

Alfred- Jay, Jay, Jay? -Tim, Cass, Damian.

"Where's Jay?" Dick asked urgently. "I haven't seen him."

Little Wing. Little Wing. Little Wing.

@butlerofthecave @damian-demonspawn

[butlerofthecave]

Alfred's face wore worry at the question as if begging Dick to ask for something else. A question he could provide no comfort with. "I haven't seen him since it happened." He didn't know where Jason was. Damian didn't know, Tim was asleep, Bruce had been shot and wouldn't have known. A sheep was missing from his carefully maintained flock and he had no way of locating it. "I'm sorry I..." He was focused on other things. He'd de-prioritized the grandchildren to focus on his bleeding out son and in the chaos the one who'd been failed before was failed once again. Jason was missing. "So much was happening." As if that was a good enough excuse, the good soldier was missing in action again. @damian-demonspawn @officialnightwing

[damian-demonspawn]

Damian heard the question and pulled a small flip phone from his pocket. 'Grayson and Pennyworth are fretting. Get here soon to reassure them.' Rolling his eyes, he emerged from the room and crossed to Drake's. "My akhi will show up soon, Pennyworth. I'm certain he would also like to hear why Grayson decided to save Drake over the most important man of Gotham City." The boy crossed his arms after, giving Grayson a stormy glare. @officialnightwing

[officialnightwing]

Dick's hand squeezed, a little tight, at Alfred's shoulder. "It's okay, Alfred." He promised, voice tight as a line above a net. "We'll find him."

So much had happened so quickly, so much had needed to happen so quickly in the aftermath, but Dick had let something slip. Failed to juggle all the variables, and now Little Wing was lost in the aftermath.

Dick had been texting another message to the only contact he had for Jay, unsure if he even still had this burner on him, if he used it at all, or if- if Jay could reach a phone. What if Jay had been shot, somehow, but no- no there had been two shots, the one that missed Timmy and the one that had-

Dick's gaze snapped up to Dami, blue eyes widening, dilating with an uncontrolled flail of feeling. Rage, guilt, rebellion; but no regret, only shame in its sharp scouring down his spine.

"He's my brother," Dick's voice rose, far too much for a conversation with Dami, and yet, there it was, loud and defensive. Still reeling from Tim's exact same accusation. "Our brother. I did exactly what B trained me to do." Blue eyes blazing. Don't you dare judge me. Even as guilt began raking claws through Dick's stomach. His jaw set in a tight line.

@butlerofthecave @damian-demonspawn @tim-moth-thy

[damian-demonspawn]

Damian stiffened in turn, young jaw ticking. Like steel unsheathing, his lips parted to speak more daggers aimed for Grayson's heart. "You told me when we met that you took up Father's mantle once. You thought he'd died, and it wasn't even your fault then. Now he's stable, for now, and you think you did the right thing. He-" Damian jabbed an accusing finger at Drake, who was slowly stirring. "-isn't even from this universe. He isn't your brother, or mine. I am not your brother. My Jason is not your brother. You should have cared most for Father. The one who's from here. The one who cares for- you." He continued, voice growing slightly higher, a touch more shrill. "Perhaps- Perhaps dying would have sent Drake back to his universe, safe and sound. Have we even tested such things? Either way, the risk should have been more carefully assessed. Just accept you made the wrong choice, Grayson." Damian sucked in a soft breath after, slightly breathless like he'd run a few miles for training. His eyelashes felt heavy with dampness, and he dropped his gaze to the floor, watching a bead of dew appear there on the tile by his feet. It was certainly not from his eyes, of course. The ceiling just had- a fault in it. It was letting condensation through. @officialnightwing @butlerofthecave

[officialnightwing]

The memory of Bruce's death- false though it had turned out to be -was like spikes erupting inside Dick's sternum. His chest splintered and every breath agonizingly sheer, heaving as he stepped forward to glare Damian down.

The memory of the legacy; a mantle like Atlas shuddering under the weight. The memory of Tim; angry for Dick doing triage between his brothers, and then losing himself in his certainty that their father lived; wondering if his brother had gone mad wishing they weren't orphans once more. The memory of Damian; fierce and flightful and snarling at him; refusing the bond that was set between them; the blood of the covenant.

The memory of raising his father's son as his own; of failing to be a father; of understanding for the first time in his life the fragility of Bruce taking him in, recognizing it in every time Damian denied him, every time he disobeyed, every time he hated Dick for who and what he was not.

And here was Damian again; telling him they were not part of each other. That the brother injured in the bed before them wasn't Dick's to care for. That Little Wing was missing but it was not his concern. That Damian was not his.

That they came from another world and so they meant nothing to each other. That they were not really kin. That they weren't family.

The blood of the covenant. Spilt.

Breath heaving, standing before Damian, Dick's voice was strangled and sharp- as if a scream could be spoken, "It doesn't matter where we come from!"

"I don't care about that; about which universe we come from; about where we were born, about who's related to who- you're my brother. In every universe." Blue eyes steadied over Tim, then back to Damian again. "Tim and Jay; they're my brothers, and Alfred's my dakó. I don't care how, where or when- no matter what happens, you're mine."

Dick's throat throbbed. A choking sensation. Like something had caught there.

"And B- he's mine too."

Fuck. Tears. Dick blinked at them, gritting his teeth and wishing he had a damned domino to hide it behind.

"We don't share one drop of blood, but he's my dad. He'll always be my dad. The way he'll always be yours."

No matter how much Damian denied it, how much he said they weren't brothers, he had called Bruce his father and the first sound that had broken after the gunshot, an even more devastating sound was Damian calling for his baba.

"And nobody dying," Dick growled, finally swiping tears out of his eyes and forcing his breath to stop skipping a step. "Not now, not ever."

@damian-demonspawn @butlerofthecave @tim-moth-thy @redhoodedalleydog @officialbruciewayne

[piercetheisobel-blog]

Babe  ❤️ ❤️ ❤️

[johncon]

@officialnightwing Me with Haley like-

[officialnightwing]

She misses youuuuu

[officialnightwing]

Blue and Yellow Roses are left outside of Dick's apartment door. "Happy Hearts Day. - Rae"

By the time Dick had the sense to go back to his apartment, not only were the roses looking a little droopy, but Haley was whining past Dick's doorway. He barely had time to grab the card, put the roses in the entrance and take Haley for a well-needed walk.

He'd expected to be back home that evening when Haley had curled up asleep in her crate. Well in time for her early morning walkies.

Frazzled, shifting Haley's leash in hand, Dick looked at the card- and couldn't help the mixture of affection under his own harsh guilt and still prickling worry.

"Rae," Dick smiled quietly. He tilted his head up, unsure if she really used a mobile, so he defaulted to pinging her communicator instead. Hooking his phone between shoulder and ear, as Haley practically tumbled down the walk-up.

@raven-thewaygate

[raven-thewaygate]

Raven pulled herself from her trance hearing the communicator go off. She answered it swiftly.

"Go." A short word asking for a lot of info. She clearly thought she was being called into the field.

[officialnightwing]

The short word triggered Dick's quick, sharp report instincts, and it was already coming out in concise, clear summary before he could think differently: "B was shot, but is out of critical care. Jay has neutralized the attackers. Tim has a concussion. No support requested at this time."

The instinct flailed, a hand reaching for a line to catch and not finding it; instead scrabbling in the air, fragile and ill-feathered.

Dick's voice opened up, his civilian tones, leaking upset and hurt over the call, "Tim's pissed at me for keeping him from being shot instead of our Dad. He's being a tool about it too. Literally."

A soft grunt. Tim was a kid, and that- wasn't-

Bitterness burnt at Dick's tongue. "It was- like I could hear him give the order in my head, all the way in my brain."

B. Batman. The one that apparently gave commands at the back of his head.

Pretty rich of me to complain about MY daddy issues to Rae, Dick thought. Sardonic and a bit vicious. He deliberately bit his tongue on that comment.

"I'm not mad at Jay, though... that's going to be..." Dick sighed. "It's going to be a lot. You know our family."

[raven-thewaygate]

Raven felt horrible for having been so cold but she thought she was being called to field work. "Dick." She whispered over the communicator then teleported to her room for more privacy.

"I know we briefly talked about it. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to also order you. I thought my team here needed my help." She gently explained moving to sit on her bed. The communicator hovering near by now.

"Im glad he's out of critical care." She was there for him at least as much as she could with the distance trying to reach for him. He'd requested no support but they both knew she could be beside him in an instant if he asked. To catch him like he so often caught her.

"Tim is your little brother. I'm sorry for the conflict. Maybe he's scared in his own way and can't express it just yet." Raven offered having not been presence for the conversation where it came to light Tim saw himself as a living tool.

"Im not mad at Jay either but yeah that will be real messy whenever that comes out. He can handle himself with that though." She rubbed her arm. "As for B. You two worked together solo for so long at a young age that those habits are hard to break and over ride. You told me yourself during the early days of the Titans it was hard to work with us because you were so used to Batman just 'knowing' what was expected at every move. Obviously, we all got really good at communication as time went by to the point we only needed 1 or 2 words or a few hand motions to guide the team but that took time and a lot of practice." Raven offered him grace for listening to orders and instinct. Instinct that had kept him alive and had saved countless people over the years.

"Even I just did it with you. A one word ask and you slipped into a known pattern. In stress we also often look for things we know to guide us. B told you during a high stress point what to do and after years of working together and trust you listened. You saved someone."

[officialnightwing]

"Rae," Dick murmured back, blinking and hesitating over an apology he couldn't have imagined needing. "Hey, hey," he soothed. "It's okay. I called your comm... and I kinda needed..." the hand on Haley's leash gestured. "That."

Raven's direct, easy to understand instruction had cleared some of the haze from Dick's thoughts. The way an order in the middle of a fade into shock was sometimes what a leader did.

"...yeah," Dick breathed out. Once. Twice. Steady breaths. "It'll take more than a bullet to keep B down," the childish confidence was superficial, something Dick had stopped believing before he was fourteen and at twenty-five had been sharply disillusioned to. Even older now, it was something he'd been telling his siblings.

Unspoken, whisper thin below the words, was Dick's confession: this time was too close for comfort.

"Hmm..." Dick hummed in consensus, waiting as Haley sniffed at a seemingly innocuous spot on the pavement. "I think fear is part of it, but... I think it's more than that." He hesitated. "He really doesn't think he's worth saving." This hesitation was longer, Dick's heart sore in the cradle of his ribcage. "We're in a line of work that's built on self-sacrifice; it's been hard enough convincing Dami that he's a person, and he's- less stubborn than Tim."

Dick couldn't help but smile, imagining his brothers hearing that particular assessment. It was true, though; Tim was more independent than Damian, more set in his thoughts, less likely to listen to Dick or even Bruce.

"Right now... you know how bad it hurts when people treat you like a person when you don't want to be a person," Dick concluded. "And there's no easy way to get past it."

Scrunching his nose as Haley selected her toilet for the night, Dick began rifling in his pocket for a doggy bag. Still cleaning up other people's shit, Dick supposed.

"Mmm..." Dick's earlier hum had sounded agreeable, but here he sounded like he didn't agree at all. He didn't voice it, but it was still clear enough that Dick still felt he should handle things for Jay.

"...yeah," Dick exhaled, and the tension cut from his body, shoulders going loose. He had said that; that your reflexes didn't just contain yourself, that the Titans had had to learn to do that in their own way...

...and Raven was right. Voicing things Dick knew to be true. Said so with clarity and grace. Gave Dick enough space to admit to the truth, "...I would have picked Tim."

A sharp swallow. "I would have still picked Tim. But if I'd had to think about it, I'd..." It would have crushed Dick's heart in a fist. It would have taken too long. His brother and his dad would both have been shot. He had trusted the training and history he had with Batman, and he had saved someone.

Quiet, Dick gently tugged at Haley's leash to let her know it was time to turn back to the apartment. "Thanks, Rae."

[raven-thewaygate]

Raven quietly listened to Dick process through everything nodding despite him not being able to see her. Sometimes just listening was needed too. A steady breath on the other line to let you know you're talking to someone and not just the void. Her heart felt tight hearing about how Tim viewed himself. She'd felt the same and sometimes a lot of times still did. "If you haven't... tell him you still would have chosen him." It was important to hear even if you didn't believe or understand the persons reason. "You're welcome Dick." A small smirk formed her tone turning very slightly playful. "You've talked a lot about your family and how they're doing. But you haven't told me how you're doing."

[officialnightwing]

Raven's even breaths were calming; the aftershock of a mission, counting the sound of the team off in his head. The hum of Cy's circuitry, whatever chitter or squeak arose from Gar, Starfire effortlessly lifting rubble away from herself as she exhaled loud and clearly- and Raven. Breathing somehow steadying even when she panted and gasped for composure.

Dick's eyes closed. His own heartbeat thumping to a steadier point. Despite that, Haley still cocked her head at him before tentatively alerting; "Yes," he murmured, then cleared his throat. "I mean," Dick shook himself out of his daze. "I will." Then said with a heartwrenching not-laugh, "I don't think Tim's really been chosen once in his life. Not even as Robin."

The circumstances of Tim taking that mantle had been... not necessarily complex, but- another link in the pattern Tim had apparently been making his entire life.

Dick was still percolating on that, on the little signs and hints of Tim's wicked low self-esteem when Rae called him out. Effortlessly, even.

Wry, he chuckled, "you got me." A too long pause, before Dick sighed, looking aside, "Not good. I guess. I got snot all over Jay's shoulder."