Fic: No Guiding Light -- Dick/Tim
Chapter 5
The job was not easy and it was never going to be. Dick woke late in the afternoon with a stunning, fully formed bruise on his shoulder and numerous other aches and pains, including one in his heart. He groaned at both his shoulder and the cheesy thought. This was what loving Tim Drake did to him.
Dick made a sudden decision to get up immediately and have a productive day. He had things to do and he was damnwell going to do them. Damian wasn’t speaking to him, Bruce was distant and Tim was three steps away from either death or a ticket to hell. And then there was Jason.
Dick flung back the cotton sheet and got quickly out of bed. He showered, had breakfast and took more pain pills for his shoulder. He pulled on his oldest jeans and carefully slipped his favourite t-shirt over his head. He eased on his navy blue jacket and picked up his wallet and his cycle helmet on his way out the door.
The streets of Gotham were starting to gridlock as rush hour approached and Dick, wishing he’d got out of bed just an hour earlier, played the traffic and weaved as much as he safely could through the worst of it. He only relaxed as the Manor came into view.
Alfred greeted him at the door.
‘Master Richard, I didn’t realise we were expecting you.’
Dick didn’t always check in at the Cave in person. He had a limited supply of gear stashed at his apartment and at Wayne Tower and in theory didn’t need to make a Cave-stop for a week at a time. Usually, though, he checked in every two or three days, but not normally two days in a row.
‘Surprise,’ Dick said. ‘Everyone here?’
‘All except Master Timothy.’
Right, who to tackle first?
Fate answered his question when Jason began making his way down the main staircase. He stopped halfway down when he spotted Dick staring up at him. Dick was sure Jason wasn’t going to speak first.
‘Have I ever made you my famous coconut surprise sandwich deluxe?’ Dick asked, and he held his breath.
‘No,’ Jason replied. ‘Thankfully.’
‘Trust me, it has to be tasted to be believed. Come on.’ Dick gestured towards the door to the kitchens.
Dick liked to talk in the kitchen. As a boy it was the place where he’d sat with jelly sandwiches and his legs swinging from a too-tall stool while he poured out his uncertainties and excitements to Alfred. In the coldness that was the Manor, the kitchen felt warm and safe.
Dick opened the fridge and began rummaging.
‘What is this?’ Jason asked. Dick was positive he wasn’t talking about the sandwich.
He laid out two thick slices of bread and searched the drawers for a suitable knife. ‘I’m just checking in, seeing how you are, if there’s anything you need.’
‘You always were religious about that,’ Jason said. He settled on a stool on the other side of the counter and leaned his forearms on the surface. ‘Every week, regular as clockwork, armed with Cheetos and Pepsi.’
‘Yeah, lame.’ Dick spread a layer of butter that was far beyond Bruce’s recommended thickness.
‘Lame? Try pathetic.’ He looked up and caught Dick’s gaze. His expression was angry. ‘You lock me up and you bring me snack food to make up for it?’
Dick looked away and put the lid back on the tub of butter. He eyed-up the stack of cold meats he’d pulled from the refrigerator. Salami was easier to look at than Jason’s suddenly enraged face. It was unnerving how Jason could express so much fury in that face when the rest of his body was relaxed and casual.
‘Honestly, Jason? And stop me if you’ve heard this before, but I could have let you rot. After you hurt Damian I could have let them ship you off pumped so full of drugs you would have never been lucid again. But I didn’t. I took care of you the only way I could, the way I thought was best.’
‘You think my own personal loony bin was best?’
‘What else?’ Dick asked. He honestly didn’t know the answer to that question. Where could he have put Jason? Blackgate? The special wing at Arkham that was at that time in a million little pieces and scattered over a half-mile area?
‘Seriously, what else could I have done? You’d gone crazy. You’d self-destructed and there was no way I was going to let any brother of mine walk around like that. You’d have gotten yourself killed eventually, after you’d killed half of Gotham.’ Dick slapped a flap of ham and a slice of cheese into the sandwich. ‘I couldn’t let that happen,’ he said, and then he paused before squirting a half-ton of mayo, cutting the sandwich and sliding half over to Jason.
‘Where’s the coconut?’
‘There isn’t any. That’s the surprise. I couldn’t let you come back here, not after what you did to Damian.’
Jason laughed and bit into the sandwich. When he spoke it was through a mouthful. ‘Brat’s still pissy about that.’
‘You still pissy about the Joker?’
Jason looked up sharply. His expression said “fuck you!” and maybe he would have actually said it out loud if he could have done it without spitting crusty bread across the kitchen.
‘Bruce buried his head in the sand. That’s not me. I told you I would help you and I did. Call it tough love. Hey, you can even call it packing you away so I didn’t have to deal with you directly, but you’ve got to give me one thing: at least I did something, even if it was wrong.’
Jason chewed the rest of his mouthful. He carefully put down the rest of the sandwich and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. Then he turned and walked away without a word.
**
Dick’s next stop was down in the Batcave. He needed to straighten things out with Damian and/or talk to Bruce about Jason and what Jason’s place was. Back when Jason had been arrested, Dick, Tim and Damian had discussed what to do with him. It was a discussion that involved slamming doors, filthy looks and conceding defeat, but they’d voted and in the end the decision to incarcerate Jason in a private facility set up just for him had been unanimous. Now Bruce was back and the decisions were apparently back to Bat Knows Best.
Dick descended the stone steps to the Cave. The long tunnel of stairs was cold and dark, a contrast to the warm glow of the Batcomputer. Bruce was sitting in his chair, his head moving minutely as he scanned the various screens.
‘Looking for anything in particular or will it be potluck tonight?’
‘I believe the gang you failed to catch last week are still in your zone.’ Bruce didn’t need to say anything else. He pressed a button and the three screens directly in front of Dick changed to show footage of the gang, relevant areas of Gotham and some statistical information about the jewellery stores Bruce predicted the gang would hit next. Anyone less attuned to Bruce’s ways might have taken offence, but Dick just took it as homework. He studied the screens for a few seconds.
‘I’ll go change.’
Bruce didn’t answer but stared intently at some additional information that had appeared on the larger screen in the centre of the wall. Footage of Catman and Deadshot walking out of a diner engrossed Bruce for all of five seconds until a list of data on the screen next to it took precedence. That computer gave Dick a headache and he was overjoyed he wasn’t in charge of it anymore. He’d nicknamed it Betsy, and Betsy was total bitch.
‘We need to talk about Jason,’ Dick said. ‘Soon.’
Bruce’s hand barely paused over the bright blue and white keyboard.
‘I need ... we need to know what’s happening.’
They all had a right to know if Jason was still receiving treatment, if he was allowed out of the house, if he was allowed back in a costume. Damian had a right to know if he needed to book another new spine. These were acceptable requests. Dick nodded to himself and walked away before Bruce had a chance to ignore him.
‘I’m gonna get changed and head out,’ he said over his shoulder, careful to keep his tone even and unreadable.
‘Take Damian with you,’ Bruce said, and Dick sighed inaudibly. This day was not going well. He hadn’t expected it would.
**
They took their own Batmobile. Officially it was Batmobile #4 but it was Damian’s favourite because it was the one he experimented on and tested. Dick loved all the gadgets and they only went wrong occasionally, and who needed that extra layer of epidermis when the Batmobile’s Anti-Freeze, self-heating paint job was so awesome?
It was an intensely smooth ride. Damain’s perpetual tinkering meant that along with cool gadgets and extra glowy buttons that Dick was just dying to press, the suspension was fine-tuned to its very limit. The result was a distinct feeling of being stationary, which was weird when Gotham was rushing past in a blur of shadows and illumination. It was almost like a simulation, like the world outside the car was his pixellated imagination.
The Batmobile was a host for every automatic experiment going and consequently Dick didn’t need to concentrate on his driving. And the consequence of that was that it was obvious he should talk and straighten things out, otherwise he would look weak and in the wrong, which he wasn’t. He needed to talk to Damian about Jason and about loyalty and family. Dick needed to be the grownup here.
Dick glanced at Damian, at the scowl on his face and his crossed arms.
‘You’re sulking.’
Damian rounded on him. ‘I am not!’
Dick laughed. ‘You so are.’
‘Shut it, Grayson. I have a right to be upset.’
That he did. He’d been metaphorically sucker-punched and now was the time to roll with it. Jason had upset a lot of people. Hey, it’s not like Dick had got away scot free. Jason had gunned for him more than once. Heck, he’d impersonated him and tried to ruin his reputation. Everyone had beef with Jason. It didn’t mean they should turn on each other.
‘I’m not excusing what he did,’ Dick began, but Damian interrupted.
‘Oh you mean when he SHOT ME IN THE SPINE!’
Dick did his best not to wince. He would be glad when Damian’s voice broke the rest of the way.
‘How can I be in the same house as him, never mind the same room?! My life is ruined!’ Damian threw his hands in the air in a dramatic gesture that went nowhere.
Dick allowed the Batmobile to fill with empty silence, and then he cleared his throat. It was time to aim below the belt. ‘You know, you once beat Tim half to death and he can stand to be under the same roof as you.’
‘That’s different!’ Damian snapped.
‘Uh, how exactly?’
Damian hesitated. ‘It just is. And besides, we made amends. It’s all in the past.’
Dick bobbed his head, which didn’t look nearly as ridiculous without the cowl. ‘Yeah, but you had to work through your issues with each other. That’s what family does.’
‘Oh, that is the last straw, Grayson. I can just about accept that you and Tim are family-’ that earned him a glare from Dick ‘-but Jason shouldn’t even be alive, never mind part of our family. He is nothing to me. No, I won’t have it. My father will have to come to an alternative arrangement.’ He crossed his arms to signal the conversation was over.
Dick’s heart sank in his chest. Ask Bruce to come up with an alternative? That was never going to happen, not even for a biological son. He didn’t want to picture Damian’s face when he finally found that out.
For a long time it had been Dick and Damian working side by side, and somewhere along the line Dick had got desperately attached. He would never tell a single soul, but sometimes he felt like Damian was his son, and shit that made him feel old. He could almost feel that first grey hair working its way through his scalp. But what it really meant was that if he could save Damian the pain of finding out he was second to a plan or the mission, then he would do it.
He cleared his throat again and this time when he spoke his voice was soft. ‘Please, Damian-’
‘That’s Robin to you while we’re in costume.’
‘Damian,’ Dick said again, this time with much more pleading and a distinct wobble in his voice which he wasn’t sure was completely fake. ‘I know it’s a lot to ask, but please will you think about giving Jason a chance. If you can’t do it for anyone else ... do it for me? We’re finally a family again and we’ve been through so much and I just want us to be together and work things through because god-knows we deserve it. I can’t stand the thought of all this hate and-’
‘Oh stop, all right! You don’t have to cry about it. I will tolerate him, but I’m only doing this for you, out of respect for the three years of training you have given me, not for any of this family stuff you keep harping on about. And be very sure that I will be keeping an eye on him ...’
Damian went on with a list of rules and exceptions and Dick nodded to them all. Keeping an eye on Jason was best for everyone so Dick had no problems there and now Damian was saved from pain for a little longer, plus he was talkative and no longer sulking which Dick thought was a massive bonus. The only problem was that now Dick had acted the part of ‘distressed family member’, he found he couldn’t shake the role. It had settled deep in his bones and Dick realised just how much he needed Damian’s cooperation.
Now they just needed Jason’s word that he wouldn’t go over to the dark side.
Chapter 6
Once every few months, Dick had an evening that seemed strange even for Gotham, and it always seemed to fall on a Friday. Freaky Fridays, he called them. Dick had no inkling this was going to be a Freaky Friday until a slender, long-limbed, brightly-coloured man wearing a white mask, a fuzzy, red wig and a Robin costume landed in front of him.
‘Ragdoll,’ Dick said, because he was too surprised to say anything else.
‘I do hope I’m not interrupting,’ Ragdoll said. His mask was smooth and held no expression except for indifference to everything. It was a weird contrast to his jolly tone of voice.
‘Do forgive me, Mr Nightwing, but I was just passing when I happened to notice you on this chilly rooftop.’
‘You were just passing in your Robin costume?’ Dick hadn’t moved an inch since Ragdoll had landed and he stared down at him with his own masked countenance.
Ragdoll gestured with one hand in a casual flicking motion. ‘Passing, following you; the outcome is what matters.’
‘What do you want, Ragdoll?’ He didn’t have time for this. There was crime somewhere just waiting to get foiled. Or something.
‘I’m here to make you an offer you simply can’t refuse. You have a problem and I, as your number one fan, am here to provide you with a solution.’
‘My number one fan?’ Dick asked, because, yeah, that was the important question.
Ragdoll stood a little taller and his chest puffed out proudly. ‘And founder and president of the Nightwing Fan Club. I also run a few forums, online communities and such.’
Dick didn’t know quite how to feel. He was torn between perversely flattered and seriously disturbed.
‘Welcome back,’ Ragdoll continued. ‘Those years without you were just awful and the forums weren’t nearly as active. It was a dark time.’ He nodded, gravely from what Dick could tell. ‘But now America’s greatest butt swings above us, skims ours skies and shimmies down our drainpipes once again.’
‘America’s greatest what?’
‘Butt. We had a poll and the results were conclusive. You have the greatest butt in America. Now I know what you’re thinking. Before we ran the poll we ran a pre-poll poll to decide on butt, backside, bottom, arse, ass, or posterior. I checked none of the above, because there is surely no word in the English language fit to represent such a glorious behind.’
‘You’ve lost me, and I’m kind of glad about that. Could we stop talking about my butt?’ And why exactly was he still talking to this guy instead of hauling him to jail? Oh yeah, he hadn’t committed a crime. Damn details.
‘Actually, I am going somewhere with your butt. Well, not literally. I think my girlfriend would have something to say about that. May I show you a photograph of her? She’s as radiant as a butterfly and as sexual as a Gambian lioness in season. And oh, the claws! Every time she sinks her nails into my back, I get tingles where my testicles used to be.’
Dick had a sudden urge to stuff his Escrima sticks into his own ears. ‘Your point?’
‘Oh yes. Sorry. A man in love tends to let his mind wander far and wide over fields made of dreams and cess pools made of smut.’
That was probably true.
‘But back to your problem, Mr Nightwing. After careful observation and many years of research, I have come to the only possible conclusion.’ He cupped one hand over the mouth on his mask and dropped his voice to a stage whisper. ‘Your butt is lonely.’
Dick’s mind went completely blank. Ragdoll stood patiently waiting for a response and Dick stared back, at a complete loss.
‘I’ve shocked you with my incredible powers of acumen and cognition, haven’t I? Don’t worry, this happens to my friends all the time. They are constantly stunned into silence by my sheer brilliance. Really, I should be on the television, and I’m sure I would be but I’m too beautiful for the small screen. Now, here’s where I really shock you.’
‘Go right ahead,’ Dick said, his voice deader than dead-pan.
‘Your butt is lonely because once it had another butt, a smaller one, to swing by your butt’s side. Your butt was covered by a long black cape at the time, by the way, and I didn’t enjoy that at all.’
Neither did I, Dick almost said, but he stopped himself just in time.
‘Don’t worry, I’m sure none of your followers on Facebook worked it out. But I’m your number one fan, you see, so I knew immediately. You made a fine Batman. But Batman had a Robin and although I didn’t think much of that scowly-faced little brat, you worked well together. Now the other Batman is back, the world gets Nightwing’s butt, but who has Nightwing’s butt got? No one, that’s who. You’re all alone in the world. I know how that feels, you see. So here I am.’ Ragdoll spread his arms wide. ‘I’m your new partner.’
‘Oh god, no.’
**
Three days later, Dick’s head was spinning. Tim still wasn’t talking to him and still wasn’t taking off the Red Robin costume. Jason wasn’t talking to anyone and Damian was keeping his promise to be nice to Jason by avoiding him. Deathstroke was nowhere to be found and Bruce was being his normal stoic self. And now, to top everything off, Dick had an odd, bendy man in a clay mask and a Robin costume following him over the rooftops of Gotham. He’d only had to rescue Ragdoll from a bad swing twice, but it was getting ridiculous. He felt like screaming.
Dick trudged down to the Cave feeling weary and befuddled. Everything was in a mess and it didn’t have to be, which made the mess even harder to accept. Why couldn’t they all just be a normal family? Why was there no glue to hold them all together?
Bruce was at the computer and Dick glared at his back and continued on to where Batmobile #4 was parked and Damian was bound to be.
‘This,’ Damian said, holding up a small collection of bolts in his hand, ‘is the very limit!’
‘Overpriced?’ Dick guessed. ‘They don’t fit? Bad quality? Don’t taste right?’
‘SABOTAGE!’ Damian yelled. ‘Look at them. Just look!’
Dick looked down at the bolts and didn’t see the problem. He picked one up, brought it closer to his face and slowly turned it between his thumb and index finger. ‘Where did you get this?’ he asked, his voice serious.
‘Under the chassis. The smokebombs. They could have gone off at any time, making us look like complete dicks, pardon the expression, and possibly causing a panic if they’d gone off in a populated area. Nothing like a suspected fire to cause a stampede of idiotic Gothamites.’
Dick studied the bolt in his hand. Maybe half a millimetre had been shaved off the circumference. There was no way Damian wouldn’t have noticed when he’d fitted them. Damian noticed everything. Dick closed his fist around the bolt and marched back to the computer. He stood hovering for a moment, waiting for Bruce to turn around. But Bruce didn’t. He faced his damn video footage and police communications and spy satellite relays and didn’t say a damn thing. There was no way he hadn’t realised Dick was standing there. Bruce noticed everything, too.
Fine.
‘Jason is sabotaging the cars,’ Dick finally said, throwing the bolt down on the console and not caring about sounding tactful now he was annoyed.
Bruce picked up the bolt but didn’t turn around.
‘Well? You need to ban him from the Cave, Bruce, at the very least.’
‘Where is the bolt from?’ Bruce asked.
‘The new smokebombs on car #4.’
Bruce seemed to consider this. ‘I’ll talk to him.’
‘You’ll talk to him? Bruce, it could have been the brake line or the ejector control or, Christ, the fuel tank.’
‘Your conjecture isn’t helpful, Dick. I will speak with him.’
Dick stepped back. Right. He Hath Spoken. Things were never going to change. Bruce was going to stew in his own stoic juices while everyone around him combusted. Dick was going to hit out and tear their relationship in half yet again, Jason was going to make the same mistakes over and over, Damian was going to go crazy with his obsessive compulsive behaviour and trust issues, and Tim was going to die.
‘So that’s it. You give Jason a slap on the wrist and all is well?’
‘It’s between me and Jason.’
‘No it isn’t! It’s between all of us! No wonder he’s getting into trouble. You brought Jason back here then you leave him to fester.’
Bruce got up and his top lip curled as though he was about to snarl. ‘I did not leave him to fester. I brought him home, gave him purpose and a family. You, Dick, locked him up and left him to rot.’
‘If that’s what you seriously think I did, then you don’t know me at all. I did what I thought was right for everyone, because it was about more than just Jason and me. It was about Alfred and Tim and Damian, too.’
‘We took a vote,’ Damian said. He stood beside Dick in a clear show of support. ‘It was three against one, initially. The others wanted Jason in a secure facility where he would be cared for, protected and rehabilitated. I wanted a one-hundred pound weight chained to him and his body sunk to the bottom of the ocean. Be grateful Dick got his way.’
‘As I said,’ Bruce said, his voice deep and all Batman, ‘I will speak with him.’
‘And what about the rest us?’ Dick asked. ‘When will you speak with us? When will you treat Damian like a son, when will you stop Tim from fucking up his entire life, when will you realise Alfred has blood pressure higher than the Empire State Building? What happened to you, Bruce? Why do we mean so little to you now? Even Jason deserves better.’
Bruce walked calmly away as if Dick hadn’t spoken.
‘Leave it, Grayson,’ Damian said with a tight grip on Dick’s arm. ‘He doesn’t want to hear us.’
‘And what do we do in the mean time?’
‘We wait until he does want to hear us. My father is-’
‘Our father.’
Damian tutted and rolled his eyes. ‘Our father is still adjusting to life in the present. He will hear us when he is ready.’
Dick had doubts about that. Bruce was good at shutting things away permanently. Dick felt an approaching estrangement and it made him feel sick. He watched Bruce’s retreating back with narrowed eyes and bitterness in his heart.
He’d given up everything for that man. He’d given up Tim.
‘You’re a dipshit, Grayson, a complete fucking imbecile.’
Dick’s gaze snapped back to Damian. ‘Hey, I’m not sure what I did to deserve that!’
‘Don’t lie to me. Or at least don’t lie to yourself, if you can’t manage that.’
Dick really had no clue what had prompted Damian to take such a stance suddenly. Damian’s expression was irritated with just a dash of fed-up. He locked eyes with Dick and silently dared him to argue.
But Dick didn’t want to argue.
Maybe Damian saw that because his body sagged and he walked away. ‘See you later, Grayson. If you need me I’ll be checking ... everything for sabotage.’
Chapter 7
Pizza Piazza was only two blocks away from Dick’s apartment and made the best pizzas in Gotham. Dick had known the owner for years and Nightwing had seen off a protection racket and saved a weekend’s takings from a desperate junkie with a water pistol. In the years that Bruce had been gone, Dick had started getting Damian and Tim to meet him here for dinner. It was his way of saying, we’re a family, brothers, this is what we do. Sometimes Alfred joined them and sometimes it was just them. They started coming here when they had rough days and rougher nights. They came here to celebrate. Damian came here when he wanted to bitch about his stupid, idiot tutor. Dick came here when he wanted nothing more complicated in his life than a slice of pepperoni.
Dick and Tim were once here for an hour before they realised it was their first date.
Tonight, the three of them occupied a large round table made for five. They were like knights around a table that wasn’t square. Three lost heroes who were fighting each other instead of the people outside the door, the ones with the guns, the ones with the drugs and the greed and the hatred.
‘So you two usually come here without me, then?’ Dick said, a surge of unexpected jealousy rearing its head. He had no idea Tim was going to be here and apparently Tim had thought he was just meeting Damian.
‘Once or twice,’ Damian replied. ‘Usually to discuss you.’
Tim glared. ‘Oh that’s great, thanks, Damian. Look, I’m just going to leave, okay? This isn’t going to work.’
‘SIT!’ Damian bellowed, and Tim sat and everyone else in the restaurant turned to look at them. ‘I realise I brought you here under false pretences, but I felt it was necessary for the sake of the family and for Dick, because if I have to look at his miserable face for one more second I’m going to punch it.’
And with that, Damian got up. ‘Now I’m leaving. Stop being a pair of matching idiots and sort it out. I don’t care how. Dick, tell Tim what we discussed earlier. Both of you, have a nice evening, and when everything is sorted out bring me back a large Meat Feast with extra onions and if there’s even one mushroom on it, I’ll break your legs.’
‘He’s in a good mood,’ Tim said when Damian exited with a flap of coat and a slam of door.
‘Can’t really blame him. Look, I’m sorry, this is awkward. I had no idea you were going to be here and you clearly had no idea I was going to be here. We can leave, if you like.’
‘No,’ Tim said, picking up a menu. ‘No, it’s fine. We can be adults.’
Dick nodded and pretended to look at his menu. He already knew what he was ordering. He always knew in advance. So did Tim.
They both put down their menus at the same time.
‘He’s right,’ Tim said. ‘We are idiots. We shouldn’t be fighting each other.’
Dick nodded again and he couldn’t prevent a wry smile from invading his face. ‘Although, I’m not sure that’s why he thinks we’re idiots.’
Tim shrugged. ‘Why else?’
Dick wondered if Tim really didn’t know the answer to that question, if Tim’s denial was even deeper than Dick’s. He took a deep breath and prayed Tim wouldn’t poke his eyes out with the breadsticks.
‘Maybe because we threw our relationship away when Bruce came back.’
Tim examined the menu again. ‘We always said we were brothers first, lovers second,’ he said without looking up. ‘So when Bruce came back we did the only thing we could.’
‘Maybe ... maybe Damian thinks that was a mistake.’ Dick picked up his soda and drank without tasting it.
‘Then he’s the idiot. Bruce would have gone mad. He would have disowned at least one of us, and what for? A good fuck?’
‘Right,’ Dick said, setting his glass down with a firm but controlled thud. ‘That’s all it was?’
Tim finally lowered the menu and looked Dick in the eye. ‘No, of course not. It was ... you know. It was you and me.’ He smiled. ‘It worked. Didn’t it?’
Dick nodded and glanced away. Suddenly it hurt to look at Tim. Not just a mild hurt, but a pain like a dark creature was sinking its claws into his heart and pulling it down through his body. Oh, fuck.
‘What about this Slade thing?’ Dick said to change the subject to something he could hide behind.
Tim’s expression darkened. ‘Haven’t seen him.’
‘You will. Are you ready?’
‘I’m always ready,’ Tim said. ‘I think I’ll go for a vegetarian. What was Damian saying about something you discussed earlier?’
‘Oh right, yeah,’ Dick said, his brain swivelling to another change in topic. ‘We don’t trust that Bruce is completely on the ball at the moment so we’re going to watch Jason more closely.’
‘Spy, you mean?’
‘Exactly. Bruce mentioned he’s given Jason some sort of purpose and we’d like to know what that is. You know Jason’s been sabotaging the cars? Nothing directly life-threatening, but you know how things always escalate with Jason.’
‘I’m in. It might be easier for me to do recon. For some reason Jason doesn’t seem to see me in the same light as you and Damian. I’m not the threat you two are. You were the Robin Jason had to take over from and Damian is the Robin Jason wants to be. I’m nobody as far as he’s concerned, and I’m reasonably sure he doesn’t recall that time I kicked him in the groin.’
Dick laughed. ‘I’d actually forgotten about that. I doubt he has, though. Watch out for tacks on your bike saddle.’
‘Or glue on the toilet seat?’
‘Nah, if I was him it would be flesh-eating nanites in your jock.’
‘Ouch! I’m never wearing a jock again.’
Dick relaxed. This felt more like old times. This felt like Bruce had never left, when they were just two brothers and best friends who shared the same sense of humour.
‘Hey, you wanna get these to go? We could go back to my apartment, hang out, watch some movies. Some normality might do us both some good.’
Tim studied him as though he was looking for the small print. ‘Yeah, okay. Sounds great.’
They ordered two large pizzas, one vegetarian and one Dick special, which had a combination of toppings some thought to be ungodly, although that was mainly to do with the mushrooms. They walked briskly back to Dick’s apartment, threw themselves down on the couch and ate every crumb. Dick was aware that the movie choice was of utmost importance and avoided anything that dealt with love or family or sex or any other areas that were touchy subjects.
The Deadly Mantis provided much fun and a continuous movie commentary. They drank two beers each and talked until Dick felt the need for sleep. Tim shut off the TV.
‘I should go,’ he said.
‘Okay. Is it wrong that I hope you don’t?’
Tim looked back at him, frowning.
‘Sorry,’ Dick said. ‘Can’t help myself. You’re so gorgeous and I can’t help wanting you one last time. No one would have to know.’
A little voice inside was screaming at Dick. What are you doing, you idiot? Grayson, this is a very bad idea. It’s all wrong. This was not what I meant! Oh, and you were doing so well. Must be all that gypsy inbreeding. Apparently the little voice was Damian, and Dick was getting rid of him right now because Tim’s lips were pressing against his and Tim hands were grabbing him. This was no time for annoying little brothers.
Are you sure, Dick wanted to ask, but he also didn’t want to risk the answer being no, so he grabbed back at Tim, pulled him close and kissed him deeply.
Tim’s shirt was a bright yellow in colour. It would probably look ridiculous on anyone else, but on Tim it looked perfect. Dick kissed him again and unbuttoned it with care. This was his favourite part, that first delicate peel of the wrapping paper and the first glimpse of the present beneath. Tim groaned when Dick’s hand slid over his bare chest and he held on tighter when Dick’s thumb grazed his nipple.
This felt right. This felt like every moment of his life was leading up to this moment, this couch, that yellow shirt and Tim’s soft lips.
Dick’s cock ached inside his jeans and he pressed it against Tim’s and kissed his neck. He unbuttoned the rest of the yellow shirt, opened it wide with shaking hands and gazed down at Tim’s chest.
‘What the ...?’
‘Hm?’ Tim replied. His eyes were closed and he pushed his hips back up to meet Dick’s thrusts.
Christ, Dick was so hard and he wanted Tim so badly that he moved his hips one more time because he was selfish and he simply needed.
Then he stopped. Then he pulled back.
‘You’ve got to stop,’ Dick said. ‘You’re killing yourself. Look at you.’
They both looked at the numerous bruises covering Tim’s chest. Some old, some new, too many even for a superhero.
‘This is wrong, Tim. Talk to me. Why are you doing this to yourself?’
Tim took a long moment to answer, but when he did it was with an expression full of rage. He shoved Dick away from him and scrambled up from the couch.
‘What’s the matter, not perfect enough for you?’
‘What?!’
‘You heard me. Do the bruises put you off? I’m surprised. I’d have thought they’d turn you on. You’re telling me you don’t want to hit this anymore? I promise, Dick, no one has to know!’
Tim furiously buttoned-up his shirt and snagged his jacket from the back of the couch. ‘Fuck you, Dick. Seriously, you can go screw yourself. I’m done with you.’
Tim slammed the door on his way out.
**
Chapter 8
Dick had a headache and when the sun set he went straight on patrol with only a brief audio check-in with Bruce. One of the most annoying things about Bruce was his stoicism, but there were times when it came in handy, such as in the midst of a crisis or when you just didn’t feel like a conversation, and Dick absolutely did not feel like a conversation right now.
Okay, maybe that wasn’t completely true, but the one person in the whole world he actually wanted to talk to wasn’t returning any of his messages. As childish as he knew it sounded even in his own head, if he couldn’t talk to Tim, he didn’t want to talk to anyone.
‘Good evening!’ said Ragdoll, landing next to him and performing a theatrical bow.
Dick’s fragile little heart sank. ‘Oh no, please tell me you’re not here again. Please tell me I’m at home, in my bed, having a nightmare.’
Ragdoll clasped his hands together. ‘To wish you were dreaming about moi? Such an honour! To think the Nightwing wishes to dream of a poor, undervalued, underappreciated wretch like me ... oh, it is almost too much. May I squeeze you for just a moment?’
‘No,’ Dick said, very firmly. ‘Please leave me alone.’
‘But we’re partners. I could not leave you at such a time, not when you look so melancholy. I, Ragdoll, punisher of the wicked and drinker of all the milk, would never leave a man behind.’
And that was how Dick ended up with a partner for the rest of the evening, and that was why he ended up back at the Cave after patrol despite it being the last place on Earth he wanted to be.
‘I have been unable to ascertain their business in Gotham,’ Bruce said, continuing the conversation they’d been having over the radio now they were parked side by side in the Cave. Bruce closed the Batmobile door behind him as Dick pulled off his cycle helmet.
‘I’ve been tracking the Secret Six for the last nine weeks,’ Bruce continued. ‘They have gradually made their way south and entered Gotham City limits exactly when I predicted they would. Along the way they have robbed a jewellery store, kidnapped a politician, set fire to a shopping mall and put eight gang members in hospital.’
‘Sounds like the ultimate road trip.’
‘They have left little to no evidence of their crimes and their motivations appear random.’
‘So we’ve got nothing to convict on?’ Dick asked.
Bruce shook his head. ‘No. Has Ragdoll said anything to you, given away anything that might help us?’
‘Ah. You noticed him, huh?’
Bruce peeled the cowl from his face. His lips were twitching into something approaching an amused smile and Dick realised it was the first time he’d seen Bruce Wayne’s face and not Batman’s in many weeks.
‘He’s a little hard to miss, Dick. I like what he’s done with your old costume.’
‘Ha ha, I’m sure you don’t. And no, he hasn’t said a word about anything.’
‘I know that’s not true. What do you two talk about while you’re patrolling ... together?’
The world was a strange place sometimes, Dick thought. Maybe there was another version of Earth somewhere where Ragdoll really was his partner and Bruce Wayne was the laugh riot of Gotham City. It was probably the same world where Powergirl was flat-chested and Superman slam-dunked puppies into chimney tops.
‘He thinks I’m bereft of a partner.’
‘So he’s filling in?’
‘Something like that. He’s a pain, but I guess he’s not actually doing any harm, and it really irritates me to say that.’
Bruce nodded and his eyes appeared a little glazed, like he wasn’t really paying attention. ‘Dick, I didn’t call you here to discuss the Secret Six.’
Uh-oh. ‘No?’
He knows, he knows, he knows, he knows, he knows about me and Tim. There’s no way he doesn’t. He knew from that first moment he came back. How could he not?
‘I’ve spoken to Jason about the alterations to the Batmobile. It won’t be happening again. You all have my word.’
‘So he admitted he did it?’
‘He had no choice.’
‘Right. Bruce, he needs help.’
‘I’m giving him the help he needs now. He’s part of the family and with our support he’ll get through this.’
‘This? Do you even understand what “this” is? Jason isn’t a depressed teenager, Bruce. He’s been through total hell. He’s been beaten close to death and blown-up. He’s clawed his way out of his own grave. And worst of all, he has to live with the knowledge that the man responsible is still out there, right now, killing others, and nobody can stop him. Nobody will stop him. This is the wrong environment for him.’
‘He’s doing fine. Yes, he’s rebelling. Yes, he’s having trouble getting on with Damian, but these things take time. Whatever he needs, I’ll do for him.’
Dick bit down on his tongue and turned away. What Jason needed, he couldn’t have. He needed for the Joker to have never existed.
From up by the Batcomputer, a female voice cleared her throat. ‘We had a date,’ said Selina Kyle, ‘and you’re late, Bats. Again. Hello, Dick.’
Dick raised his hand in greeting. Selina was around a lot these days. Sometimes Dick was sure she and Bruce were an item and other times it was like they were doing their normal dance of distance around each other. The Cat and the Bat, always circling, always wary.
Life was too short.
Dick looked around and saw Tim’s bike parked in its normal spot. He made a flimsy excuse and was grateful that he probably looked awkward because of Selina rather than awkward because he and Tim had been screwing each other but then Bruce came back and ruined everything and now they were doing their own dance.
‘You didn’t bring me my pizza,’ Damian said as Dick passed him on his way to Tim’s room (location courtesy of Alfred).
‘It didn’t work out that way.’
‘You’re a failure, Grayson.’
‘Yeah, I know.’
Dick walked into Tim’s room without knocking and found him sitting on the bed, towel-drying his hair.
‘I’m sorry,’ Dick said.
Tim didn’t look up. ‘What for?’
‘You know wha-’
‘I spoke to Jason today. We had a pretty good discussion about all the dysfunction around here. He’s actually pretty nice once you get to know him.’
‘So, what, you’ve got a crush on him now?’
That was the most ridiculous thing he could have said and he realised this four-fifths of a second after the words had left his lips. Tim looked up at him for the first time and it was with a withering expression.
‘I found out what he’s been doing for Bruce,’ Tim said, proving he was the more mature man in the room right now. ‘Undercover work. Dick Grayson meet Mack “The Bulldog” Jackson. He’s doing the rounds of the local gangs, gathering intel, numbers, who’s pulling whose strings, shipments, deals, you name it. Turns out, he’s got fingers in just about everyone’s pies, and one of those fingers is in a giant pie named the Drayton brothers.’
The Draytons were Tim’s main concern and the bane of Tim’s allotted area of Gotham. They were also the scumbags who’d taken out the contract on his life.
‘Just shows you what can be achieved when we actually talk to each other,’ Tim said.
While that was true enough, it wasn’t really the point. Jason should not be doing this kind of work. He should be in a safe environment with family and a doctor. The last people he should be mixing with were the Draytons.
‘Jason’s going in deeper. He thinks he’s close to finding their base of operations and, not only that, he thinks he can get intel on their partner. Dick, he thinks it’s Scarecrow. I’m so close now. If I can find out for sure where they are and what their primary objectives are, I can shut them down for good.’
Dick nodded. ‘Sure, good, uh-huh. Would that be before or after Deathstroke puts a bullet through your skull?’
Tim threw his arms up. ‘What is your problem? I thought shutting down scum was what we did.’
‘It is, but not at the expense of our lives. You’re sitting here talking like lots of good things just happened, but what I hear is that Jason has been put back into an environment where he’s most vulnerable and you’re almost gleeful that you’re on top of a takedown when Deathstroke could kill you any second.’
‘Well, pardon me for trying to see the positive!’
‘That’s not positivity! That’s denial! You know what, I’m going to Bruce with this.’
‘Oh right, go for it, run to daddy.’
Dick turned and flung open the door and began striding down the corridor. It was time for Bruce to take some responsibility. He should be dealing with this.
‘Dick, wait!’
Tim’s hand on his shoulder stopped him forcefully.
‘Please, don’t,’ Tim said. ‘Bruce doesn’t need to know.’
‘Oh, I think he does.’
‘He can’t handle it!’
‘And you think you can on your own? All I see is your head in the sand.’
Tim slowly withdrew his hand. ‘I never said I wanted to do it alone. Not ever. You came to that conclusion. You come to a lot of conclusions on your own.’
Dick opened his mouth to argue, but found there was nothing to come out. Had Tim ever said he wanted to go it alone? Dick tried to think back, but he found his memories were fuzzy and confusing. There was too much going on, too much to deal with, too much change, too much darkness and no guiding light to show him the way.
Maybe he was the one with his head in the sand.
Dick turned away again and left the Manor.
Chapter 9
Everything was in a mess and Dick was pissed with himself. Bruce’s return had hit them like a cue ball on a pool table, knocking and rolling them in all directions. Somehow they’d all ended up at opposite ends of the table and Dick was furthest from the one he wanted to be nearest.
While Dick had been Batman they’d all pulled together and worked like a family. He, Tim and Damian made an awesome team. They got along, they worked together, they picked each other up and protected each other. But now that Bruce was back, they’d all somehow separated. Dick felt like he rarely saw Damian anymore and in Tim he’d lost everything he hadn’t realised he wanted. They were a family, but they worked alone, all of them with their separate slices of Gotham.
Since when did Bruce Wayne divide up his own city? So he took the centre for his own, but to relinquish main control of the rest? It was a warning sign Dick should have seen instead of being so naively grateful Bruce was letting him stay in his city.
‘Stop scowling, Grayson,’ Damian said. ‘That’s my job. Where are we going anyway?’
Dick answered without taking his eyes from the road. ‘I’m going to see Deathstroke.’
‘And what exactly am I doing here? Keeping the seat warm for him?’
‘You’re my back up, and if you’re a good boy and Deathstroke is a bad boy, I’ll let you test out some of your toys on him.’
Dick knew Damian was grinning without even looking at him. Dick had found a foolproof formula for insulting him and pleasing him at exactly the same time.
It was late evening and Dick had arranged to meet Deathstroke at a warehouse near the docks. It took an hour or so after he’d arranged the meeting to realise that having Deathstroke on speed dial was kind of strange.
Dick pulled up outside the warehouse just as the sun set and Gotham herself woke to a dark shade of blue. He felt his heart rate speed-up as though he was mimicking the city’s pulse.
‘Urgh, smells of fish,’ Damian said as Dick opened the Batmobile door.
‘Then wash your underwear more often. Wait here, listen in, keep your mouth shut and be ready.’
Damian saluted, which to anyone else would have looked like a polite affirmative, but actually it was Damian’s code signal for “fuck you, asshole”.
Dick made his way into the warehouse. His posture was relaxed and casual. He trusted Slade enough not to jump him and slit his throat without at least an explanation first.
The warehouse was old, empty and had a leaky roof. There was a large puddle right in the centre and Deathstroke was standing to the left of it, his mask on and his sword drawn.
‘Next time, leave the location to me, Dickie Bird. Terrible place for a second date. How do you ever get laid?’
‘I’m not here for jokes, Slade. I’m here to talk about your contract on Tim’s life. Tell me what you need to stop it.’
Slade’s head tilted. ‘I take it you mean what would it take to break the contract?’
Dick waited. Slade knew full well that was exactly what he meant.
‘Fine,’ Slade said after a moment of silence except for the sound of water dripping from the open roof. ‘I do not break my contracts.’
‘I’ll buy you out. How much for you not to kill Red Robin?’
‘No money in the world, Dick. Now come on, you know me too well for this. I don’t welch on my contracts. There is nothing you can offer me.’
‘Then I’m taking you in.’
Slade tipped back his head and laughed. The sound echoed around the warehouse and disappeared through the hole in the roof. ‘I’m so glad your stint as the Bat didn’t kill your sense of humour.’
Behind him, Dick heard the door open. From the footsteps, Dick knew it was Damian and from the sound of metal sliding over leather, Dick knew Damian was pulling his sword from its sheath. He also knew Damian was smiling. Damian always smiled when he got to use his sword.
‘Oh, you’re serious? Grayson, is this any way to treat a friend? I did, after all, extend you the courtesy of a warning and a waiting period. But I see you have done nothing to deter Timothy from his path. He’s such an angry young man these days, isn’t he? He reminds me of someone. Now who could that be? Oh yes, I remember. Jason Todd.’
Dick pulled his Escrima sticks from his back and moved closer. He saw Damian move to flank him.
‘Of course, there is another way.’
Dick stopped. ‘Tell me.’
‘If my employer breaks the contract.’
‘The Draytons.’
‘Haven’t any of you worked it out yet? The Draytons don’t exist. They’re just a cover for a familiar name playing old tricks.’
Dick thought back to the conversation he’d had with Tim. Scarecrow.
‘Now,’ Slade continued, ‘if something should happen to him, then he couldn’t pay me the rest of my fee and the contract would be broken. Of course it would be best to do the job properly. A jail sentence is so ineffective these days. Death is so much more final - ish.’
‘I’m not killing anyone, Slade,’ Dick said, and he held up one hand to stop Damian from getting any closer.
‘Did I say you had to? No, what you need is a mercenary for hire. Such a pity we don’t know one. Oh wait, there’s me. Hire me to kill my own employer.’ Slade raised his arms. ‘It’s perfect! Everyone comes out a winner. I get the money, plus half the fee from my current employer, you get your boyfriend in one piece, alive and well. Daddy Bat will be so proud of you.’
Dick shook his head and realised he was walking around the puddle towards Slade. ‘You can’t be serious! You know I could never agree to that.’
Slade shrugged. ‘I know. I apologise. You’re just so pretty when you’re conflicted.’
He reached out to touch his fingers to Dick’s cheek and Dick saw Damian raise his sword.
‘If you touch him,’ Damian said, ‘I’ll cut your hand off at the elbow.’
Just as Slade turned his head to answer, the roof creaked above them and both Slade and Dick looked up instead.
Dick saw a shadow, a glimpse of black, and then Damian struck and Dick concentrated on what was in front of him rather than who or what was on the roof. The warehouse filled with the sound of swords clashing. The fight lasted no more than a minute and Damian ended up in the middle of the puddle, soaking wet and brimming with rage. Dick, out of breath with the effort of keeping Damian alive, bared his teeth at Slade.
‘I will not let you kill Tim!’
‘When I make my move, which will be soon, you will not be able to stop me. Remember, the contract is on Red Robin, not Tim Drake. That is my gift to you, Dick Grayson, for all the years we have fought and the entertainment you have given me.’ He looked deliberately at Damian. ‘Nice try, kid. Maybe in a few years.’
‘Argh, you son of a-!’
‘Damian, leave it!’ Dick shouted, and Damian’s jaw shut tight with an indignant click.
Change of plan. Find Tim, hold him down, strip the Red Robin costume from his body and lock him up somewhere safe.
‘Nightwing,’ Bruce’s voice suddenly said into his ear. ‘I need you.’
‘What is it?’ Dick asked, ignoring Slade’s quizzical head-tilt.
‘I’ve lost contact with Jason and Tim. I had reason to believe something big was occurring within the Drayton ranks but I could not contact Jason to pull him out. It seems he and Tim were working together. Now I am unable to contact either of them.’
‘Where?’ Dick asked.
There was silence for a few seconds. ‘I don’t know.’
This was crazy! What was wrong with everyone? The Draytons - Scarecrow - operated from many bases, too many to count. How could Bruce not know exactly where Jason was working from? Were they all that bad at communicating with each other these days?
‘Where’s your contact, Slade? Where’s your boss?’
‘If I knew, I would probably tell you.’
Dick believed him and when Slade began to walk away, Dick let him go.
Part Three