#he gets a growth spurt during Red Robin but he still tops out at like 5’7 imo

[sing-me-under]

Recently read Shadowpact. Initially read just for Laura Fell, but I really liked this team. DC Universe only has the first 16 issues, so I’ll have to dig around for the last nine issues (I believe it’s 25 issues long?). Laura is so adorable?? Like she’s so sweet and easy to get along with… without the whole supervillain corrupted heart magic thing, that is. Her characterization in Robin is kinda… ya know. But if I ignore that and focus on Shadowpact, she’s easily one of my favorites.

[sparkypantaloons]

Mosaic

Tim hadn't even particularly liked Jason. They hadn't had the best introduction and nobody could say Jason was easy to get on with. But Bruce loved Jason and Tim loved Bruce. If Bruce needed to keep his promise to make it through, then Tim would make sure that he did.

Batman needed Robin. Even if they aren't who they were.

~

Bruce is in his study. Tim hasn't seen him in hours now. Doesn't dare try the door, can only assume it's locked. 

The older man lasted the morning, at least. Much longer than Tim had thought he would. And if the others noticed the tightness in Bruce's jaw during lunch, they didn't comment on it. Just like nobody commented when Bruce excused himself for the afternoon. Locked himself away in Bruce Wayne's cave, rather than Batman's. 

Tim sighs, picks up a lone roller skate. Faded red with silver lightning bolts down the side. It's tiny, must have belonged to Jason when he first arrived at the Manor. Eleven years old and yet to hit a growth spurt. 

Tim looks for the second skate. Rummages through the last of the debris in Jason's closet. The dregs of a childhood cut short, gathering dust for far too long. 

There are board games and stationery and magazines. Old clothes and broken trinkets and hand-me-downs from Dick. There are more notebooks than Tim can count, with stories and homework and case notes scribbled in them. One of them is full of <i>Jason Peter Wayne</i> and <i>Jason Todd-Wayne</i> written over and over again, like the eleven year old was testing them out. But most of what else is here is just teenage rubble. Little worth keeping. No second roller skate. 

Tim places the first carefully on top of the discard pile. They can't give away just one, after all. Clicks a photo on his camera. 

It's taken the best part of two days. Many hands make light work, but none of this has been light. Not just the emotional toil, the mental upheaval of clearing out a life cut short. But the physical too. Getting rid of Jason's old bed had nearly done Bruce's back in. Even with Dick and Tim's help. And Jason has— had... so many books, that they've filled five boxes already. Tim knows he'll feel every one of them tomorrow. 

The room, once all that was left living of a story half told, is nearly empty now. There's the bottom of the closet left to clear. The last few boxes to take to the charity shop. A few posters still on the wall. Little left to say that Jason Todd-Wayne had lived here. Had a home here. A family. However unconventional. 

Tim thinks Bruce is taking it pretty well, all things considered. 

He'd eventually agreed to clear out the room, strip it bare, ready for redecorating. End its days as a memorial shrine. He'd been doing well until Tim had found the marks on Jason's door frame. One for Bruce, six foot two, aged— the number has been scribbled out. And one for Jason, five foot four and a half, aged twelve and three quarters. 

Bruce had let his fingertips rest over the scrawled handwriting. Had stood there a little too long. Eyes wet and wistful. 

He had an old copy of Treasure Island clutched to his chest. Fat with damp and age. A one eyed teddy bear squeezed between his fingers. Threadbare and worn. 

Jason had come with these to the Manor and Bruce couldn't bear to see them go. 

"A photo." Tim had suggested, gently moving Bruce so he stood against the frame. The last thing they needed after two days of work was Bruce deciding he couldn’t go through with it because of a doorframe. Tim snapped a picture of the older man, still six foot two, next to his name still scrawled in the wood. 

The room looks strangely sad once it's empty. The walls a faded mosaic of where posters and furniture have been removed. The carpet still flat where wooden legs have stood. 

The windows are open, and the fresh air of the spring evening brings light to the otherwise heavy room. 

Tim stands in the doorway, snaps a photo before he leaves. Just as a little insurance. In case Bruce can't bear the changes they've made. Tim will upload it all into a file, create a time lapse of the changes. Somewhere for Bruce to revisit. If he needs to... 

~ 

The next day the contractors come in. They rip up the carpet and strip the walls. The ensuite gets knocked through and the old light fixtures swapped out ready for new ones. 

Bruce is conspicuous only by his absence. When 4pm rolls around and he still hasn't shown, Tim finally caves and checks on his whereabouts. Bruce had promised to see this through, after all. The computer shows that Batman never came home last night. Is holed up in his Crime Alley safe house from the looks of it. 

Tim tries not to think about the first time he trailed Bruce there. The way the older man was slumped in the shower. Bleeding and sobbing and delirious with grief. Begging to join his boy. It was a long time ago now, Tim tells himself. Bruce wouldn't be that reckless again. Not after so many years. 

Besides, it had been Bruce's promise to change the room. Make it new. Exorcise the ghost of Jason's childhood, that still haunted that corner of the Manor. He had promised to see it through. Even if it was Tim who had become the driving force. Always the one to pull Bruce back from the brink, help him to get the job done right. Batman still needed a Robin. Even if neither of them are who they were.

So it's Tim who spends all day lurking in the corridor outside Jason's bedroom. And Tim who the contractors call when they make a discovery. 

At some point during all of the deconstruction they find another bundle of notebooks. Wrapped in newspaper and string and hidden behind a loose floorboard. 

Tim doesn't throw them out like he did the others. But he doesn't look at them either. Fifteen year old Jason still deserves his secrets, no matter how long he's been gone. Instead, Tim puts them in his own bedroom, in the hidden drawer of his desk. For safekeeping. 

He doesn't tell Bruce. 

~ 

It takes the contractors a couple more days to fit the new bathroom, lay down the new floor and prime the walls. Then Bruce finally reappears. Paint bucket under one arm and Damian's hand in his other. 

Dick is behind them, holding onto Bruce's shoulders and steering him through the door. The lightness in Dick's eyes a direct contrast to the tightness of Bruce's jaw. 

Tim turns on an old radio, he and Dick lay down giant dust sheets to cover the new wooden floor, and then together the four of them begin to paint. 

When Jason originally moved in, Bruce had let him decorate his new room as he pleased. It was Jason's first after all. But Jason was eleven, so two walls had been black and two a garish red. Now they're slowly turning a cool mint green. A soothing balm over the fading past. 

It only takes a few hours for Bruce's jaw to slacken. For him to engage in the banter with more than grunts or nostril flares. When Cass comes up at lunchtime with sandwiches he actually smiles. Though he always has one for Cass. Tim tries not to think about it. 

They work past sunset, eager to get three coats on before they call it a day. Damian sits on Bruce's shoulders to carefully make sure the paint meets the ceiling. Tim and Dick are relegated to the floor. Lie awkwardly on their sides, tiny paint brushes in their hands. The wood beneath them hard and uncomfortable. 

When they're finished, the room looks very minty. Maybe even... too minty. The thought makes a hysterical laugh bubble up in Tim’s throat. He snaps a picture of the empty room when they're done, and leaves before his laughter escapes. 

~ 

On the sixth day they move in the new furniture. A modern, king sized bed, to replace the four-poster eleven year old Jason had chosen. It has a headboard made from a repurposed pallet, that Damian has skilfully decorated. Tim can't tell if they're meant to be birds or leaves, but against the mint of the wall it almost looks like a garden. Nice enough. Tim thinks. 

They bring in a new dresser and the refurbished bookshelf from Martha's old reading room. Fill it with Jason's favourite books from the library. The only concession to the room’s former inhabitant that Tim would allow. Damian has painted this as well. Little pictures that will only show when a book is taken from the shelf. A little gift for the reader. 

Next to the bookshelf they create a reading nook. A giant armchair and footrest. Covered in cushions, and throws, with a luxurious rug underfoot, and a warm lamp and side table to boot. 

Tim snaps another picture. Reckons he'd have been a pretty decent interior designer in another life. 

By dinner time they're done and Tim whips out the final flourish. A small bird seed table that sticks to the outside of the window. 

"For the Robin's." He tells Bruce, sprinkling sunflower seeds on the little tray. 

Bruce squeezes Tim's shoulder but doesn't speak. For once, Tim doesn't need him to. 

~ 

On the seventh day, Jason comes home. 

He's still in his hospital gown. His broken leg propped up in the wheelchair, toes poking out the end of the cast. The nasal cannula wraps around his ears, passes the scar where they shaved his head and glued his skull back together. It runs down to the oxygen tank on the back of his wheelchair. The bruising around his jaw and his eyes is a sickly yellow colour now, no longer the awful black they'd been when Tim had found him. But the swelling has gone down at least. His eyes are still bloodshot, where the capillaries have burst, making his irises a striking green. His mutilated rist and missing fingers are hidden below layers of bandages. He looks small in the chair. He's lost weight in the hospital. But he's here. He's alive. 

That's all that matters, Tim thinks. 

Jason offers a small smile when the family greet him at the door. Dick and Steph hold a welcome home banner between them, Damian at Dick's other side looking furious with the balloons he's holding. Duke blows a party horn and is popping party poppers and Cass steps forwards to offer Jason a giant Bat-plushie. Jason lets out a weak laugh, wincing slightly as it jostles his broken ribs. 

“Babs is sorry she couldn’t be here.” Dick says. “But she’s challenged you to a race down the drive when you’re ready.”

Alfred pushes Jason carefully into the Manor, and the rest of the family subtly retreat as Bruce steps forwards to greet his son. Tim lingers. Watches as Bruce crouches beside the wheelchair, eyes level with Jason's, his hand on the back of the younger man's head. "I'm so glad you're here, son." Bruce murmurs, his other hand finding Jason's. 

Tim doesn't hear Jason's reply. Looks away awkwardly as both men wipe at their eyes, whisper quiet words to each other. Tries to ignore the ache of longing in his chest. 

When Bruce stands up, Tim steps forwards. "Congrats on not dying again." He says, with more levity than he feels. The sight of Jason's mangled body still follows him sometimes. Tim's not sure this patchwork version is much better. 

Jason shrugs his good shoulder, tries to feign an air of nonchalance. "I made a promise, didn't I?" His voice is still hoarse from where he screamed his throat bloody. 

Tim nods. Follows as Bruce pushes the chair through to the dining room to join the rest of the family. 

They have tea and cake and cucumber sandwiches, but Jason has only had half a cup when he starts to flag. 

"I'll take you up." Bruce says, noticing the younger man's exhaustion. 

Jason shakes his head. "Five more minutes." He says. He beckons Tim over. "I can’t— Tim, if it's that room, I can’t—“ His words come out staccato, like he's a robot learning to speak. 

"Don't worry." Tim soothes. "I took care of it." 

Jason nods, jaw tight. Looking for all the world like Bruce and entirely unconvinced. 

"I made a promise too." Tim reminds him gently. 

He doesn't hear Jason's reply. Bruce re-appears and wheels him from the table. 

~ 

Tim is in the Cave. He’s going over the case file again. It's the only way he sleeps these days. A terrible bedtime story of how Jason Todd-Wayne was nearly lost to them a second time. If Tim studies it enough, he can see all the opportunities he nearly missed to figure out where Jason was being held, can identify all of the discoveries that were just flukes. Can make sure he never cuts it that close with his family's lives again. 

It's not that he even particularly likes Jason. They didn’t exactly have the best introduction and nobody would say Jason was easy to get on with. But Tim loves Bruce and Bruce loves Jason. Tim loves Dick and Alfred too and they love Jason as well. In the worst possible way, Jason gave Tim this family and whatever has happened between them, Tim owes the man for that. If keeping Jason safe and whole and here keeps them together, then that’s what Tim will do.

Besides, he thinks. The family of my family, is family.

It’s getting late, or early. Nearing 3am, so he clicks off the computer. Heads up towards the house. Bruce had cancelled patrol tonight. Had asked Luke and Kate and Helena to take care of things. For once, everyone had been in agreement.

Tim finds himself wandering past Jason’s new, old room. The door is slightly ajar, light spilling out into the hall.

He knocks lightly, pushes it open.

Bruce is asleep in the reading nook. Head back and mouth open, snoring softly in his robe and slippers. Jason watches him from the bed, like he can’t quite believe he’s there. Surrounded by the machines and wires keeping him stable. Keeping him alive.

“Want me to get him out of here?” Tim asks quietly.

Jason’s eyes slide to Tim. He shakes his head.

Tim walks over to the bed, hands Jason the bundle of notebooks, wrapped together in paper and string. Jason looks at him wide-eyed. “Where did you—?” He stops when his voice cracks.

Tim shakes his head. “The guys who did the bathroom found it.”

“Did you—?”

“No.” Tim says, perching on the end of the bed.

Jason’s fingers on his good hand tremble, as they slowly pull at the string tying the bundle together. He unwraps the paper. There’s a leather notebook with the Wayne insignia on it. An old symbol Bruce’s grandfather had used. The notebook is stuffed full of papers. Jason opens it slowly.

“Bruce gave it to me.” He says quietly. “When I first moved here.”

He pulls out his adoption certificate, near enough pristine apart from the crease in the middle. There are photos as well. Some of Jason and Bruce, some of Bruce and Dick, that were clearly taken by Jason. Lots with Alfred and with Ace. There are some of Jason’s mother. Of his first day at school, long before Catherine fell sick and Willis turned mean. Where he’s barely five and toothy grinned, a giant mop of curls atop his head. There are letters his grandma wrote him, before she passed away. Birthday cards and Christmas cards and at least two Hanukkah cards. Jason draws a shaky breath, as he spreads them about his lap.

“I can digitise these for you, if you like.” Tim says, carefully picking up a picture of Jason and Bruce, bundled up in the snow. A deformed looking snowman stood between them. Jason has always had so much more of Bruce than the rest of them. Than Tim.

Jason flinches. “I— Tim.” His voice breaks. “Why?”

Tim shrugs. “Then you can look at them whenever. On your phone and stuff.”

Jason shakes his head. “No, I mean…” He gestures to the room, to himself. “All this. Me. Why are you…”

Tim stares at him. Thinks of the way he had looked when Tim found him. Limbs twisting away from his body, blood bubbling at his lips. The glassiness of his eyes…

Tim’s seen dead bodies before, saw his first at the circus, all those years ago. Jason’s was different. It wasn’t the thought of losing the man himself that had hit Tim in that moment. But everything else Tim would lose because of it. That they’d lose Bruce again and permanently this time. Tim would lose Bruce and then Dick would become Damian’s father, instead of Tim’s brother, and Alfred would lose himself in the sorrow of losing Jason and Bruce both, and why would Cass stay if Bruce wasn’t here to be her father and then the only family Tim had left would all be gone. All because of Jason.

“I tried to kill you.” Jason finishes desperately when Tim doesn’t speak.

Tim shrugs. “Ages ago.”

Jason stares at him incredulous. “This room.” He croaks. “It’s—“

<i>I didn’t do it for you.</i> Tim wants to say. <i>I did it for Bruce. For my… for my Dad. Mine. Not yours.</i> Because Jason had rejected Bruce, rejected him over and over again in a way Tim never could. But Bruce needed Jason. Needed him alive and home and safe. So Tim needed him that way too.

Bringing him home was the only way it would work. The doctors had made clear that Jason was still in very real danger. That without constant care and support his condition could easily destabilise. That he might never recover as it was. 

Bruce was desperate, but Jason refused. Couldn’t do it. Couldn't go back to the Manor with the ghost of his childhood still haunting the halls.

“If I had lived it wouldn’t even look like that now.” He had sobbed, half delirious on pain meds, to Tim one night. “I would have changed it. But he just wants me stuck as that stupid kid forever.”

“What would it have looked like?” Tim had asked. “I’ll sort it.” Tim had promised.

"Don't worry about it." Tim says, dismissing the words that Jason can't get out. 

Jason looks pained, opens his mouth to say more. A loud grunt from behind cuts him off. The two of them turn to Bruce.

He blinks at them bleary eyed, confused by his own snoring waking him up. “What time is it?” He asks.

Tim checks his watch. “Half three.” He says.

“Jason.” Bruce stumbles towards them. “Are you okay? Why are you up?”

“‘m fine.” Jason says quietly. He’s turned his attention back to the photos and cards and letters in his lap.

“What’s all this?” Bruce voice is tender, as he sits himself next to Jason.

Tim rises, excuses himself. Leaves the two of them to each other and their memories. The part of Bruce’s life Tim will never be part of. Limbs and heart aching as he climbs into bed. The week finally over.

He falls into a deep and empty sleep.

~

Tim wakes the next day to his curtains being pulled open. Sunshine spilling across his face. “S’too early, Alfred.” He rolls over, moans into his pillow.

A large hand runs over the back of his head, calloused fingers through his hair. “It’s nearly four, Tim.” Bruce says softly. “Time to get up.”

Tim tries to detangle himself from his sheets. Twists under Bruce’s hand so he can see the older man. “Where’s’Alfred?” He mumbles, wiping his eyes.

Bruce runs his hand over the back of Tim’s head. Lets it rest on his shoulder. “He’s helping Jason with his dressing change.”

“Oh.” Tim blinks.

Bruce drops his eyes. “I know these last few months I’ve been—“ He cuts himself off, squeezes Tim’s shoulder. “I know I’ve been focused on your brother.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Tim says, cutting off Bruce’s apology. He doesn’t need to hear it. Doesn’t care, particularly. Has long since made peace with his rank in the hierarchy.

Bruce frowns, drops his hand. “But I do worry about it.” He says. “I worry about it a lot.”

Tim doesn’t know what to say to that. So he doesn’t say anything.

Bruce holds a hand to Tim’s face. Looks at him with a small smile. The kind of smile that makes the corner of his eyes crinkle. The kind that Tim can count on one hand how often has been directed at him. It makes his stomach swoop. 

“I know I don't say it very often, Tim…” He clears his throat. “But I’m so glad you’re here, son.” 

The words sound as soft to Tim’s ears as freshly fallen snow. Soothe the longing in his chest, if just for a moment. He holds his hand over Bruce’s, gives him a smile in return. “Me too, B.” He says. “Me too.”

[kumeko]

rumour has it

Prompt: wonderbat, meet bruce’s kids, animated universe

Characters/Pairings: WonderBat, Tim Drake, Cassandra Cain, Dick Grayson, Damian Wayne

A/N: Written for the WonderBat Valentine Exchange, for Shieldmaiden. Since I technically did “meet alfred” prompt

already, I picked the longer fic idea. Also, I know a mish mash of different animated versions of batman and I’m assuming that Cass is in one of them. Though I did not put Jason because I really don’t care for him.

Summary: Every single one of Bruce’s kids had the same question to ask Diana about her relationship with Bruce.

…

…

…

…

i. Dick

“Wonder Woman, huh?” Robin landed softly on the roof next to her and if weren’t for his words, she would have barely heard it. Bruce had taught him well. “Don’t often see you in this neck of the woods.”

 Diana spared a glance at the boy next to her—the teenager looked short for his age and she wasn’t sure if that was a late growth spurt or if all of this late night crime fighting was taking its toll on his health. Another thing to ask Bruce about. “I don’t often have to meet with Batman in his home.”

 Robin cocked his head. “Right, the Justice League. You always meet in your headquarters, right?”

 “Yes.” She scanned the roof tops once more. No matter what time of day it was, Gotham looked grim. Even the sunlight reflecting off the glass windows during the day couldn’t make it seem above board. Now that it was night and everything had a layer of darkness over it, it didn’t take much to imagine the crime running virulent on the streets below. No wonder Bruce was reluctant to leave this place.

 She had already heard of Clark’s disastrous attempt to help out. This was a city that didn’t want to be saved.

 “As you can see, he’s not here right now.” Robin leaned against the rail next to her, looking down at the city lights. “But I can take a message.”

 Diana laughed, struck by the pure brazenness of the child next to her. She could see why Bruce was having a hard time with him; it was hard enough to watch Green Lantern, Green Arrow, and Batman interact in their headquarters as is. To have that repeated at home too? Pure torture. Perhaps that was why Bruce constantly looked dour.

 Though, next to this Robin, anyone would look depressed. The smile on his face hadn’t left once through out their entire conversation.  

 “Can you now?” Her lips curved into a grin and she gently rose in the air. “Then tell him he owes me one. I’ll collect later.”

 Robin’s eyes sparked curiously but he didn’t say anything. No doubt he’d grill Bruce later and it was a pity she couldn’t witness that.

 -x-

 ii. Cass and Tim

Thwack. Slap. Thud.

 Diana didn’t have to enter the training room to know exactly what those sounds meant. She had trained with the best of them and by now could identify just what moves made each sound. A kick. A punch. They all sounded one sided and when she opened the door, it didn’t surprise her to see Robin crash into a post with a sharp groan.

 On the other end of the room, Batgirl crouched in a stance, a hand in front of her, palm facing out. As the door creaked, she spun around, still in a stance until she spotted Diana. Then, just as quickly as she had turned, her eyes widened in surprise and she stood straight in attention.

 Truly, despite all the magic and death and rebirths Diana had seen, the most amazing miracle was how much expression a mask could show. The white eyes, though firmly fixed to cloth, somehow seemed to stretch and shrink with the wearer’s mood. Perhaps she should get one herself, just to see what it’s like.

 “Cass, what are you—” As Robin slowly stood up, he followed Batgirl’s stare until he saw Diana. His eyes scanned her up and down several times before he finally squeaked, “Wonder Woman?”

 “Yes?” Diana chuckled; she had forgotten what it was like to be with the younger heroes. It had been ages since Donna had left this stage. “You can continue.”

 “No, no, that’s fine.” Robin quickly brushed his clothes and cape for any speck of dust before standing stiffly next to Batgirl. “What brings you here?”

 “I just needed to ask Batman something.” It was strange, she had seen Robin interact with Superman before and he hadn’t looked half as rigid as he did now. Was this an image thing or maybe she just hadn’t spent enough time with heroes that weren’t in the league? “But I guess he’s not here.”

 Robin made a great show of looking around before quickly shaking his head. “No, he’s—”

 Batgirl signed something, her fingers running through a series of shapes. Processing them, Robin turned back to her. “He’s with Superman right now, something about a toy and a giant robot?” He trailed off, rubbing his head. “Maybe Oracle could patch you through?”

 “It’s fine, it’s not important.” Turning to Batgirl, Diana smiled. “Your stances were great. I could hear it.”

 Batgirl blinked. “You…hear…” After starting and stopping a few times, she gave up and started signing with her hands. Quickly, Robin translated. “You could hear it?”

 “Yes. When you’ve fought enough, you can hear it.” Diana slid into her own stance, her arms extending out. “Do you want to hear?”

 “Oh.” Robin swallowed, his head bobbing up and down faster than his adam’s apple. “Yes, that would be awes—” Reading Batgirl’s next series of signs, he frowned. “You want to what?”

 “Spar?” Diana guessed with a grin. She’d heard about Cassandra Cain, about the girl who was more weapon than human. With her upbringing, she had a taste of what that could be like. How hard it was to read a motion and not think of what dangers it posed.

 At least, judging by Batgirl’s eager nod, she seemed to be learning what it meant to be human again as well. While she was sure it wasn’t all Bruce’s credit, it surprised her a little. Even Robin’s demeanor surprised her. The lone wolf of the justice league had a surprisingly warm family.

 “There’s no way,” Robin scoffed, laughing awkwardly as he rubbed his neck. “I mean, you’re Wonder Woman, and we’re sidekicks at best and—”

 “And what better way to learn?” Diana extended her arms, shifting her feet until her weight was centered. “Even if you have Batman, I’m sure I can teach you a thing or two.”

 Robin bit his lip, looking torn. Beside him, Batgirl tugged on his sleeve insistently. “Come Cass—”

 She took off her mask, her dark, sweaty hair tumbling around her shoulders. Dropping the apparel, she signed something furiously.

 “But—”

 “Yes. Do.” Cassandra glared at him and despite her halting English, her expression spoke more than enough words.

 “Fine, fine, got it.” Robin held out his hands in front of him in surrender. Picking up his staff off the ground, he held it in front of him. “We accept.”

 Despite his hesitation, his expression was just as determined as Cassandra’s and Diana nodded in approval. Good. “You can both come at me together.”

 “We have to,” Robin answered depreciatively. Next to him, Cassandra signed something and his ears turned red. “Cass! I can’t just ask that!”

 “What?” At Diana’s question, Robin’s skin flushed a darker red and she raised a brow. “What is it?”

“Nothing,” Robin squeaked, his voice high. He quickly slid his own stance, his staff close to his side. “Let’s just fight. Now.”

 -x-

 iii. Damian

 “This is not your cave.”

 Diana looked up and found the latest Robin perched on a ledge above her. Batman’s cave felt more like a rabbit’s burrow than a bat cave, with multiple tunnels in and out and ledges upon ledges for vehicles and supplies.

 And now, sidekicks. “I would not keep a cave.”

 “That’s because you don’t have anything.” Gracefully, Robin leapt off the ledge and tumbled through the air before landing softly on his feet. His mother’s teachings were well-honed in his body and Diana remembered a much younger Cassandra Cain. If she had been a blade, he was a dagger.

 And if Bruce was hoping he would turn out like Cassandra, then he had his work cut out for him. It was hard to change someone who did not want to. Who did not see the problem.

 Standing up, Robin crossed his arms. “You have a primitive island and even that doesn’t want you anymore.”

“I was told that you lacked manners.” Diana’s brow furrowed, involuntarily frowning. “Shall I teach you some?”

 “Manners are for guests and you are not one.” Robin glared back, completely unintimidated. Despite his cheerful red and green colour scheme, he looked more like a hawk than a robin.

 She wasn’t sure if she should be surprised or unsurprised that Bruce was actually this Robin’s father, unlike the other adopted sidekicks. Not for the first time, she was glad that Cassandra Cain and Dick Grayson were the heir apparents. Gotham might never be saved but she could only see it completely destroyed if left in this one’s hands. “Where is Batman?”

 “My father is out.” If possible, his glare deepened. There was a small dagger in his hand and Diana blinked. Just when had he pulled that out? “I don’t know what you’re planning with him, but—”

 “Okay, okay, hold it right there.” Dick Grayson leapt out of a nearby doorway. His hair was in a disarray and his suit was rumpled, as though he had sprinted out of a business meeting to get here. Catching Robin’s hand, he shook his head. “Let’s not threaten Wonder Woman.”

 “Grayson.” Robin turned his glare up. “Do not get in my way.”

 “We’ll deal with your daddy issues after.” Dick sighed before smiling up at her. “Sorry about that, he’s a little overprotective.”

 “A little?” Diana raised a brow, a finger tapping on thigh.

 “A lot,” Dick corrected easily, successfully worming the dagger out of Robin’s hands. “And don’t worry, I’ll make sure to teach him some manners.”

 Robin growled, annoyed. “I already know my manners, and I will not allow father to be taken in by—”

 Whatever he was about to say was cut off by Dick pressing his hand against Robin’s mouth. “We really don’t need to hear the rest of that.” There was a loud chomping sound and he winced. “And he bit me.”

 iv. Bruce

 Diana wasn’t sure if she liked the space tower more than the old headquarters on earth. There was something distant about the structure now, something out of humanity’s grasp. Still, she had to admit it had a nice view.

 It seemed Batman agreed because he was standing next to one of the floor length windows, staring down at Earth. Quietly, she came to a stop next to him and gazed down at the bright blue-green orb. “I didn’t think you were one to take in the view. No matter how nice.”

 “I’m not,” he admitted easily, still staring out.

 How very like him to not explain himself. Diana chuckled. “You know, I think your family has the wrong impression of us.”

 Batman didn’t say anything but she could tell she had his attention now. When they first met, she didn’t think she could learn to read him so well, this man who didn’t quite seem to know who he was. Only who he wasn’t. He wasn’t Bruce the billionaire player. Nor was he the stoic, cold-hearted anti-hero he liked to paint himself as.

 He was something softer than either, something quieter. But it would take him longer to realize what she could see. “They think we’re dating.”

 “Ah.” His posture straightened, his shoulders tense, and she could read the hesitant question on his mind.

 Later, she would tease him about it but right now the moment felt fragile. She grabbed his gloved hand. “I don’t know what has taken us this long.”

 His lips curved up and he laced his fingers through hers. “It is a nice view,” he agreed, and she laughed.