#eventually dick just lets tim sleep but then carries tim home thrown over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes

[pokeberry5]

late night/early morning stakeout

[fishfingersandjellybabies]

Still a Little Bit Yours (Part 2) - fic

Characters: Jon Kent, Damian Wayne, various Batfam Pairing: jondami Summary: If there was one thing the world needed to learn, it was that you don’t hurt those Jonathan Kent loves. A/N: This is just basic smoop sprinkled with angst. Bruce gave Cass and Duke special permission to be extra rough on those who kidnapped Damian/hurt them in the first place. Jon and Damian wake up to Bruce on the chair and like half the fam sleeping on the end of the bed. Damian gets so mad at them. Let him sleep with his boyfriend in peace, dammit! Jon ends up now never leaving the bed and basically becomes Damian’s personal pillow as his recovery continues.

Part One | Part Two

~~

That call. That was all they needed, it turned out. The call that shattered Jon’s whole world was the one thing that might help piece it back together.

Even though it’d been over a month, the Bat-tech was able to hone in on the signal easily, and they were in the air and on their way back to France within three hours of Jon and Tim’s arrival to the Batcave.

Bruce wasn’t thrilled. He’d told Jon to go home at least seven times, that they’d contact him when Damian was safe. But at this point, Jon couldn’t believe that, not when they didn’t tell him he was missing in the first place.

He was even less thrilled when Jon grabbed the Justice League communicator out of his hand and smashed it, when Bruce said he was going to call Clark to take him back to Metropolis.

“I’m not ten anymore, Bruce.” Jon reminded with a dark giddiness as he dropped the shattered pieces onto the table. “And Damian is my boyfriend.”

“Is he still?” Jason quipped from nearby, hooking guns to his holsters. Tim had caught them all up with Jon’s side of things. “I mean…you just spent the last month thinking you were broken up and getting over him, right?”

“As part of the family that went to Apokolips to collect his dead body and resurrect him, I don’t think I have to tell you, Jason.” Jon grinned widely. “You don’t just get over Damian Wayne.”

Jason thought a moment, then snorted a laugh and clapped a hand on Jon’s shoulder.

“Okay. I get why he fell in love with Boy Scout Jr. now.” He chuckled.

“…For what it’s worth.” Jon added sheepishly, though, as Jason moved away, and Cassandra and Stephanie approached, moving towards their jet. “…Even if the breakup was real, I…I still wasn’t coping very well with it.”

The women both just smiled knowingly, and Steph jumped up to ruffle at his hair. And for a moment, Jon remembered that, for as much as he missed Damian the last month, he missed seeing the other Bats almost as much.

Bruce grumbled the rest of the time they spent gathering supplies and weapons about how Jon shouldn’t be there, and he didn’t want him nor his help. It was eventually Dick and Duke who took Bruce to the side and had him see the light. Begrudgingly allow Jon to come along.

“On one condition.” Bruce demanded, stomping up to him near the jet’s door. It’d already been decided that Jon would fly alongside the plane. “You do not engage. This is still an open investigation, and I don’t need you accidentally destroying any evidence.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it. I’m only there for Damian anyway.” Jon returned just as gruffly. “You guys be offense, I’ll be defense and extraction. No problem.”

Bruce glared at him for a moment more before raising his cowl and disappearing into the ship. Dick sighed from nearby, following after.

“He’s just worried.” He promised. “About you and Damian. And after already losing Damian like this, the thought of what might happen to you, he…”

Dick trailed off, and Jon was suddenly reminded that he was a lot closer to fifty than thirty these days, and had already lost a lot. Had already lost Damian a lot. And, clearly, it never got easier. Not for Dick or Bruce, or anyone in their family.

“…He’s still alive, Dick.” Jon whispered with what he hoped was an encouraging smile. “I can still hear his heartbeat. He’s still here, just…waiting for us.”

Dick nodded absently, before he met Jon’s gaze and let his mask of cautious hope fall across his face. “Then let’s go get him, Jonno.”

The flight was long. Too long. And even alone outside the ship, Jon listened through the communicator as the Bats planned their attack, outlined the known schematics of the compound that they found, and any potential hidden areas they might have missed.

At least every ten minutes, Bruce was reminding Jon that he was to not get involved. That he was there for Damian’s defense and safety only.

Jon only rolled his eyes, muttered an exasperated, “Yes, sir.” And focus on the heartbeat that got closer every second.

(Closer…and slower. But he didn’t share that part with the rest of the rescue party.)

The compound wasn’t far from where Duke and Cassandra had been beaten and abandoned, but the reason they couldn’t find it afterwards was because it was underground, and seemingly cloaked with tech none of them had ever seen before.

“Alien?” Duke had asked as they neared it.

“Or bankrolled by some selfish rich fuck.” Jason countered. “We’ll find out if Bruce Wayne does a hostile takeover of any companies here in the next week or so, I bet.”

“Hm.” Bruce grunted. But it wasn’t a no, so they all shared one last pre-battle laugh anyway.

They circled the area for a moment, doing some last minute recognizance. “I hear at least twenty-five heartbeats besides Damian’s, Batman.” Jon called. He flicked to his x-ray vision. “And they’re spread between what looks like two rooms.”

“Evenly?” Tim asked.

“Mmm, it doesn’t look like it.” Jon decided. “Looks like a 70-30 split.”

“Damian?” Cassandra asked softly.

“Can’t tell for sure.” Jon scanned the space again, just in case. “One body looks like it could be him, and it’s in the room with less people.”

“Remember, Superman-” Bruce started, but Jon, suddenly out of patience, cut him off.

“I’m defense. You’re offense. I’m there to get Damian out and that’s it.” He rolled his eyes. “I know, Batman.” He curled his hands into fists. “Now are we just going to hover up here all day or are we finally going to go get him?”

There was a moment of silence. Then Bruce calmly, emotionlessly, stoically announced:

“On my mark.”

For as grouchy, bossy, and by-the-book Batman always acted – he was still just a big kid with big toys. And his mark wasn’t a word, but an action. And that action was turning the nose of the jet towards the ground, so he could crash land into the underground bunker of the freaks who’d kidnapped his son.

Jon grinned, and suddenly remembered why Batman was a lot of people’s favorite superhero.

He stayed off to the ship’s side, just in case. In case Bruce actually lost control of the ship, if any of the other Bats ended up hurt in the process. So he listened as the nose slammed into the earth for any screams of pain.

But all he heard was the screeching of metal, and the crashing of ceiling materials as the jet lodged itself into the roof of the compound. There were screams now, of surprise from the building’s inhabitants, and shouts for some to grab weapons.

One last shout from Stephanie as Bruce opened the cockpit, and the Bats began to file out like ants. “Oh fuck yeah, was that fun!”

Everyone was fine. Everyone was safe.

So time to do his job and find the one that wasn’t.

He dove through the lingering smoke, dodging bodies being thrown by the mini-army of vigilantes that had just arrived. Dodged weapons from the incoming henchmen as they raced into the room to help their colleagues.

Jon didn’t pay them much mind other than to notice that their clothing was a little off. There wasn’t any body armor or helmets. Just dark maroon robes, sashed belts. They almost looked like priests.

You know, if they weren’t running at him with guns and knives and…was that one carrying an unlidded jar of acid?

He didn’t care. The Bats could handle them.

He tried to remember what he saw with his x-ray vision as he weaved through the halls. Bruce had crashed into the room with the most people, so that stood to reason that the pseudo-priests Jon had seen were coming from the room with less people. The smaller room, the room where he thought Damian was.

Well, if those priests came from where Damian was, that was even less people to take out than he was originally planning.

He let Damian’s heartbeat guide him. And for a moment, he remembered when he listened for it after the ‘breakup.’ How he thought the slowness of it meant Damian was calm, relaxed.

God, how could he be so stupid? It didn’t mean he was calm. It meant he was fucking dying. How could Jon be so dense? How could he not notice?

He reached a closed door and could hear panicked voices behind it, could hear Damian’s heartbeat at the loudest it’d been so far.

The door didn’t stand a goddamn chance.

He recognized that Damian wasn’t near it, so kicked the door as hard as he could without a care. It practically disintegrated under the heel of his boot. He heard the other people in the room scream as they were showered with splinters but didn’t care. Didn’t care about anything else right now.

He let his heat vision take over his vision as he stepped into the room. There were three people in here, each holding crude weapons – a stick, a shattered bottle and a chair.

“Leave.” Jon ordered. The people cowered only slightly, but stood their ground. And Jon didn’t have time for that. “Or I’ll make you.”

They gave it one last moment to try and be brave, and any other time Jon might commend them for it. Try to talk them down, be more like his dad.

But this wasn’t any other time.

So he turned to the chair and used his heat vision to turn it to ash.

And that was enough. The other two dropped their weapons and held up their hands. Jon shifted out of the doorframe and watched them as they ran for safety.

He stared after them until they turned a corner, going away from the sanctuary Bruce and the others were in, a bonus of course, though he knew the Bats could have handled them. Then he quickly turned back, scanning the room.

It wasn’t a jail cell, or a dungeon. Just an empty, ugly, dark room. There was a table in the corner, and a TV that showed the field outside, acting almost like a window.

There was a closed curtain in the corner, that clearly hid an alcove of some sort. Damian’s heartbeat was coming from there.

Jon doesn’t know how he crossed the room. One second he was by the door, and the next he was at the curtain, slowly pulling it back. Did he float? Did he run? He didn’t know.

“Damian?” He whispered as he tugged the sheet away. “Can you hear…?”

The question died on his lips at the sight in front of him. It was Damian all right, half naked and huddled against the corner of this makeshift pantry. He was thin, so thin, like he hadn’t eaten in the month since he’d been taken. His hair was longer, past his ears, and dirty. The grease shone in the dim light.

There were bruises and cuts all over his body, some of them looked infected. His eyes were black and swollen, his lip split in multiple places. Dried blood caked along his nostrils.

But that might not have even been the worst part.

Though, really, was there just one single worst part? Were the heavy chains around Damian’s neck, wrists and ankles that latched him to the wall the worst part? Or was it the barrage of needle marks that twisted up his inner arms all the way up to his jaw?

Jon’s eyes filled with tears. But not from pain, like they usually did. Not from hurt or emotions.

From utter, blinding fury.

They did this to him. Those fucking fake priests that he’d just showed mercy to did this to him. To Damian. To the love of his fucking life.

He’d kill them. He’d go snap all their necks right now. Break every bone in each of their bodies and let them die slowly and painfully. Then burn them into ash and throw their remains in a dumpster.

He even felt himself take a step back, to do just that. But stopped when he heard Damian let out a wheezing exhale.

“Damian?” He asked again. Damian had never answered the first time. Was he even conscious? Was he aware of what was happening? He took the last few steps forward and kneeled, putting a hand on Damian’s shoulder. “D, can you hear me?”

Damian tensed at his touch and tried to jerk away, but just ended up bouncing his shoulder painfully against the stone wall behind him. When he looked up, his eyes looked almost feral, but them immediately softened as recognition took hold.

He blinked once. Twice. “…Jonathan?”

Jon swallowed the lump in his throat and nodded with a sad smile.

“What are you doing here?” Damian asked, even as Jon shifted his hand from Damian’s shoulder to his face. Damian’s skin was cold. “They…” Damian’s eyes were suddenly angry. “If they’ve laid a hand on you, I swear I’ll-”

“Nothing of the sort.” Jon promised. “We’re here to get you out of here. Take you home.”

Damian blinked and slumped back. “We?”

“Your family.” Jon explained vaguely as he let his hand fall, run gently over a scab along Damian’s chest. “God, I’m so glad I found you.”

“…I’m sorry.” Damian murmured, and Jon looked up at him in confusion. “I…I lost track of the days some time ago, but you must have been worried sick. I’m sorry for causing you any distress.”

Jon’s stomach twirled in guilt. Because he wasn’t worried, not at all. And was now the time to say that? To say ‘Oh, no, I wasn’t worried, because it turns out the psychopaths who kidnapped you pretended to be you and broke up with me.’?

No. No it absolutely fucking wasn’t.

“…Nothing is your fault.” Jon decided on. He reached forward and grabbed the collar around Damian’s neck, snapping it with a quick jerk of his hands. He followed suite with the chains around his arms and legs too. “Can you walk? Your family is taking care of the others, my only job is to get you safe.”

“…I don’t know.” Damian hummed honestly, eyes fluttering slightly. “And I don’t know if my body is strong enough to try right now.”

Jon looked back up at him with another smile. Less sad this time, more genuine. Let it reach his eyes. “No problem.” He returned his hand to Damian’s face, gently pushed his long hair out of the way. Without thinking, he leaned forward and kissed Damian as gently as he could, then pressed their foreheads together. “Jesus, I’m just…just so glad you’re alive.”

Damian scoffed a quiet laugh, and opened his mouth to retort, but suddenly there was a noise from the room behind them. They both looked back to see Batman storming in through the door.

“Superboy?” He asked as he stopped, glanced around Jon. “We…all good here? You found him?”

Jon squeezed Damian’s face just slightly before standing and turning back. “Yes, sir. Alive and well.”

Bruce nodded. “And the rest are taken care of. So let’s get the hell out of here.”

Jon nodded. “Can you help me get him up? I don’t think he can walk real well right now.”

Bruce seemed to hesitate, glancing past Jon’s shoulder again, but nodded, and took a step towards him.

And as soon as he was close, Jon grabbed the side of his head and slammed it through the closest wall.

“…That’s twice now you’ve gotten my name wrong.” Jon spit, looming over the man as he groaned in pain. “And that’s twice you’ve done a piss poor imitation of someone I care about.”

Batman looked up at Jon in confusion, borderline hurt. But then the eyes widened in realization, and instantly shifted from Bruce’s icy blue to a sickly yellow. “You.”

“Me.” Jon grinned wildly. “And I’ll admit it – you got me the first time. Because I had no idea what had happened, so of course, why wouldn’t I believe the phone call I was getting?”

Batman began to shift now, lose his muscle mass, his uniform began to change to a deep maroon.

“But then I was told the truth, and all the clues that didn’t make sense before suddenly began to piece together.” Jon hummed, picking the man up by his collar. He was much smaller than Bruce. Much thinner. Much older. “So when they said they were coming to kick your ass, I knew there was nowhere else I’d rather be.”

He slammed the man into the wall again, but held him there. Used his other hand to grab the man’s throat.

“Why.” He hissed. “Tell me why.”

The man choked slightly, feet scrabbling for floor, hands grabbing at Jon’s. “Lazarus.” He wheezed. “He…he carries the waters of Lazarus in his blood. I saw it in his eyes. The green of his eyes. In the field. I knew.” A cough. “I knew it was fate that we found him. He was the one who was going to make us immortal.”

Jon’s eyes widened. The needle marks. The acid the other man was carrying from this room. Experiments, no doubt. To get the magical Lazarus waters out of Damian’s blood that they believed was there.

But Damian was stubborn, and probably put up a fight. So they beat him into submission, tortured him, stabbed him with needles to drain him dry. But they couldn’t kill him, oh no. Because if Damian died they’d lose their chance at the power of the Lazarus Pit.

They were using him, like he was no more than a thing.

Jon’s nostrils flared. “I’m going to fucking kill you, you bastard.”

“…Beloved.” Damian whispered, and Jon found himself turning towards him without thinking. Damian looked tired, still slumped against that wall, head leaning against the stone. “Don’t.” He closed his eyes. “Just…leave him for Batman.”

Batman’s demands came rushing back. They were offense. Jon was defense.

Jon’s only job was to get Damian safe.

Silently, Jon nodded, but instead of dropping the man, gave himself one last piece of revenge, and threw the man across the room into the table and fake-window TV. The man gave a low moan, and it sounded like music to Jon’s ears as he walked back over to Damian, and gathered him into his arms.

Damian didn’t complain about being held, didn’t complain about being coddled. Just wrapped an arm around Jon’s neck and leaned against his shoulder.

“Thank you.” He whispered, and Jon just kissed his forehead, trying to ignore the mere fact of how much pain Damian must have been in. How exhausted.

But as he crossed the room, he stopped near the door, just once, and turned to the man.

He didn’t care who he was. What his name was. But he did care about one thing.

“Why did you call me?”

The man didn’t uncurl from his fetal position, didn’t even open his eyes. “Because we knew you would come for him.” He hissed. “The lovers always do.”

Jon blinked, and watched the man for a moment, before turning and walking out of the room, Damian a calming weight in his arms.

~~

It was a cult in that underground bunker, Jon learned later. One obsessed with becoming immortal so they could be gods. They’d kidnapped, tortured and killed at least ten people over the years before they took Damian, all for the same reason.

Jon honestly couldn’t care less.

After escaping the compound, Jon flew to a previously agreed upon spot in Geneva, where Batman had a safe house that Alfred had flown ahead to. He radioed onto the open line as he did so, and Duke, mid-battle, shouted an affirmative, and promise that they’d meet him there.

Damian could barely hold onto consciousness during the flight, and it only made Jon fly faster, to an almost dangerous speed.

Alfred met them on the balcony, and motioned for Jon to follow him after he landed. A penthouse in Geneva wasn’t exactly a hospital, so instead of a medical cot, Jon carefully laid Damian in an extravagant king-sized bed.

Jon helped where he could, which, admittedly, wasn’t in very many places. The thing he was best at, he found, was getting in the way. But, bless him, Alfred never chastised him. Never told him to move.

“This is almost a luxury.” Alfred had quipped at one point as he checked Damian’s IV bag. “Normally I’m trying to work around at least five anxious persons, not one calm one.”

Jon had tried to smile, but it didn’t come out right. Alfred seemed to understand, though, and just gave Jon’s shoulder a quick squeeze as he passed him.

Finally, Alfred proclaimed himself finished, having done all he could. He’d disinfected and wrapped wounds, given Damian painkillers and set up the IVs to replenish Damian’s fluids. The rest of his healing would come in time. For now, he’d be in the kitchen fixing Damian something gentle to eat, before preparing food for the rest of the rescue party’s eventual arrival.

Jon nodded, and sat at Damian’s bedside.

It was almost midnight by the time the rest of the Bats arrived. They explained to Jon and Alfred their investigation, and what the cult had told them. Got checked out by Alfred, came and checked on Damian, and then one by one, they each went off to another room to settle down for the rest of the night.

Jon remained at Damian’s side.

And he didn’t move. Not to sleep, he just laid his head on the mattress. Not to eat breakfast or any meal, just balanced it on his lap. He didn’t even get up to offer his seat when anyone came in to visit their brother.

He just sat there, staring at Damian’s battered face and holding his cold hand.

Damian didn’t wake up that day, or even the day after. He could tell the others were starting to get antsy about it, and agitated. What if Damian didn’t wake up? What if that cult had actually killed him, and he’d survived just long enough to see them all again? To get taken to safety?

So the Bats threw themselves into the investigation to distract themselves. Who was cult? Who funded them? Who had they killed?

Jon just stayed on his stool at Damian’s side.

It was the morning of the third day, some time before dawn. Jon had his head pillowed against his arm on the mattress next to Damian’s elbow, half turned to watch the moon reflect off the clouds through the balcony doors.

He listened as Damian inhaled, but paid it no mind. Not until: “…What are you doing?”

Jon sat up so fast he made himself dizzy. In the dim light, Damian’s half-lidded sea foam eyes almost glowed.

“W-what?”

“What are you doing?” Damian repeated groggily.

“I…I couldn’t sleep, so I was just watching the stars…” He started, but trailed off when Damian lazily waved a hand.

“I mean, why are you sitting on that stool?” Damian asked. He flopped his hand out to the open side of the bed. “There’s clearly space here. Even if you can’t sleep, at least let yourself be comfortable.”

Jon instantly dropped his gaze to his knees, and even half conscious, Damian noticed.

“Beloved, what’s wrong?” He asked sleepily, weakly reaching his hand towards Jon.

Jon pulled his hand away.

This time, Damian’s inhale was sharp. He pulled his hand back and dropped it onto his own stomach. “…Alright.”

“No, it’s not…!” Jon suddenly realized how that looked. Knew how Damian would take it. “I don’t…You didn’t…” He sighed, dropped his face into his hands. “I don’t deserve it.”

“What?” Damian asked. “Deserve what?”

“To hold your hand. To lay in your bed.” Jon groaned. “You.”

Damian hesitated, grunted softly as he shifted. “I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

“The day you went missing, they…that shapeshifter guy, he stole your phone and he called me. As you.” Jon closed his eyes, trying to hide even further. “He…he broke up with me as you. And I…it didn’t make any sense, it never made any sense to me, but I believed him.”

Another moment of quiet. “…Oh.”

“I know. I’m an idiot.” Jon lamented. “Because how could I not know my own boyfriend? How could I believe you would break up with me over the phone?”

“Or…ever.” Damian agreed. “Unless you want…”

“Or ever!” Jon cut off dramatically, curling his covered face to his knees. “How could I believe you’d do that, and not question it! Not question that you never answered your phone after that, never told anyone, never came back to Metropolis for any reason! Even dream you tried to tell me and I just…”

“Dream me?” Damian asked. Suddenly there were fingers stroking at Jon’s hair, and he held his breath. “You dreamed about me?”

“I thought about you every second of every day.” Jon admitted glumly. “I felt like such a loser, not being able to get over you.” He paused, curled into himself more. “For believing it all in the first place.” He shook his head. “I don’t even deserve to be sitting here next to you, Damian. I don’t.”

He felt Damian’s fingers stroke for a few more seconds, then heard Damian scoff a laugh.

“Jonathan, you’re so funny.”

Those fingers in his hair were instantly at his chin, tilting his face up and out of his hands. Damian, looking beyond exhausted, was smiling at him.

“Come lay with me.” Damian asked softly.

Jon stared up at him for a moment, let his eyes wander down the bandages and new scars, then back up. “You shouldn’t want me to.” He breathed. “In fact, you should break up with me for real, because I’m such a fucking-”

“Do you want me to?” Damian asked seriously. “Do you want me to break up with you? Would you like us to remain apart? Because if after this past month that’s what you’ve decided is best for you, then I will do my best to give it to-”

“No.” Jon said instantly. “No, I…” His breath trembled. “No, I don’t want us to be apart anymore.”

“Nor do I.” Damian agreed with a gentle smile. He laid his arm across the bed. “…Please.”

Jon stared at him for a moment, then sighed and stood, carefully floating over Damian to drop onto his other side.

Damian weakly reached up to pull Jon into his arms, like a child grabbing for a balloon, and Jon let himself be dragged into Damian’s side. Latched onto Damian’s waist and hid his face against Damian’s chest.

His heartbeat was loud now. Still slow, a little too slow for Jon’s liking, but loud, and right under Jon’s ear, right where it was supposed to be.

“I’m sorry.” Jon whispered, as he felt Damian kiss at his hair, gently run his fingers along Jon’s shoulders. “I’m so sorry, Damian.”

“You have nothing to apologize for. If anything, I should apologize to you, for what that shifting bastard did.” Damian hummed, and already Jon could sense he was falling back into unconsciousness.

Because he feels safe, Jon didn’t let himself think. He feels safe here with me.

“…I love you.” Jon breathed, closing his eyes, squeezing Damian as tightly as he dared. “I love you so much, Damian.”

“I love you as well, Jonathan.” Damian answered just as softly. “For as long as I live. No matter what anyone tells you, please always remember that.” He carefully laid his hand over the one Jon had on his hip. “…Thank you for finding me. For saving me.”

“Always.” Jon smiled, looking up at Damian. Damian’s eyes were already closed once more, his breathing evening out. “Always and forever.”

“Forever and ever.” Damian mumbled as he drifted off. Jon watched him for a few more moments, until he was sure Damian was asleep again. Then he leaned up and left a careful kiss to Damian’s cheek. Lingered for a moment, then curled up under Damian’s chin, clung to him like he was a giant teddy bear.

He let his boyfriend’s heartbeat lull him to sleep.

[fearfulkittenwrites]

Peaceful Afternoon - Family Bonding

Summary: What's the best way to calm down a bunch of crazed little bats? Apparently, a Lord of the Rings marathon.

Word Count: 2088

Notes: Hello! I'm slowly working my way to completing @3ambird​‘s batfam bingo. This is just fluff and Bruce being a good dad, because we're all in need of some comfort. Enjoy!

Bruce stepped into his home with an already loosened tie and his blazer in hands, handing it to Alfred as soon as he saw the man.

“Rough day in the office, sir?” The butler asks as he gently flattens and hangs the clothing piece on the coat rack at the entrance lounge.

“Yes.” He sighed, rubbing his temples “Is there any chance you could bring me some of your tea? I feel a headache coming.”

“A warm cup of tea will be coming right up, master Wayne.”

“Thank you Alfred.” He smiles at the man “I’ll be in the TV lounge.”

“Sir, I must warn you that the kids are watching TV at the moment.” Alfred says.

“Oh?” Bruce raises an eyebrow “Are they being too loud?”

Alfred thinks for a moment.

“They are unusually quiet sir.” He answers “I’d be careful around them.”

“Well,” The man tilts his head to the side “I’ll check on them. If I’m no longer there, then I’ll be in my room.”

“Very well master Wayne.” Alfred smiles “It should only take a moment.”

Bruce walks slowly to the TV lounge, examining all of his home’s details on the way ; the complicated patterns on the wallpaper, the ripples of the carpets, the harshness of the fabrics the curtains were made of. Removing his tie completely, he rolls it around his fingers carefully and sticks it in his pockets, right before walking into the room he’d been looking for. He wasn’t sure on what he was expecting to see, but the scene in front of him had him pleasantly surprised.

Dick sat at the left corner of the couch, being the one closest to the door, with Duke sitting on the ground directly in front of him, eyes closed as Dick massaged his scalp and neck. Damian sat quietly next to his oldest brother, sketching a new art piece. Cass sat by the youngest’s side, sharing a blanket and cuddling up with Tim. Jason, who was also sitting on the floor, had Tim’s legs thrown over his shoulders as he squeezed his brother’s calves lightly, eyes glued on the TV.

“Hey B.” Dick smiled at him softly and Duke opened his eyes to look at the man “Rough day?”

“A little.” He breathes deeply as he rubs the back of his neck “What are you kids doing?”

“Nothin’ much.” Dick spoke again “There was a Lord of The Rings marathon on TV, so we just... left it there. I think today’s been rough on everybody.”

“I see.” Bruce nods “Do you mind if I join you?” A bunch of ‘no’s and ‘go ahead’s were slightly murmured as Bruce sat down on the armchair close to Tim’s end of the couch. The man took a quick glance at the TV “Have they already-”

“Shhh.” Tim interrupts “Don’t spoil it for Cass.”

“Ah, Alright. I’m sorry.” He sets his eyes on his (unfortunately) not-so-little girl, noticing how Cass seemed a little pale “Is everything alright Cass? You seem a bit... off.”

She nods.

“Cramps.” Dick explains from across the couch, rubbing his own belly, right above his pubic bone, just to drive the point home.

“Oh.” Bruce blushes a little.

“C’mon, old man,” Jason teases, tapping his leg “Don’t get all flustered over your daughter’s period.”

“I’m not flustered, I just... didn’t mean to be invasive.” He straightens his posture.

“I don’t mind talking about it.” Cass says, with a small smile “It’s okay.”

“That’s good.” The man replies, leaning back on the armchair.

It only takes Alfred a few seconds to come in with the tea after that. All of them quickly recognize the scent of his medicinal blend, having needed it many times before.

“Headache?” Dick asks “I can give you a massage if you want to.”

“Yeah, just take my spot.” Duke offers.

“Don’t worry boys.” Bruce smiles “The tea helps enough by itself.”

“Alright. But if you change your mind...” Duke says, allowing his sentence to trail off as he relaxes into Dick’s touch once again.

Bruce can’t help but gawk at the film’s beautiful scenery. The only members of the family that didn’t care much for the movie were Damian and Duke, for different reasons. The younger boy wasn’t particularly fond of fantastic stories with surreal elements, finding them silly more often than not. Although he could stand Lord of The Rings, he never really made it through the whole thing, getting bored, distracted, or falling asleep halfway through it.

Duke had much milder feelings. He had watched it once and that was enough. He didn’t see any reason to rewatch such a long movie. However, Duke didn’t seem to hate the idea of having it on while he received head scratches and massages from his cuddly brothers. Bruce smiled to himself at that, looking at how Dick and him got along well, at least in moments like this.

His eyes wandered back to Cass. She seemed endlessly entertained by the movie, sometimes whispering questions about the plot to one of her brothers. She was hugging one of Tim’s arms, head resting on his shoulder. He occasionally turned around to nuzzle his face into her hair. The teen had a habit of doing that to just about anyone he felt comfortable enough to touch when given the chance.

Jason seemed equally entertained. He loved a good story, whether it came in the form of a book, a movie or a TV show. Bruce noticed that whenever he was having a hard time he revisited his favorites, seeking the comfort of predictability, so it made sense that he was watching this today, after Dick’s statement. Jason counted Tim’s toes mindlessly, giving each of them a light squeeze before moving on to the next, starting it all over again once he reached both of his pinkies.

Bruce’s eyes set on his oldest son again. His little circus boy, Dick. Noticing how he had grown into a good man made his heart swell with joy, even if the emotion came with a prick of pain. His little boy, all grown up, caring for his younger siblings. Bruce couldn’t believe how lucky he was to have found them. How lucky he was for having such an amazing family, how lucky he was that they had accepted him as their father.

Bruce was sure he was the happiest man alive. His heart was filled with love, to the point where it spilled out through his eyes, getting Dick’s attention.

“You big sap.” He mouthed at the man, no sound coming out through his lips. Bruce wiped a lonely tear away from his face with a smile, bringing his attention back to the movie. Dick knew him too well by now.

Bruce pressed his hands together under his chin, trying to hide the love that insisted on falling down his cheeks.

Eventually, the man dozed off in the middle of the first movie. He woke up when they were halfway through the second, looking at his watch and being taken aback by the time. He looked around, noticing that Damian was now asleep on Dick’s lap and Duke had brought out his computer, sitting at the armchair opposed to Bruce’s, brow furrowed in concentration. Jason was still on the floor, eyes fixed on the TV, but had moved on from Tim’s feet, using his limited knowledge on pressure points to help with Cass’ cramps, carefully pressing her feet while both of them paid attention to the movie. Tim had also fallen asleep, head hanging back on the couch and one arm around his sister’s shoulders.

Bruce checked the watch again, biting the inside of his lips. They should be getting ready for patrol by now and yet... he didn’t feel like it was fair to pull his kids away from this moment of tranquility. Dick’s eyes met his.

“It’s okay.” His son reassured him in a whisper.

“No.” Bruce says in a soft tone “You guys take the night off. I’ll call up Batwoman and Spoiler, we should be able to cover enough ground if Oracle is able to put in a little extra work.”

“B, it’s okay, I’ll go with you.” Dick replies, voice still quiet so as not to disturb the kid sleeping with his head on his lap “I’ll just tuck Dami in and we can go.”

“No, please.” Bruce stands up “This is clearly a rare moment. You need to enjoy it Dick. We’ll be fine.”

“B,” Dick insists “I need this just as much as you do.”

“Are you talking about patrol or...”

“Both.” Dick looks up at him “I’m tagging along, whether you want me there or not.”

“Alright then.” Bruce nods.

“Great.” Dick smiles “Now let’s take this sleepy boy to his bed.”

Slowly, he slips out from under Damian, carefully picking him up.

“Hmn don’t... I can walk...” Damian murmurs, face already buried in Dick’s neck.

“I’m sure you can.” Dick chuckled, adjusting the boy’s weight, one hand around his brother's waist and the other under his thighs, supporting him. The kid wrapped his arms around his brother’s neck lazily, with a weak and loose grip, almost falling asleep again in his oldest brother’s hands.

That wasn’t lost on Bruce’s eyes, who walked behind them, hands in his pockets. The man opens the door for his kids, waiting patiently next to the bed as Dick removes Damian’s shoes and pulls the blankets over his body. Both of them pressed a quick kiss to the boy’s forehead before walking out of the bedroom.

“Damian has really warmed up to you, hasn’t he?” Bruce starts.

“I guess so.” Dick shrugs, smiling at the ground “He’s a good kid, he’s just been through a lot. I try to remind him he doesn’t have to do things by himself all the time anymore. That he can lean on us.”

“That seems to be working.” Bruce smiles at his son, who retributed the look with some uncertainty “Hey, I mean it.”

“I know you do, it’s just...” Dick sighs “Sometimes all of this can feel... a little hopeless.”

“I can understand that.” He looks at his son. Bruce can understand that so well “But it’s in the little things, you know? Like right now,” He keeps going, lookin at his own shoes as they make a turn on the manor’s endless hallways “The way Damian allowed you to carry him, that was...” Bruce takes a deep breath, shaking his head slightly “He is being vulnerable around you.”

“You think so?” Dick asked, biting the inside of his lips.

“I know so. His arms,” Bruce says “When he threw them around your neck, he didn’t do so to hold on or to balance himself. Damian trusted you to hold him, and simply relaxed into your grip.”

Dick raised his eyebrows as he walked through the office’s door.

“You notice a lot of details.” Dick smiled.

“What can I say? I can’t turn the detective skills off.” He chuckles, joined by Dick’s snort “I really wish I could be more like you to him.” He stops walking.

“What are you talking about, B?” Dick frowns a little.

“I wish I knew how to be... caring.” Bruce sighs “I have no clue on how you ended up as good at it as you are today, considering… well, everything. But I’m glad you did. At least they have someone who knows how to... hold them. I’m sorry that I couldn’t do the same for you.”

Dick swallows.

“Hey, um, don’t beat yourself up over this kind of thing, okay?” He lightly touches his father’s arm “You are caring Bruce. You did hold me.” He pursed his lips. Both of them had teary eyes now.

“Not like I should have.”

“No one’s perfect. But you were there when I needed you, and that’s what counts.”

“Stop.” Bruce says, biting the insides of his mouth so hard he could taste blood “Stop... making excuses for me, Dick. I’m... I’m apologizing.” He takes in a deep breath “I know that all the damage I may have caused you won’t magically go away because I recognize that it’s there, but for what’s worth, I’ll try to do better. To be better for you.”

Suddenly, Dick surges forward, wrapping his arms around Bruce. As they hugged, Bruce could feel his son crying.

“Thank you.” Dick whispers “Thank you. I love you, dad.”

“I love you too, son.” Bruce whispers back, turning his head to plant a kiss on his cheek “So much.”

Hey! If you got here, please consider reblogging. It would mean the world to me. Also, if you’d like to be tagged in future works, just shoot me a message.

Take care friend!

[loxare]

A Talon By Any Other Name

Chapter 8 - Trust

When Tim woke up, still sandwiched between Dick and Hood, Alfred was already there. Without waking the Talons, he performed a quick medical exam, checking his cognition and reflexes, his stitches. “Well Master Red, it appears Master Hood did a fine job. The stitching was done well. Won't eve scar. However, you are not to go on patrol for at least a week. Concussions take time.”

He nodded, knowing that he would probably be able to sneak past Alfred's all seeing eyes in around four days, but only if he didn't show any indication of wanting to leave between now and then.

And now he was stuck. The Talons were still sleeping on him, and if he moved, he would wake them.

He wanted to let them sleep. But he really needed to use the washroom.

Carefully scooting himself forward, he winces when Dick shifted, then woke up. “Hm? Red? Good morning!” He rubbed his eyes, then flung his arms around Tim's shoulders, smacking Hood in the face as he did so. Which, surprisingly, didn't wake him.

Tim tried to pull away, but Dick didn't let go. “Dick? Could you let go please? I need to go upstairs.”

“No. I'm hugging you. Last time you went up there, you got a concussion.”

Oh. “It's safe up there now Dick. Batman and Agent A are home.”

Dick gave a long “hmmmmmm”, but eventually released Tim. Before he could jump off the bed though, Bruce walked in, wearing sweats and his cowl. It looked really weird. “Wake up Hood. We need to talk.”

Tim nodded and shook the still-asleep Talon, planting a bug on him at the same time. He wouldn't be allowed to listen. He knew this. But he was going to anyways. The first moment he got, he planted one one Dick too.

Once Hood was awake and he and Dick were heading to the interrogation room, Tim stuck his comm. in his ear and headed upstairs. He really did need to use the washroom.

“I want to start by saying thank you for saving Red Wing last night. The kidnapper is in police custody, and they're working on getting a confession out of him.” Bruce leveled his gaze at Dick. Hood was out in the hall, waiting his turn. “But you've been here for a week now, and we haven't talked about... your previous activities.”

This was it. Whatever Dick, and Hood, in a bit, said here, that would tell Bruce how much he could trust them.

“We haven't. What did you want to know?”

“Start at the beginning.”

Dick shifted uncomfortably, but he obeyed. He started with his own initiation. Three weeks of punishment-heavy training. His first outing, which he failed spectacularly. His mental conditioning. The four or so years where he did assignments, slaughtered people, occasionally dropping off packages and warnings.

He skimmed over meeting Hood. Just basic details. Bruce thought that was odd, but it wasn't important for what he was asking for right now. Dick obviously thought the same.

The next four years, where he rebuilt his shattered soul into something that Hood could maybe be proud of. “I wanted him to be proud to know me, and, just maybe, proud to call me his brother.” He staked out his targets longer, not going in for the quick kill. He took them when they were alone, so he didn't have to kill off any bystanders. He moved the corpses, so they weren't found by the victim's children or spouse. He skimmed over meeting Red Wing too, which was fine. Bruce already knew most of that.

It was a gruesome account. Long and horrid and Dick spared no detail. Bruce collected names, which he would check against official records later. He thanked him again and sent him out.

He didn't call in Hood right away. Everything Dick had told him... It enraged him. That the Court could do this, and to a child not yet eighteen, was inhuman. Of course, from what Dick said, they weren't seen as people. Not as living things. Just as tools, to be used and thrown away when they became too inconvenient. And by people Bruce considered his peers at that!

He had known the Court existed. Had for years. But to learn that it consisted of Gotham's wealthy elite... he didn't know what to think. Of course, Dick didn't have any names to give him. The Owls all wore masks, didn't use names in meetings. But they were still people Bruce rubbed elbows with at every gala he held or was forced to attend.

He took a deep breath. Once he had his emotions under control, he opened the door and let Hood in, asking him the same thing he had asked Dick.

Hood started with training with Dick, but not much after his outing. From how he described the mental conditioning, the Court had used a high concentration of Scarecrow's fear gas to speed it up. From there, he described his first year of assignments, how he met Red Wing, his entire span of time at the Court. He had been “punished” a lot, much more than Dick had been. Actually, Dick had never mentioned getting punished outside of training, but from what Hood was saying, it was a regular occurrence for him. Mostly mouthing off, refusing to kill women, children, bystanders.

Like Dick, he spared no detail. And like Dick, after Hood left, Bruce had to try and reign in his emotions. Tried and failed. With a roar, his fist slammed down on the table, sending notes, a recorder, and fourteen pens flying.

He swore, right then and there, to bring down the Court. No, not bring down. Dismantle. Destroy. By the time he was done, there wouldn't be a trace, a hint, a whisper of their existence. They would never lay their hands on the Talo- no. They weren't Talons anymore. He didn't know what they were, but “not Talon” seemed like a good place to start. And the Court would never get to them ever again.

He swore.

When Hood woke up, he wasn't where he had been. He had been leaning against Dick, sleeping, tired after a long day of reliving his time in the Court, followed by beating up every practice dummy Batman had to forget it. He currently was horizontal, on the most comfortable surface he'd even been on, with a quilt above him and absolutely no one nearby.

He leapt out of the bed and on top of the wardrobe. It had a good view of the door, and the rather large windows. It was a good place.

After a half hour (according to his inner clock), the door opened and Agent A walked in. With barely a glance at the bed, he strode over to the curtains and flung them open. “Master Hood, if you could get off of the wardrobe. It is sturdy, but even Victorian furniture cannot hold up to that kind of abuse for long.” He wasn't even looking at Hood, how did he know he was up there?

Carefully, Hood dropped off the wardrobe, more mindful about damaging it than he had been going up. “Where am I?”

“You are in one of the Wayne Manor guest rooms. Master Bruce carried you up himself.” He started bustling about, pulling the sheets and quilt back into pristine smoothness.

“Who?”

“Ah. My apologies. Master Batman carried you up.”

Wayne Manor. Master Bruce. It took him a second, but only because it was so unbelievable. “Bruce Wayne is Batman?” Seriously?

Agent A straightened up, and in a completely dry and remorseless tone, said, “Oh dear. You figured it out. Such a tragedy. Whatever shall we do?” He ventured back to the door and held it open. “Breakfast, Master Hood?”

No matter what, Hood wasn't one to say no to food, shocking revelations or not. Bats – Bruce – and Dick were there, as was Red, who introduced himself as Tim Drake. And apparently, Agent A was Alfred Pennyworth. Huh.

During that breakfast, Hood learned a bunch about the two crime fighters. He learned that Tim was thirteen and doing pretty well juggling school and late-night crime fighting. It was a lot easier now that it was summer though. He had figured out who Batman was more than six years ago, through a combination of stalking, intuition and luck. After his parents had died (not the Court, a private contractor by the sounds of it), he had been adopted by Bruce and eventually, become Red Wing.

He also learned that he should not ask Bruce why he had become Batman and that Tim would explain it later. But Bruce had been Batman for almost a decade. He had heard of the Court years ago, but was finding it incredibly difficult to pin them down. But, the information they had given him yesterday would be a lot of help in dismantling them.

Batman being Bruce Wayne also explained the kidnapper yesterday. The Court probably had no idea of the vigilante's identity, but they had probably been trying to get the billionaire to join them. It happened like that sometimes. They would kidnap a potential recruit's loved one(s), then threaten their safety until the recruit was in too deep to go to the police. Or until they thought that what the Court was doing was right. One of the two.

Breakfast was delicious, as all of Alfred's cooking had been, with the added bonus of being more than the butler could carry downstairs at one time. The table was full of things like bacon and eggs and pancakes and cut fruit and more things than Hood could name. He didn't know what this fluffy, flaky bread thing was, but it was shaped like a moon and he liked it.

After all the food was consumed, there was a stretch of awkward silence, while Bruce waited for the Talons to ask the question they wanted to; while Tim flicked his eyes between the three of them, clearly wanting to tell them before they asked; while the Talons tried to phrase it right. Finally, Hood just blurted out, “Why are we up here?” And shrank back a bit, waiting for Bruce to realize that, no, they shouldn't be up here, get back to the Batcave, or better yet, go into the cells. Clearly, trusting a Talon is a mistake.

Bruce's eyes softened with something indiscernible at Hood's reaction. “You've already been upstairs. And better yet, it was to save Tim. From what he can remember, you didn't even take a good look around before you took him back downstairs, and the security cams I have in the study concur. Clearly, you didn't care to find out my identity. Therefore, you can be trusted with it.” He sat back, taking a sip of freshly refilled coffee. “Not to mention, Tim and Alfred have taken a liking to you.”

Tim leaned in, and in a whisper that clearly carried over to Bruce, confided, “He likes you too. He'll just never say it.”

Dick looked satisfied with the answer, and for the most part, Hood was too. But in the week that followed, he was still waiting for the other shoe to drop. For Bruce to decide that this was a bad idea. For him to lock them up. It was one thing for them to be confined to the Cave. All the entrances and exits were jammed full of security measures and other painful-but-not-fatal things. He could pick up Mr. Freeze's gun, from his first heist, and freeze them solid.

But time wore on and none of that happened. They went to and from the Batcave when they wanted, or when Bruce had company over. It happened a few times: someone from Wayne Enterprises would come calling about something that “absolutely could not wait”, and Dick and Hood would head down to the Cave. Right up until they got bored and perched themselves in a shadowy corner of whichever room the meeting was in. Bruce always noticed them immediately, and spent the entire time trying not to smile at them. The board members were always oblivious.

Sometimes, Bruce would call them into the Batcave to ask them more about the Court, its day-to-day operations, the Talons, the Owls, their time there, and the average treatment. It was during these last two that he started taking breaks, every dozen sentences. Hood couldn't figure out why, and ended up going to Alfred for an explanation.

“What was done to you, young sir, was simply atrocious. Master Bruce is leaving because he needs to master his emotions. He worries that an outburst would upset you.” The butler was his usual stoic self as he ran a cloth over the trophy cases, but there was a hint of anger in his tone when he talked about what was done to the Talons.

Sure, the Court hadn't treated them well, and turning ten-year-olds into assassins was horrifying, but all the other stuff? The punishments and training accidents? They didn't matter. Hood was a Talon. Dick was a Talon. They healed. Sure, Hood would jump in front of a bullet to spare his... brother the pain of an injury, but even if he didn't, Dick would heal. Hood would heal. What happened with Joker was different.

He was still confused a few days later when – during tea time, which Alfred insisted upon – he heard something. A high pitched sound that was strangely... hypnotic...? “Do you hear that?”

Dick stumbled into him, rubbing his ear. “I do. It's a little... floaty.”

“It is.” It was.

Bruce grabbed his chin and snapped his fingers in front of his face. Frowning, Hood made a noise of protest and batted his hands away. “What is it? What do you hear?” Already, he was pulling out a tablet computer. It was probably connected to the Batcomputer, ready to analyze the sound.

Dick stood up. “It's really, really high pitched and it sounds like a song.” He started walking, towards the door, with Hood following.

He stopped when Tim put a hand on his chest. “Wait, where are you going?” He looked worried. Why? It was such a pretty sound.

“Over there Timmy! The sound is coming from Gotham and it's so nice. I want to find it.” Dick started picking at the fingers splayed over his chest. Sleepily, Hood gracelessly landed his elbow on Dick's shoulder and did the same. They had to go find the sound, but they both needed to go.

Suddenly, a horrible screech exploded behind them. Hood cried out and covered his ears, but the noise slipped past his hands and straight into his brain, like a dagger. He fell to the ground, barely registering the movement beside him as Dick did the same. The world went black.

“What did you do to them?!” Bruce had pressed a button on his tablet, and then the Talons had blacked out. Tim knew that whatever Bruce had done was intentional, he just didn't know if the Bat had intended for the Talons to go unconscious when he did it. Most likely not, but you never knew with him.

Bruce carefully put the tablet on the carpet, then started checking Dick's vitals. “The computer noticed an incredibly high frequency sound blanketing Gotham, inaudible to anyone except some infants and, apparently, these two. Anyone with perfect hearing. I had it calculate a counter frequency.” He moved on to Hood. “We should probably get them to the Cave. We have soundproof ear plugs there.”

Tim nodded and carefully, they pulled the Talons downstairs. There was a bit of difficulty on the stairs which had them leaving Hood upstairs while both of them carried Dick down to the medbay, then going back up. The ear plugs were specifically designed to block out certain frequencies of noise, while letting in others. They were mostly for use against Pied Piper or Man-Bat, allowing Batman or the Flash to fight them, to hear what the villains and bystanders were saying, without being affected. They were in final testing stages.

Plugs in, Bruce went to the Batcomputer and blocked out the frequencies for the unknown sound, and the one that the computer was still spouting. Almost immediately, the Talons woke up.

Dick was the first to sit up. Hood just rolled over and pulled his pillow over his head. “What happened? I remember a song...”

“We're still triangulating the source of that. And don't take the plugs out of your ears. Those are the only things keeping you from going to find it again.” Bruce stared at the Batcomputer through the medbay window as he said this, as if constant observation would cause the search to go faster.

“The Court... They still haven't gone after the Joker, have they?” At Tim's mostly confused nod, Dick continued, “That song... I think it was a Call.” Dick looked thoughtful and just a bit... scared?

Pulling the pillow off, Hood sat up. “A what? I've never heard of that.”

“A Call. It was before your time, but a Talon once defected. Skipped a kill, tried to give the police information on the Court. Before he could give up anything incriminating, the Court sent out the Call and he went back.” Tim didn't have to ask what had happened to that Talon. He'd listened in on Bruce's interrogations of life at the Court, even though he wasn't supposed to. Most likely, he'd been thrown into the Bay.

Hood's face took on a frightened cast as well. “But that means...”

“That they know we're alive. Probably that the Bat has us. And they want us back.” Oh. Dick and Hood had every reason to be scared.

After quite a few minutes of mostly brooding silence, Batman said, “If you want, we can go after them. I have almost everything I need to take them out, thanks to you two.” He left for a minute, coming back with a rather large piece of paper. “I drew this map based on what you told me of the labyrinth. The areas we should focus on would probably be the punishment room, the cold storage chamber and the Parliament room.”

“And the records room. That has everything we'll need to get the police involved.” Dick pointed out.

Hood snorted. “The records room, which we've never been to and don't know for sure exists.”

“It exists, and I'm fairly sure it's behind the Parliament chamber. See here,” the acrobat pointed to the map, “there's a blank space. A big blank space.”

“Couldn't it be something else? Sewer access? Or a really deep basement to a skyscraper?” Tim didn't think so, but it was a good idea to ask.

“Not sewer access.” Hood stated. “The Court is deeper than the sewer. As for a deep basement, possibly. But one owned by the Court. They wouldn't allow anyone to get that close to them. Dick is right. This one is our best option.” He paused. “Why do we need to go to the punishment and cold storage rooms?”

“To destroy them.” Batman said it as if it were obvious, as if he didn't know why Hood was asking.

This just confused the Talons further. “Why?” asked Dick. “When we finish the Court, those rooms will be useless. No one will know they're there.”

Tim sighed. Neither of them understood. “It's fine Dick. It'll just make us feel better, that's all. What happened to you in those rooms... It wasn't right. If we do this, we'll feel like at least some of the injustice towards you two has been righted.”

Dick nodded, but Hood still looked confused. That was fine. He'd understand later. For now, “What's the plan Bats?” Bats? He'd never called Batman Bats. The Talons were clearly rubbing off on him.

Bruce raised an eyebrow at the name, but continued focusing on the map. “According to Dick and Hood, the Court holds weekly meetings in the Parliament room. If we can sneak in there, we can place a few canisters of stun gas around the perimeter. Once they're all knocked out, we can cuff them, unmask them, start finding evidence. Unfortunately, a good portion of the members will be able to use their influence to get out of a prison sentence, but hopefully, the police will have enough time to cripple their base of operations before then. The Court may resurface, but they won't have anywhere near as much power as they do now.” From the look on his face, Batman had no intention of letting the Court resurface.

Red Wing and the Talons nodded. Then, Dick took over the briefing, seeing as he knew the most about the Court's goings-on. “The Court will have as few as two Talons awake, more probably four. It's unlikely they have more than that out of cold storage. All that's left are the older Talons, and they don't last too long once they're past their prime. Of the ones awake, one will be guarding the entrance to the labyrinth. The other entrances are trapped. They all set off alarms if they're even touched. All except one.” He pointed to a spot, on the opposite side of the original entrance. “I found this one ages ago. It's a bit tricky to get to, but it should fit us. You might get a bit stuck tough Bats.” Bruce looked down at his muscles with a hint of surprise. Tim just smiled. There were advantages to being small.

Dick smiled as well, then went back to the brief. “Another will be wandering the labyrinth. We'll have to be very careful not to run into him. If we do, we'll have to fight, and that will make noise. Noise that will carry through the halls, straight to the Court. There might be two wandering the halls, sometimes the Court needs two Talons for assignments, and another one guarding the Parliament room. It's not likely, but we should prepare for it.”

Batman nodded and took over again. “So, we go in, place charges in the punishment room, and in the cold storage room. Head to the Parliament room, subdue the Court, find the records room. Once the police have collected everything they need from the labyrinth and figured out what to do with the Talons, we'll detonate the charges.”

A sudden idea popped into Tim's head. “Batman, can we place charges on the ceiling too? In strategic places of course. Flood it with sewer water once we're done.” Batman didn't comment, simply gave a quick smile and a nod.

Grinning at the suggestion, Hood stood up. “Well? What are we waiting for? We've got bad guys to catch.”

[umbrellajamming]

#eventually dick just lets tim sleep but then carries tim home thrown over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes #since tim's “too tired to grapple himself” #neither of them are getting enough sleep but Dick's more used to it (@pokeberry5)

late night/early morning stakeout