Chapter Text
Can’t breathe.
“Jason.”
Can’t breathe, can’t breathe, can’t scream
“Jason.”
It’s dark, it’s so dark, everything hurts, can’t BREATHE
“Jace!”
Jason sprung awake with all the violence of a startled animal, slamming his forehead into the nose of the man hovering above his bed. Dick reeled backwards, swearing violently. “Fucking hell, Jay!”
“What did you expect?” Jason grumbled, shaking off the last of his grogginess. “You startled me.”
“You were having a nightmare.” Dick replied, slightly muffled through his pinched nose. And – huh – that was a lot of blood. “I was trying to wake you up.”
“I can handle a nightmare, Dickie-bird.” Jason said. Dick tried to smile, and winced. “Fuck, is it broken? Let me see.” And then he was scrambling from his bed, gently prying Dick’s hand from his rapidly purpling nose. “Damn.”
“I’ve had worse.” Dick mumbled. “It wouldn’t even be the first time you’ve broken my nose.”
Jason smiled, a little weakly. The moment he felt Dick let his guard down, he reached up and snapped his crooked nose back into place. Dick yelped, a little strangled, and slapped Jason’s hand away. “That was uncalled for.”
“Don’t be a baby.” Jason retorted. “Now, what the hell are you doing in my apartment?”
“Well, I’m back in Gotham for the week and I thought I’d come and see one of my favourite brothers!”
“And your other favourite brothers are…?”
“Tim and Damian.” Dick’s grin was sheepish. “Hey, you’re all equals in my heart.”
Jason grimaced. “You’re unbearable.”
“Just come with me to the manor for the weekend. I promise we won’t suffocate you too much, but it’ll be good to have everyone in one place for a while. Apparently Damian’s injured so he couldn’t avoid us if he wanted to. And you know Alfred would be thrilled.”
“Don’t you use Alfred against me like that.” But Jason was already gathering his things, shoving them into a ratty backpack with a sort of grouchy determination.
“Have I missed anything fun in the past few weeks?” Dick threw himself onto the bed, visibly vibrating. Jason raised an eyebrow.
“No.” He said. “Babs and Cass decided they wanted to learn how to bake, and somehow managed to incinerate Alfred’s favourite oven gloves. They’re still trying to make it up to him. Tim’s on his way back from Metropolis now. Bruce asked him to deliver a message to Supes, and something about a Daily Planet reporter. Damian got an A on his book report, but that’s because I wrote most of it for him.”
“Hold up. Bruce willingly contacted Superman?”
“Yeah, it’s a whole thing.” Jason zipped up his backpack. “Supes asked the Bat for help, and as much as Bruce pretends he doesn’t care, he obviously melted at the first sight of that chiselled jawline.”
Dick huffed a laugh. “How do you even know this?”
“Oracle let Tim and I watch the whole thing. It was great.” Jason shrugged. “And afterwards, Bruce told Tim to go give Supes his private number.”
“And because he’s Tim, he’s probably known Superman’s home address and legal name since he was ten, or something.”
“Bingo.” They left the apartment side-by-side. Jason didn’t bother to lock his door, and Dick didn’t mention it. As they left the building, stepping out into the dreary Gotham light, Jason found himself drifting a little closer to his brother. In spite of himself, he’d missed Dick’s company.
The manor was quiet, when Dick and Jason arrived, which was never a good sign. Sharing a silent look of agreement – figure out where everyone is, now – they walked with forced calm towards the entrance to the Cave. As they approached, though, they began to hear raised voices.
Dick frowned. “Is Bruce yelling?” And they broke into a run.
Bruce was, indeed, yelling, at a harried-looking Tim. Jason ducked out of view, and Dick quickly followed. They shared another glance, this time of concern.
“—reckless, irresponsible—”
“—I was just doing what you’d asked me to do—”
“—you know better, Tim, you’re the—”
“—I’m not a child, it was a calculated—”
“—you’re supposed to be the one I don’t have to worry about!” Bruce finished, explosive. Jason winced. So did Dick. And Damian, who was watching from the medbay across the cave. Tim’s face crumpled for a fraction of a second, before smoothing into a mask that put Batman to shame.
“I apologise.” Tim said, voice level. “It was my mistake.” And he strode out of the cave, sparing a glance at his brothers as he passed.
“It was.” Bruce’s expression was pinched, and grew impossibly grim as Jason and Dick emerged from their hiding spot. He faltered, for a moment, and then stalked off. The boys watched him leave, tense.
“What the hell happened?” Jason asked, something sour curling in his gut.
Damian glanced up. “Drake confronted Luthor. Father called it an ‘unnecessary risk’ which is pathetic, frankly.”
Jason gaped. Beside him, Dick sucked in a tense breath.
“It wasn’t as bad as it sounds.” A voice grumbled. Tim had returned to the cave, now clutching an energy drink. He slumped into the chair before the batcomputer. “I went on behalf of Wayne Enterprises. I was already in Metropolis, it made sense.” He took a long swig of his drink.
“That sounds… incredibly reckless, Tim.” Dick said.
“And now you sound like B.”
Dick shuddered. “That wasn’t what I meant and you know it.”
“Whatever.” Tim muttered. “How are you holding up, Dames?”
Damian scowled. He’d been forced into bed, where he had been bandaged up and now languished in equal parts pain and indignation. “I don’t see why this is necessary.” He grumbled, pulling at the bandages on his legs. Dick shot him a look.
“Stay put. We’ve gotta make sure you weren’t hit with anything too weird.” He said. “And those burns are nasty, Dames.”
Jason snorted, in spite of himself. “Yeah, you’re lucky that your uniform actually has real pants, brat. Any other Robin and we’d have lost our legs.”
Tim glanced across from the computer, an expression of vague amusement on his face. “I did always wonder about that. I used to get some serious wind-burn on my legs and I, at least, wore tights. It’s not a very practical design.”
Dick spluttered. “Hey, I’ll have you know it was a perfectly fine design!” All three of his brothers stared at him, incredulous.
“Dick, you know the Robin costume is ridiculous, right?” Jason said. Dick’s expression grew more offended.
“Yeah,” Tim offered, thinking, “Almost like it was designed by a nine-year-old who grew up in the circus.”
“It was Dick’s fault?” Damian said, incredulous.
“Did you guys really not know that?” Dick asked, rubbing at his face. “You think Bruce came up with something like that? I stole most of that costume from my old Flying Grayson leotard. I thought it was cool!”
“Dick, you thought discowing was cool.”
“Shut up, Tim. I mean, you all wore it, you can’t think it’s that bad?” He seemed a little defeated, and his brothers shared a glance. Damian cleared his throat, offered a weak smile.
“It is an honour to wear the Robin suit.” He said. Dick beamed. “Although I would not ever fight crime with bare legs.”
“Dick, it’s a traffic light nightmare.” Tim said. “I hated wearing it. But I didn’t care about the costume, I cared about Robin. And Batman. That’s what matters.”
Dick turned to Jason, expression hopeful. Jason shrugged. “The costume is one thing on a long list of grievances I have with Robin,” He said. “But, y’know… Robin was magic.”
The grin Dick gave him was wide and toothy, and something deep inside Jason eased, a little. Damian’s hand crept towards his bandages again, and Jason smacked it away. “Do you want permanent scars?” He said, incredulous. Damian scowled.
“Why did Batman allow it?” Tim asked absently. They all turned to him. “The Robin costume, I mean. Nowadays, it’s three layers of body armour and defence mechanisms. When we were Robin, it was just fabric. Very skin-tight fabric.”
Dick’s eyes flickered to Jason. They all fell into silence. Jason wanted to believe Bruce had been forced by his death to protect Robin better, but Tim hadn’t had any more protection than Jason. Tim’s face twisted somewhat, a flicker of doubt that Jason didn’t miss. He felt a surge of pity: Tim still hadn’t shaken that sense that Bruce just cared less about what happened to him than to his brothers. The one he didn’t have to worry about.
“That was on me.” Jason offered. “Pretty sure the old man got plenty more paranoid after I came back from the dead and started my second life by beating the crap out of a Robin.”
Tim scowled. “You caught me on an off day.” He muttered, but something of the tension in his face had eased. He squinted at the computer screen. “Hey, my plan worked.”
“And what plan was that?”
“This.” He typed for a moment, and the screen filled with images and text. “Full access to the parts of Luthor’s network that Oracle couldn’t get to.”
Jason peered at the screen. “This is… impressive.”
“As I said,” Tim cracked his knuckles, “Calculated risk. I’m doing this for Superman – surely that justifies pretty much anything.”
Damian tilted his head. “Is father really assisting the alien?”
“To an extent.” Tim said. “I mean, he would never admit it, but he trusts Supes as much as I’ve seen him willing to trust anyone. He’s even trusting him with his identity, that’s a big step, right?”
“What?” Dick said. “Why now?”
Tim frowned. “I thought it was kinda weird, but I didn’t question it.”
Jason paused. “Tim,” He said, something dawning on him. “You’re certain that Bruce knows Superman’s civilian identity, right?”
“Yeah. If I figured it out then Batman definitely did. Besides, he told me to go to Metropolis and give Superman his… number…”
“What?”
“I’m trying to remember if he mentioned Clark’s name at any point.” Tim’s face scrunched up. “But if he doesn’t know then why would he give Superman his personal number? The only people that have that number are family – but all the family are vigilantes so maybe he – oh. Oh God. He doesn’t know. Guys, I think I fucked up.”
Dick was visibly cracking up, and Jason raised a smooth eyebrow. “Bruce doesn’t know who’s on the other end of that line?” He said. “But it doesn’t matter because Superman knows who we are, right?”
“I thought he did.” Tim looked distressed. “I thought – with the super-hearing and the x-ray vision – but maybe he really was just trying to write an article!”
“Oh, Timmy,” Jason grinned. “You’ve created the most convoluted fucking dilemma I’ve ever seen, and that’s saying something.”
“What do I do? Bruce is already mad at me!”
“You want my advice,” Dick chipped in, “Let them figure it out. Bruce deserves a little humiliation, and they might actually come out the other side of this friendly with each other.”
Tim glanced at all of their faces. Jason was thriving in the potential for chaos, and Damian just looked vaguely baffled. Dick was still grinning, his cocksure smile that was guaranteed to make Timmy cave.
“Fine.” He cracked his knuckles, turning back to the batcomputer. “Back to work. It’s time I found out exactly what CADMUS is.”
--
Kon’s face didn’t change.
“That sounds normal, right?” Clark asked. Again. “Is it alright? Should I send it?”
“You. Are. So. Weird.”
“I just don’t want to make a bad impression.” Clark glanced down at the phone he had in a tentative grip. One side of it was slightly buckled, from a previous incident of thoughtless-super-strength.
“Clark, he gave you his number, he probably wants you to use it.” Kon’s voice was flat. He’d sat through Clark’s fretting before, and as always was unimpressed. “Only thirteen-year-old girls overthink a text message.”
“Fine.” Clark hit send.
Tim gave me your number. thank you
Maybe not his most smooth line, but it functioned. He tossed his phone onto the counter-top, face down. Hopefully Bruce was in no rush to reply.
“I don’t get what he sees in you anyway.” Kon grumbled. “I bet it’s your muscles. You’re too thick to draw anyone in with your wit, or your shining personality.”
Clark raised an eyebrow. “What’s with the attitude?”
“I’m sick of looking at your face.” Kon said, slouching further into the ratty couch. “And I couldn’t leave even if I wanted to.”
Kon’s kryptonite poisoning had been getting worse. He was functionally powerless, with barely enough tactile telekinesis left to lift the weight of a brick. He’d cut himself on a kitchen knife the day before, and spent the rest of the day locked in his room listening to painfully loud music and sulking. “I’m working on it, Kon.”
“Are you?” He seethed. “Because I don’t see you out there now, trying to get my life back. You’re in here, fretting over a text message to your crush like you’re in high school! And you know my name is Connor!”
Clark frowned. “I’m not doing this with you.” He said, strained.
“You’re not doing anything with me!”
“I didn’t ask to suddenly have responsibility for a teenager—”
“Believe me,” Kon interrupted. He rose from the couch, cheeks flushed. “I’m very aware of that.”
“Where are you going?”
“I don’t know.” Kon stormed to the doorway. “Away from you.” And then the door slammed, and Clark was alone.
“Shit.”
His phone buzzed. With slight trepidation, he picked it up.
You’re welcome. -B
Have you made any progress? -B
He must mean the article. Clark thought for a moment before answering.
i hit a dead end, so I’m changing tactics. You have Tim to thank for that
Yes, I’ve spoken with him about his interference already. -B
he’s a smart kid. frankly i’m a little intimidated by him, but he does good work
Still. He should not have interfered. -B
go easy on him, he had the right intentions and it actually might be for the best
There was a much longer time, then, before Bruce messaged again.
How’s your kid? -B
He spared a moment to wonder how Bruce knew he had a kid, then remembered that Bruce Wayne was one of the world’s richest men. He’d probably done six separate background checks on Clark Kent, unassuming country boy.
we argued, he stormed out. not for the first time, either
A teenager? -B
something like that
Technically, Kon wasn’t even two years old. But for all intents, purposes, and legal documents, he was seventeen.
I’m new to the whole ‘parenting’ thing
It doesn’t get easier. -B
That was… reassuring.