Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The office that he was led into was just as utilitarian as the rest of the building, all sharp corners and harsh lights. If Bruce was here for an interrogation, he would probably be intimidated by the unsentimental, durable nature of the Bureau, the implacability of it all. As it was, he was confused and unsure of the nature of the meeting. Generally, Bureau agents would inform him of neutral locations where they could meet, not wanting Bruce Wayne to be associated with the FBI in any noticeable way.

He looked from the door to the desk and back again, waiting for someone to shed light onto the nature of this meeting. His last op had been successful, by any measure. Hurt was in federal custody, awaiting trial. The evidence that Bruce had collected during his visit to The Orchid would be instrumental in keeping Hurt locked away, for good. All four trafficking victims had been rescued. The case had been one of the more emotionally taxing cases that he had faced, in no small part because, when looking into the faces of the black-haired, blue-eyed orphan boys in The Orchid, he saw himself staring back. If he hadn’t had Alfred and his wealth to protect him …

He looked from the desk to the door and back again, wishing there was something to distract him from his thoughts. Otherwise, there was nothing to stop him from thinking of the awful depravity of The Orchid.

“Mr. Wayne?”

Bruce didn’t jump, but it was a close thing. He looked to the door leading into the office. Two agents walked in, and Bruce rose to meet their handshakes with his own. The first, Agent Jimmy Delgado, was familiar to Bruce from past operations. The second, a younger woman carrying a briefcase, was not.

“I apologize for the delay, Mr. Wayne,” started Delgado, in the clipped, professional lilt that Bruce had come to expect. “This is my colleague, Deborah Walter.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Agent Walter,” Bruce said.

She smiled. “Please, call me Deb. I’m not an agent, I’m the social worker assigned to the Orchid boys.” She sat at the desk and opened the briefcase, motioning for Bruce to sit in the seat opposite her. He did so, confused. Delgado remained standing – Bruce didn’t think he’d ever seen the man sit.

“I was glad to hear that they’ve been rescued,” Bruce said, for want of anything else to say. He’d never been involved in any of the post-op work. “I hope that they’re recovering.”

“They are,” Deb replied, flipping through the papers in the briefcase. “Thankfully, they are improving, and will likely be ready for long-term foster placement soon.”

She seemed to find the paper that she was looking for, pulling it out quickly. She closed the briefcase and looked at Bruce. “That’s actually what I’m here to discuss with you. Long-term placements.”

“I’m not sure that’s exactly standard protocol,” Bruce responded. She couldn’t be implying what it sounded like she was. “I don’t get involved post-op.” He leaned forward slightly, furrowing his brows.

Deb continued as if he hadn’t interrupted. “Standard protocol includes running DNA tests on victims who are unable to identify their parents. This is the result of the DNA test on the youngest boy, Damian.”

She slid the paper across the desk, towards Bruce.

He didn’t pick it up.

The paper was split into three columns. The first, a list of Loci. The second had Damian written at the top, with a list of allele sizes. The third, the allele sizes of Bruce Wayne.

The results were written halfway down the page, slightly to the right.

Probability of Paternity: 99.998%

He doesn't know why Talia lied to him.

He would have been ecstatic to grow his family, to take care of a child.

She didn’t have to say anything.

I had a miscarriage whispered carefully, over a burner phone whose number Bruce hadn’t blocked.

He hadn’t known she was pregnant.

He hadn’t heard from her since.

He shouldn’t be surprised.

He is.

They were polite enough to give him time to get over his initial shock, and he was polite enough to push down any other emotions as he was lead through the den of hallways and staircases and focus only on what Deb was saying:

His son was eleven years old.

His son had been trafficked four years ago.

His son spoke English, Arabic, Farsi, and Aramaic.

His son was extremely intelligent.

His son seemed to enjoy spending time with the therapy dogs.

He had a son.

They eventually stopped outside a nondescript door. Deb hesitated before saying, quietly, “He can be … rude, to unknown adults.”

She paused, gauging his reaction. Her face was tense.

Bruce said nothing, but nodded.

Deb continued. “He’s already been informed of your relationship.”

Bruce nodded again.

“Your first meeting will be monitored through a one-way mirror,” Deb added, waving towards a door down the hall. “Damian is aware of this as well. Do you have any questions or concerns?”

Bruce swallowed. “I would like to meet my son,” he said, staring at the door.

Something in her face relaxed at his words. She pushed the door open, then stepped to the side so that Bruce could enter.

The room seemed determined to make up for the drab utilitarianism of the rest of the building. The walls were bright blue, with white clouds painted intermittently and a smiling sun in one corner. The floor was the same harsh linoleum as the hallway, but a thin alphabet rug covered a large portion of it. The sofa and chairs were a bright, garish red, with fluffy yellow pillows and a large throw blanket piled to the side. There was a bookshelf along one wall, although half of the shelves were dedicated to various games.

In the center of the room stood his son.

Damian looked better than he had a few weeks ago, at The Orchid. He was clean, fully clothed, and appeared to have put on a few pounds. He didn’t have any obvious injuries, and his hair was shorter than it had been.

He still seemed just as wary as he had been during their first meeting, just as guarded. But he did not seem scared of Bruce, or angry at him. His palms were loose by his sides, his chin held high. His eyes did not leave Bruce.

“Father.”

Damian spoke in Arabic, the same language with which they had communicated at The Orchid. He was staring intently at Bruce, seemingly searching for something.

“Damian,” Bruce responded in the same language. “My son.” And it hit him, then, suddenly, that this was his son, that he had a son who had been trafficked for years and he hadn’t known, that if Talia had just been honest with him, he would have moved heaven and earth to keep this boy safe. He felt himself choke up, felt tears pricking at the corners of his eyes, and made no move to stop them. “My son.”

Something in Damian’s face shifted minutely. Relaxed was too strong of a word, softened was inaccurate. But some of the tension he was carrying seemed to lessen. Bruce breathed deeply, trying to control his reaction and focus on Damian.

 “Father, I would like to thank you for rescuing me from that place.” Damian spoke clearly, carefully annunciating each word. There was little emotion in the statement, and Bruce felt oddly like he was listening to a briefing from one of his junior board members.

“I’m sorry it wasn’t sooner,” was the only thing Bruce could think to say in response. “I swear, if I had known, I would have moved heaven and earth to find you.” The intensity of the statement felt right, somehow, even in the face of Damian’s startlingly emotionless facade.

Damian nodded in acknowledgement but didn’t say anything.

Bruce felt desperate to break through the formality his son was wearing as armor. Saying anything along those lines would not go well, Bruce knew, so instead he moved to the startlingly red sofas. He sat to the left of the sofa, leaving room for Damian to sit next to him if he wished.

Damian hesitated for only a moment before moving towards an armchair, directly opposite Bruce. His footsteps were nearly silent across the thin carpet. As he sat, he focused on Bruce, but was no longer making eye contact. He stared at Bruce’s chin.

Damian’s hands tightened on his knees. He swallowed, once, then opened his mouth. Closed it again. “Father,” he said, then paused.

He seemed to steel himself, spine straightening.

“Father, I apologize for the disgrace that I have brought on the family name by submitting myself to such demeaning acts. I vow that if I am granted the opportunity, I will endeavor to make up for my past mistakes.” His speech began in the same emotionless tone he had been using, but as he spoke, desperation began to leak through. “I will be a good son for you. One worthy of the family name.”

“Damian,” Bruce said, feeling his heart break. “You have done nothing to be ashamed of. None of what happened was your fault.” He wanted nothing more than to pull his son into a hug.

Damian looked up. His lower lip was shaking. “I submitted to –”

Bruce cut him off. “It was not your fault. You are – you are worthy of the family name.” He had never heard a child speak with such formality, but the focus on family honor seemed to be important to Damian. “You are already good, my son.”

Damian bit the inside of his lip, breathing carefully. One hand reached up to scrub at his eyes, quickly, then lowered again. Bruce gave him a moment to compose himself.

Sooner than Bruce expected, Damian was breathing evenly, no evidence of his emotions other than slightly red eyes. He seemed hesitant to say anything, so Bruce decided to move on to less fraught topics.

“I hear that you’ve enjoyed your time with the therapy dogs. Do you like animals? We have a dog at the manor named Ace ...”

The knock on the door startled both Bruce and Damian, the latter jumping slightly in his seat. They both looked up from the chessboard between them.

(Bruce had tried to go easy on Damian, but Damian had proven himself a strong player early in the game and Bruce decided not to hold back. He was winning, but Damian could still coerce a stalemate if he played his hand right.)

Deb was standing in the doorframe, smiling. Damian quickly rose, and Bruce followed.

“Damian, it’s time to pack your things,” Deb said, gently but firmly. “Bruce, there’s some paperwork in my office, and we need to schedule some home visits.”

“Will I get to say goodbye to my brothers?” Damian asked quietly, in English. Then, as if facing a lion, he slowly turned towards Bruce, eyes wide in horror.

“Brothers?” Bruce asked, sparing a glance at Deb. Surely if he had other sons, they would have said something? But no, there had only been Talia, and only once. He returned his focus to Damian, who wasn’t speaking.

“He’s referring to the other boys from The Orchid,” Deb responded carefully. “They’ve become close – not surprising, after going through something like that together.” She knelt down, so she was at eye-level with Damian.

“It’s alright, Damian,” she said softly. “Look at Bruce – he isn’t angry. It’s alright to call them your brothers.”

But Damian was shaking his head. He didn’t seem to process what Deb was saying. His hands, digging into his thighs, were white with tension.

“My son,” Bruce said, switching back to Arabic. “I am not upset.”

“I did not mean – I know that they are not your sons, or members of the House of Wayne.” Damian seemed able to respond in Arabic, which was a relief, but Bruce did not understand why he was so nervous about calling the other boys his brothers. “You are my father, and I will be a true and loyal son to you.”

Deb looked between the two of them, clearly lost. Bruce assumed that there had been a translator in the observation room; he switched back to English for her benefit.

“Any man whom my son has claimed as a brother must be a truly deserving ally of our house,” Bruce said, leaning into the extreme formality that Damian favored. “I will ensure that this is not the last time you will see your brothers.”

The barest hint of a smile graced Damian’s lips. “Thank you, Father,” he said, reverently. “You are truly as great of a man as I have been told.” And with that, he bowed, and left the room.

Deb waited until his footsteps retreated down the hall before saying anything, and when she did, her voice was tinged with a wry sense of humor. “None of the other boys are this formal,” she commented lightly. “We think it has to do with how he had been raised before The Orchid, although he won’t say anything on the subject.”

Bruce was barely paying attention. He felt as if his heart had grown exponentially in the last ninety minutes. He had a son, his son, his Damian who had suffered so terribly, who was brave and clever, who loved animals with startling intensity and cared about those he was loyal to. His son, who wore formality like a shield and hid his kindness underneath. His son, who only weeks ago had been in hell, along with three other boys, three black-haired, blue-eyed young men.

“Are the boys really that close?” Bruce asked.

Deb hummed an affirmation. “From what I understand, they protected each other when they could. They hardly separated from each other during their first week here.” She began walking down the hallway, towards the office that Bruce had waited in when he arrived.

“Have you had any luck in contacting the family of the other boys?” Part of him hoped that the answer was yes. Part of him hoped that the decision he seemed to be barreling towards was not an option, and that these boys would return to loving families. The black-haired, blue-eyed boys whom his son called brothers.

A larger part of him hoped the answer was no.

Deb glanced at him. “I can tell you that two of them have no family to return to. One might – I can’t tell you much about that situation, but he will need at least temporary placement. It’s been difficult to find qualified foster families with enough security clearance to explain everything to them.”

They arrived at Deb’s office, and she pushed the door open, seating herself at her desk and placing her briefcase on top of it. Bruce remained standing.

“I have the clearance.”

Deb looked up but didn’t speak. Her gaze was sharper than it had been during their previous interactions. Bruce couldn’t remember making the decision, but he knew it was right.

“I have the clearance, and I’m licensed.” Bless Alfred for maintaining his own foster license and insisting that Bruce get one too. “I have experience with trauma, and therapy. The manor is large enough, I’m more than financially stable, and I work from home often.”

More quietly, he added, “My son called them his brothers.”

That was the crux of it, wasn’t it? If they were important enough to his formal, careful son that Damian could call them brothers, then Bruce could not see them separated. Alfred had taught him that family was who you chose.

Deb leaned forward, resting her elbows on her desk. Her fingers were intertwined. She sat there for several moments, studying Bruce.

“This is highly unusual, Mr. Wayne,” she eventually said.

“I know,” Bruce replied.

“We wouldn’t be able to assign you any ops for a while.”

“I understand.”

“They might not feel comfortable with you. Their first interactions with you were under less-than-ideal circumstances.”

“We can give them the option and see how they feel.”

She paused again, this time for longer than a few moments. Bruce did not waver.

“Alright,” she acquiesced. “If – and only if – the boys agree, I will temporarily release them into your care.”

“Thank you,” Bruce responded, more hoarsely than he had expected. “Thank you.”

The brothers of my son are my sons.

Chapter Text

Tim is the first to speak. He summarizes the situation very well:

“This is bad.”

Dick is still staring at the door through which Damian just left. He doesn’t turn towards Jason and Tim, sitting on the edge of Jason’s bed. He doesn’t know how to respond. How to fix this.

When the Orchid had been raided and they had been brought to whatever secure location the FBI put them in, Dick’s biggest fear was that they’d be separated. Sent to different foster homes, unable to protect each other. Miss Walter ( “Call me Deb!” as if any of them were stupid enough to address an adult by their first name) had all but told them that finding a foster home willing to take on four teenage boys, especially with their background, would be impossible.

Dick will be eighteen in six weeks. Just six weeks, and he can find a way to foster his brothers. He’ll need to find a stable job and a place to live in order to qualify as a foster parent. Somehow. He isn’t sure on the details, but that is their plan. 

Was their plan. Because, as Miss Walter had informed them, they found a DNA match for Damian. Barring any unforeseen complications, Damian would go to live with his father.

Miss Walter had whisked Damian out of the room to prepare to meet his father. She was excited, and hadn’t left any time for them to say goodbye. Dick doesn’t know if that means goodbyes will come later, or if that was the last time he’ll ever see Damian.

No. It won’t be the last time. They’ll find each other somehow, he’s sure of it.

“There has to be something we can do,” Jason says, a hint of anger in his voice. “They can’t just take him from us.” 

That’s what Dick loves most about Jason - his unwillingness to accept the bad things that happen to them lying down. It’s also the part of Jason that gets him in trouble most often.

“We’ll run away,” Tim announces. “We’ll break out of here and make it on our own.” 

Tim’s parents hadn’t cared about him, Dick knows. They left him alone for weeks or months at a time, expecting him to take care of himself. If any of them could handle running away and fending for himself, it would be Tim. Except Tim didn’t succeed at taking care of himself and keeping himself safe. He’d been kidnapped off the streets one night, while exploring and taking pictures. His parents are fighting for custody, but since they hadn’t ever reported him missing and pretended that Tim was away in boarding school, Miss Walter is confident that they won’t get it. They might even face charges.

“After everything Damian’s been through, they’re just going to give him to a stranger? How do they know he won’t hurt Damian, too?” Jason still sounds angry, but Dick can tell that he’s scared, as well.

Jason’s father was abusive. Dick doesn’t know all of the details, and Jason’s never been comfortable with sharing his previous life with them. But he knows that not all of Jason’s scars came from the Orchid, that Jason wasn’t shocked when he was brought to the brothel. Angry, yes, but not surprised, the way Dick had been when he started there. Jason’s mother had been a drug addict, and Jason hinted once or twice that she sometimes offered him as payment to fund her addiction. Dick doesn’t know if Jason was kidnapped, or if one of his parents willingly trafficked him, but they’re both dead now.

So Dick understands why Jason and Tim don’t think that Damian’s father has Damian’s best interests at heart. But Dick thinks of his own parents, who loved him and cared for him. Who taught him to fly through the air, free as a bird. Who Dick still mourns every day.

“Maybe he won’t be so bad,” Dick says quietly.

He turns to Jason and Tim. They’re looking intently at him, but neither of them disagree with Dick. He probably shocked them into silence.

“I think most parents are good people,” he continues. “Maybe Damian will get to have a …” He pauses for a moment, because the idea is so foreign, then concludes, “a normal life.”

Tim leans back, frowning. Dick isn’t sure if Tim agrees with him, but he can’t have his brothers talking about running away.

Jason’s face is twisting with frustration. “Damian wasn’t even normal when he first came to the Orchid. He’s never going to have a normal life. He needs us, not someone who will never understand.”

More quietly, Jason adds, “we need him.”

Dick thinks back to when Damian first arrived. He was oddly formal and expected rigid hierarchy in every interaction. It had caused a ridiculous amount of friction between him and Tim, whom he saw as a rival. It took ages for him to understand that the four of them were brothers , that they looked out for each other. 

Maybe Jason is right, and Damian will never have a normal life with a normal family. But maybe he will. Damian is already so much happier when spending time with the therapy dogs, and he loves the art room. Out of all of them, he is adjusting well to this in-between period while Miss Walter tries to find them suitable foster homes.

Either way, Dick can’t think of any way to keep them all together. If they get to see Damian again, and if Damian doesn’t want to go live with his father, then maybe they can make a plan. But for now, there is nothing they can do.

“We can maybe write to him, or call,” Tim says hopefully.

Dick nods. There really isn’t anything else that they can do, not without getting more information from Miss Walter so they fully understand the situation.

It feels like failure. It feels like giving up. But Dick has to believe that Damian will be fine.

He couldn’t live with himself if he’s not.

They don’t go to lunch. Dick doesn’t think he could eat a proper meal if he tried, stomach twisting into nauseous knots. They have snacks in their room, and Jason makes Dick and Tim eat some saltines. Tim goes out afterwards to try and find Miss Walter, but doesn’t have any luck. Jason reads Jane Eyre out loud, and Dick and Tim both try to relax into the familiar cadence. The day seems to stretch out like taffy, but the moments all blur together. Hours pass in the haze of anxious waiting.

When the door finally swings open, it feels like exhaling a breath Dick was not aware he was holding. Damian walks into their room, and Dick reaches forward, gasping Damian’s name, pulling him into a tight hug. He holds Damian’s head to his shoulder as Damian’s arms wrap around his torso; he doesn’t try to hold back the tears pricking at the corner of his eyes, because Damian is back, and even if this is the last time they see each other, at least they get to say goodbye. Jason and Tim hover next to Dick - they know that Damian doesn’t allow physical contact from anyone except Dick, but their presence is a solid anchor, and Damian’s chest expanding and contracting against Dick’s own tells him that, at least for now, all of his brothers are together.

When Dick finally lets go, he does a cursory scan of his youngest brother - no bruises, not walking as if he’s in pain, the barest hint of a smile on his face. He does not seem the worse for wear after meeting with his father.

“I believe the initial meeting went well,” Damian assures them. 

Jason asks, “when are you leaving us?” at the same time as Tim asking “what was he like?” and Dick shuffles them over to his bed so they can have a proper conversation.

When they’re seated comfortably - Damian wrapped in the softest blanket in the room, Tim leaning comfortably on Jason’s shoulder, Jason carefully keeping an eye on the door - Damian begins to speak. 

“Miss Walter took my father to fill out some paperwork, but it is likely that I will leave today,” he says quietly, and Dick’s shock at Damian actually having a father is dwarfed by the tidal wave of sorrow that overwhelms him at the idea that today is the last day that he has with his youngest brother. Tim’s soft gasp and Jason’s angry growl mirror the pain lancing through his own heart, but he tries to push it down, tries to focus on Damian for as long as they still have him.

Damian quickly reassures them, “My father seemed to understand the bond that I feel for you. I am confident that he will allow me to maintain correspondence and to see each other.” 

Dick forces himself to smile, because this is truly the best possible outcome that he can hope for. Damian going to live with a father who he seems to trust, one who will allow them to keep in touch, is more than he thought they would have this morning, when Miss Walter walked into their room and pulled out a third of Dick’s heart.

Tim, ever skeptical, asks, “but how can you be sure?”

It’s a fair question, because they know never to trust beautiful promises, that people telling you what you want to hear usually means it isn’t true. But Damian looks Tim square in the eye and says, “He called you worthy allies of the House of Wayne.”

Worthy allies?

Wait. 

House of Wayne?

“Guess the formality is genetic, then,” quips Jason.

“Did you say Wayne? As in Bruce Wayne?” Tim asks, and the sharpness of his voice seems … out of place. Dick recognizes the name, too; there’s no one on the planet who doesn’t know about Bruce Wayne’s wealth. The thought that Damian’s father is the richest man alive is weird in ways that Dick can’t really verbalize, but he pushes that aside to ask Tim if he’s alright.

“Bruce Wayne was my neighbor,” Tim responds shakily. “He knew my parents.”

Dick knows, based on offhand comments about the quality of Tim’s cameras and the tediousness of fancy galas, that Tim’s family was wealthy, but there’s rich and there’s Bruce Wayne was my neighbor rich.

“Mother always told me that my father was an important man,” Damian says proudly.

Dick ignores this, because something’s wrong with Tim. His breathing is uneven, and he’s not looking at any of them, instead staring at his knees. 

“Tim?” Jason prompts. 

“I saw him,” Tim blurts out.

A lump of dread sinks into Dicks gut.

“A few days before we were freed. He was there. I recognized him.” 

The pieces slot into place clearly in Dick’s head. It makes sense, in a perverse, twisted way. Of course Bruce Wayne isn’t actually Damian’s father. The Orchid closed, and Wayne saw his chance to own one of them, legally. Dick wonders, dully, how much money it takes to fake a DNA test, how far-reaching the corruption is within the federal government.

Does Miss Walter know? Would she believe them, if Dick told her the truth? Or would she dismiss his warning as a desperate, last-minute attempt to keep Damian from leaving them? 

“He was the reason we were freed!” snapped Damian. “He works for the FBI, and was gathering intelligence that lead directly to the raid!”

Dick’s heart breaks for him.

“Of course he would say something like that, Dami,” he says gently. “But -”

Damian cuts him off.

“Miss Walter explained it to me,” he says.

“And you believed her?” Jason asks incredulously. “You really think Bruce Wayne is working for the FBI? C’mon, Damian, we all know what rich men are like.”

“Do you think me a fool?” Damian asks angrily. “Do you think my trust is lightly won? Of course I doubted! But I was shown case files going back over a decade, all of which involve my father as a covert agent. I saw the results of the DNA testing, and I know it to be true!”

“Okay,” Dick says quickly, because he can’t stand his brothers arguing, not on what might be their last day together. “Okay, Damian, we believe you.” 

Even Bruce Wayne can’t forge FBI files. Probably.

“Why don’t you tell us what you talked about?”

Damian nods. “We spoke of his dog, Ace. He is a noble German Shepard of superior tracking skills and a protective disposition.”

Despite himself, Dick smiles. Of course Damian’s main takeaway from his first meeting with his father would be the dog.

“I then challenged him to a game of chess, hoping to demonstrate my intellectual prowess. I believe that I fought well, although my father naturally had the upper hand.”

More quietly, Damian continues, “I believe that he has accepted me as a member of his family. I do not anticipate being in danger of any untoward advances.”

“Good,” Dick responds instinctively. And really, what else is there to say? If Damian is to be taken away from them, at least it will be to a place where he feels safe.

Damian begins to pack his few possessions while Jason and Tim pepper him with more questions. Dick closes his eyes, taking in the moment. This is good, he tries to convince himself. If Damian is right about being able to stay in touch, and Wayne is really who the FBI seems to think he is, then there’s nothing to do but relax into the comfort of his brothers’ presence.

Chapter Text

Damian finishes packing what little he has, pulls out his sketchbook and charcoal pencil, and starts scribbling furiously. None of them speak, and Tim would almost call it peaceful. They’re safe, fed, clothed, and unharmed. This is a luxury, and if Tim had his old camera, he’d try to capture the pursed lips and furrowed brow that indicate Damian’s intense concentration; the way Dick tilts his head back, his eyes closed, the corner of his mouth turned up; the strength in Jason’s posture as he sits closest to the door, protecting them. The light from the small window is coming in at just the right angle, and Tim mentally runs through what lens he would want for each picture, how he’d focus the camera, where he would need to stand in order to translate real life into two dimensions.

He used to do this in the Orchid, when he needed to go away in his head. There were no happy tableaus to capture, so he’d imagine the Gotham skyline, or the gardens behind his house, or the streets at night, and pretend to take pictures. He’d think of every aspect of each photograph, turning it over in his mind. It helped, sometimes. With the worst clients. He doesn’t want to go away now, but he finds himself relaxing into the peaceful simplicity of it, all the same.

When he recognized Bruce Wayne at the Orchid, his first, childish thought was that Mr. Wayne had come to save him. Tim remembered him being kind, in their few interactions before he was taken. His second, realistic thought was that Wayne was no different than all the other powerful rich men who walked through their doors, his kindness a front to hide his true nature. He wondered if Wayne recognized him at all, but five years was clearly enough to erase any remnants of Timothy Drake, heir to Drake Industries , because there was no double-take, no flicker of surprise or spark of recognition. He had been pathetically grateful when Wayne shook his head, and Tim had assumed that Dr. Hurt would take Wayne to one of his brothers. 

Did Wayne go to any of his brothers, that night? Would they even remember, if he had? Most of the men blurred together into an indistinguishable sea of faces and bodies. There were a few memorable clients, but never for good reasons. Tim shudders as he thinks of Mr. Lazarus, who liked to make Jason hurt Tim. Those were the worst nights, and Jason was always a wreck in the morning, even though Tim never blamed him for any of it.

Jason shifts slightly in his position closest to the door, and it’s enough to snap Tim out of his musings. He turns to Damian, who is still drawing, but doesn’t make the mistake of trying to sneak a peek at his artwork. “Damian,” he asks carefully, because this could be proof, one way or the other, “do you remember seeing your father in the Orchid?”

He can feel Dick and Jason going still. Tim didn’t bother asking either of them, because as far as he knows, they’ve never met Wayne outside of the Orchid, and likely wouldn’t remember him if they did see him inside. But Damian’s just spent an hour with the man, and it might have jogged his memories. 

Damian stops sketching. After a moment, he looks up, confused. “I told you about him, did I not?”

“No,” Jason says, “I think I would remember if you said anything about Bruce Wayne.”

Damian scoffs in that arrogant way of his that used to piss Tim off but now just makes him smile fondly. “I did not know he was my father at the time. I told you of the man who spoke to me in Arabic.”

That does sound familiar to Tim, and was probably around the same time he remembers Wayne visiting the Orchid.

“He stayed in my room for an hour and spoke of his travels to the Middle East. I was unsure of why he chose to do so at the time; I thought perhaps he was taunting me with what I had lost and was hoping to see me cry. Once it became evident that he was not doing so, I contributed minimally to the conversation until he left. It seemed to satisfy him and I put it out of my mind until today.”

That certainly sounds more like someone undercover and less like someone who wants to buy Damian and use him. If he wasn’t working for the FBI, he’d have no reason not to use Damian in the Orchid, and if he was working for the FBI then he probably won’t hurt Damian in the future. 

Tim decides that maybe, just maybe, Bruce Wayne is genuine.

That feeling lasts for approximately thirteen minutes.

“All of us?”

The initial shock of Miss Walter’s announcement gives way to the same skepticism that drips from every word out of Jason’s mouth.

“He wants to foster all four of us? ”

And Tim really thought that there was a chance that he wasn’t a creep. Ha. Five years should have been long enough to teach him that rich, powerful men can never be trusted, no matter how nice they seem. More fool him.

“He does,” Miss Walter answers in her usual calm manner. “He recognizes how close you four are, and doesn’t want to see you separated.” 

Damian is smiling. Not a hesitant, quiet upturn of his lips but a full-on smile, one that reaches up to his eyes. He looks like a child, like the eleven-year-old that he is. Tim isn’t sure if he’s ever seen Damian like this before, and it makes something twist deep in his stomach.

“I understand that this is unusual,” she continues. “If you agree to be fostered by Bruce Wayne – and it is a choice, for each of you – the placement will be temporary. We’ll meet in a few weeks to discuss further plans. Additionally, you will each be given a cell phone, and if you want to call or text me at any time, you will have that option.”

Having cell phones won’t help with anything. If Wayne was able to organize this whole thing – and Tim’s not sure how, the pieces aren’t fitting together but that just means he has to try harder to figure it out – then he’ll be able to smooth over any wrinkles caused by them complaining to Miss Walter. It’s a nice thought, all the same.

Miss Walter can clearly sense their hesitancy. “Bruce has been through multiple background checks in order to get security clearance. He’s a licensed foster parent. I think this is the best possible option available to us right now.”

She’s right, is the worst thing. They won’t get anything better. Miss Walter hadn’t been able to find a foster home that could take even two of them, between the ongoing, high-security trial and what they’ve been through. And even if she could, there’s no guarantee that those foster parents won’t be creeps. 

So he knows what his answer will be, just as much as he knows what Jason and Dick will say. Facing unknown suffering together is infinitely better than facing it alone.

Dick smiles, his performing smile that can fool almost anyone into thinking its genuine, and says, “we’ll do it.”

There is nothing ingenuine about Miss Walter’s smile, for all she’s trying to tamp it down and remain professional. “Jason? Tim?” she asks. 

Jason says yes roughly, but there’s a quiet strength to it all the same.

Tim can’t trust himself to speak right now. Next to him, Damian is practically vibrating out of his skin with excitement. Tim glances down at him and gets an accidental glimpse of what Damian was drawing. It’s a sketch of all four of them, sitting together on Dick’s bed, calmness infusing every inch of the paper. He doesn’t know if Damian meant to keep it for himself or to give it to them, but it’s clearly his way of saying goodbye.

Tim does not want to say goodbye.

He nods, and it doesn’t feel like sealing his fate, doesn’t feel painful. It feels inevitable.

When Tim was seven years old and could still pretend he had a happy life, his parents took him to a lot of galas. The rules were simple: be polite, make small talk the way his etiquette tutor taught him to, do nothing to embarrass his parents. The galas weren’t bad, as far as things went, but they were really, really boring. Tim liked to make a game of finding somewhere off-limits, be it the kitchen where the staff were working, a deserted hallway, or an outdoor balcony. 

He only attended the annual Wayne Memorial Hospital gala once, but he remembered how excited he was to have the chance to explore Wayne Manor. It was easy for him to sneak off, and he managed to find a small living room that no one was in. He only wanted to explore it for a few minutes and then sneak back to the party. But when he turned to leave, the door creaked open and Mr. Wayne had walked in. He had been polite, despite Tim being a sneak, and led Tim back to the gala. Tim hadn’t heard anything about it from his parents, so he figured Mr. Wayne hadn’t said anything.

He still remembers the jolt of fear he felt when Wayne had found him. He expected yelling, or a tight, angry grip on his arm, or caustic comments about snooping. What he got, instead, was an awkward explanation that Wayne liked to take a minute to himself before giving a speech, and a suggestion to try the salmon canapés, they were Mr. Wayne’s favorite hors d'oeuvres.

He did try a salmon canapé. It tasted like grown-up food.

Tim doesn’t know why this memory is at the forefront of his mind as they walk towards a meeting room. He should be focused on the threat at hand, which is a Bruce Wayne not bound by any social conventions or the protection that the Drake name provides. It doesn’t matter that Wayne was nice to him once, five years ago. Thinking about it won’t help him, won’t keep him and his brothers safe.

Just outside the door to the meeting room, Miss Walter turns to them, and Tim can tell she wants this meeting to go well just as much as they do. “I’ll be observing through a one-way mirror,” she tells them. “Remember, you can change your minds at any time. If you feel uncomfortable, or just don’t think he’s the right foster parent for you, you can choose to stay here until I find another foster family.” 

Dick and Jason and Tim can choose to stay, but Damian can’t, and that makes all the difference in the world.

Wayne is sitting in one of the armchairs facing away from the door. He stands and turns when they come in, and he smiles politely at them, and he seems bigger than Tim remembers, taller, more broad. Tim’s mouth goes dry, which is stupid, because nothing’s going to happen with Miss Walter watching. He feels like a seven-year-old kid again, and it’s not a pleasant feeling.

Damian leads them to a couch, and it’s a bit cramped but he needs his brothers’ comfort. Tim and Damian are pushed towards the center of the couch, Jason on Tim’s right, Dick on Damian’s left. Tim tries to think of something to say, because he needs Wayne to want to keep them, he can’t lose his little brother because he couldn’t please him. Tim waits for Jason to say something, because Jason’s always been good with words, or Dick, who always protects them and keeps Tim safe. But his older brothers aren’t saying anything, and he can feel his heart leap into his throat, and something needs to happen –

“Father,” says Damian proudly. “These are my elder brothers, Richard, Timothy, and Jason.” He points to each of them as he says their name. He sounds so happy that it makes Tim’s heart ache. “They have proven themselves to be my stalwart defenders over the past four years. You will not regret acknowledging them as allies of our House.”

“It’s nice to meet you,” Wayne says, and the look he’s giving Damian can only be described as fond . Tim can’t remember his parents ever looking at him like that. “I know that this is sudden for all of us, but I look forward to getting to know you. I hope that you will feel comfortable in my home.”

“It’s nice to meet you as well, sir,” murmurs Dick. “Thank you for allowing us to stay together.”

“Please, call me Bruce,” he responds. Tim winces internally at the correction, but some clients liked to be called by their given names, so it’s maybe not so strange. Wayne doesn’t seem angry at Dick’s misstep, but maybe he’s just waiting until they get home. Tim hopes that Wayne will be straightforward enough to go over all the rules soon, so they don’t have to stumble blindly through each interaction.

There’s an awkward pause. Wayne looks unsure, and if he’s unsure then he might not take them all, and Tim can’t allow that to happen. His etiquette tutor’s voice echoes through his head, ringing up from a lifetime ago, and he’s been trained in the art of small talk, of smoothing over rough patches in a conversation, but he’s clearly out of practice, because the first thing that comes out of his mouth is “are salmon canapés still your favorite hors d'oeuvres?”

That did nothing at all to help the awkward silence, except now everyone is staring at him. Wayne looks startled, and his brothers look confused. Then, suddenly, Wayne laughs.

“Sarah Emmons knocked a whole plate of those canapés right into me later that night. I don’t know how, but some ended up in my hair. I couldn’t look at salmon for weeks after.”

Huh.

Maybe belonging to Wayne won’t be as bad as he thought.

The conversation flows more naturally after that, if not quickly then at least continuously. Dick and Jason even jump in, after a while, and Wayne at the very least doesn’t seem cruel. This could just be an act for Miss Walter, though. He can’t be sure of anything yet.

And then there’s assuring Miss Walter that they want to live with Wayne, and packing their belongings, and each getting a cell phone, and going over logistics with both Miss Walter and Wayne. 

Miss Walter tells Tim that he can’t leave Wayne Manor for a while, until there’s some update to the investigation into his parents. They cannot know that he’s next door, so Tim’s not even allowed to go outside. He tells himself that it’s not a cage, that it’s different to the Orchid, and almost believes it.

It doesn’t matter either way.

He’s with his brothers, and whatever Wayne turns out to be, at least they’re all together.

Chapter Text

The ride to Wayne Manor is long and quiet. Dick takes the front seat, and Jason shoves himself into the middle seat in the back row. It’s a tight squeeze, but if Wayne tries to reach back, he won’t be able to grab Tim or Damian. Wayne turns the radio to some old classical station, and if he doesn’t want to talk, Jason sure isn’t going to start any conversations. The sun sets slowly, and Jason is almost lulled to sleep by the soft vibrations of the car. He fights his drooping eyelids, determined to stay awake.

As they arrive, Jason deliberately does not gape at the size of the manor or the number of cars in the garage. All it shows is that Wayne has an obnoxious amount of money, which is not a good thing.

An older man in a fancy, old-timey suit is standing by the door between the garage and the rest of the house. Jason curses internally – is it more than just Wayne? How many men are involved in this, how many men is Wayne going to give them to?

It doesn’t matter. Two is better than hundreds and hundreds. 

“Hi, Alfred,” Wayne says as he gets out of the car. The rest of them quickly follow suit. “Boys, this is Alfred Pennyworth, my butler. Alfred, this is Richard, Jason, Tim, and Damian.”

Jason’s only read about butlers in some of his older books. He didn’t know rich people still had butlers.

“It is a pleasure to meet you all,” Pennyworth says. Jason is only a little bit surprised at the accent. “If you will follow me to the kitchen, I have prepared a light supper for you.”

The kitchen is on the same floor as the garage, so it doesn’t take them long to get there. Alfred takes their bags and motions for them to sit at the kitchen counter. Jason does so, because he’s been ordered to, but putting his back to Wayne makes his skin crawl.

“I’m going to file these,” Wayne says from behind him. Jason hears the rustle of papers – presumably the case files that Miss Walter gave him. “I’ll be back after dinner.”

Thank God, Jason thinks. He does not want to interact with Wayne any more tonight. He just wants to eat some food and get some rest.

“Very good, Master Bruce,” Pennyworth says. Master Bruce? Does Wayne want them to call him Master Bruce as well? Jason’s had weirder clients, but he really doesn’t want to have to call Wayne “master.” 

“Now, I have a light soup prepared, as well as some freshly-baked bread. Do any of you have any allergies or dietary restrictions? I assure you, it is no trouble at all if you do.”

“No allergies,” Dick responds. “We’re happy to eat whatever you give us.”

Pennyworth nods, pulling out four bowls and placing them next to a large pot simmering on the stove. He begins to ladle out the liquid, and it smells delicious, and Jason realizes for the first time that he hasn’t really eaten all that much today, what with everything that happened. This is a good sign, that they’re being served hot food on their first night without having to earn it.

Then, because Jason can’t have anything go right in his life, Damian’s high-pitched  voice breaks through the peacefulness.

“I will not consume any animal products, Pennyworth.”

Jason whips his head around. What is Damian doing ? Why is he arguing with fresh, hot food? Jason’s never heard Damian complain about food before – is he looking for trouble?

“Damian,” Dick says reproachfully, keeping an eye on Pennyworth. 

“That’s quite alright, Master Damian. Do you eat milk and eggs? Fish?”

“I will not have fish. Milk and eggs are fine.”

“Very good, Master Damian. This soup does contain chicken, but there is a quart of zucchini soup that I can heat up for you if you’re willing to wait.”

Alfred doesn’t seem angry, and he still gives them dinner, so it could have been worse. The soup is delicious, and the bread is heavenly. They eat efficiently, and Jason manages to sneak two whole pieces into his pocket. They even get fresh fruit for dessert, pineapple slices that make his tongue tingle. He almost convinces himself that things are fine, despite Damian’s ill-thought-out request.

Wayne comes back halfway through dessert, and the food that he’s eaten goes sour within him.

After dinner, Wayne leads them through the manor, around and around until Jason doesn’t know how he’ll find his way back to the kitchen. Maybe that’s the point. He clutches his bag close to his chest, the stolen book burning like coals in his mind. He doesn’t even know which book he grabbed; he’d taken multiple books from the base’s library to their room, and stealing one had been a very last-minute decision. But he doesn’t know whether Wayne will allow them any books, or what price Jason would have to pay for one.

“I’ll give you a proper tour tomorrow,” Wayne says as they climb an ornate staircase. The hallway at the top stretches far, far down, and there are family portraits lining the walls. The older couple is presumably Wayne’s parents, and the kid is Wayne himself. Jason frowns. With darker skin and green eyes, the boy in the portrait bares a striking resemblance to Damian. He doesn’t know what to make of that. 

“This is my room,” Wayne continues, motioning to a door on their left. “If you need anything, please feel free to knock.”

As if, snorts Jason in his head. He will be giving that door a wide berth.

“There are plenty of bedrooms, so you can each have your own,” Wayne continues, sweeping his arm down the hallway. “They all have en-suites that should be fully stocked. You can let Alfred know if anything’s missing.”

They have to sleep in separate rooms? Even in the Orchid they got to sleep together, once they were done for the night. How else is Jason meant to protect his brothers? Dick’s gotten real good at patching them up, when they need it – how are they meant to take care of any injuries alone?

But it’s not worth arguing, not worth upsetting Wayne. Maybe, if they’re real good and show that they want to stay, Wayne won’t feel the need to lock them in every night, and then they can sleep in one room again.

Jason looks at Dick, and he can see the same resignation in Dick’s eyes. They’ll take the two closer rooms, and Tim and Damian will sleep further down the hall, away from Wayne. Aside from that, there’s nothing that they can do. 

“Father,” Damian says, and Jason’s blood runs cold. “We would like to sleep in the same room.”

Jason curses internally. How can the kid trust Wayne so much? Why is he risking everything? He moves to put himself between Wayne and Damian, holding his hands up placatingly. He doesn’t know what Wayne is like, whether he’s more liable to lash out with a fist or a whip or something like Dr. Hurt’s electric prod, but Jason can handle pain way better than any of his brothers. Pushing through pain is a habit learned under Willis’s “care,” and Jason’s starting to grow into his broad shoulders, he’s bigger and stronger than his brothers.

“He didn’t mean it, sir,” Jason says quickly, and he knows Wayne said to call him Bruce, but Jason can’t , and he’d rather Wayne be angry at him than Damian. “We’re happy to sleep wherever you put us.” It could be so much worse, they could be chained somewhere or locked in cages. He bites back anything else, because he doesn’t know if Wayne likes begging or if he doesn’t want them to talk too much. 

He risks a glance up, and Wayne doesn’t look angry with them, or pleased with Jason’s apology, or dismissive of the whole display. He looks sad, almost, which is obviously some act because there’s no reason for Wayne to be sad. 

“It’s alright, Jason, I’m not upset. You can sleep wherever you’d like.” 

That has to be a test. Wayne wants them in different rooms and what he wants supercedes anything else in this house. 

Wayne frowns, and Jason holds himself very, very still, waiting for judgment.

“I don’t think any of the rooms in this hall have multiple beds. The last room down the hall has an Alaskan King, though, which should be big enough for four. Would you prefer to sleep there?”

What does preference matter? Why does Wayne not make any sense? Jason hates this. At least when he was first kidnapped he had Dick to explain things to him. Now, they’re all starting from scratch.

Thankfully, Damian doesn’t say anything else – Dick’s glare is enough to silence him – and Tim responds, “We would appreciate that, Bruce.” Jason has no idea how Tim manages to say Wayne’s name with such apparent ease, but it makes Wayne smile, eyes crinkling.

“Let me show you to your room, then.”

They follow Wayne down the stupidly long hallway, passing at least eight doors on the way. Jason tries to place himself between Wayne and his brothers, but Damian keeps pushing forward so he’s closest to Wayne. Jason isn’t sure what to expect from the room Wayne’s leading them to. He doesn’t even know what an “Alaskan King” is.

Wayne pushes the door open, and steps aside to let them go through. Despite himself, Jason feels his jaw drop open. The bed is massive, easily big enough for four or five adults to lie comfortably side-by-side. There’s a door on the far wall, presumably leading to the en-suite, and multiple drawers along the wall opposite the bed, and even what looks like a small refrigerator in one corner. Dick leads Tim and Damian inside, and Jason positions himself in the doorway, turning to face Wayne. 

He doesn’t know if Wayne wants one of them tonight, or what price they’ll pay for being in one room, or how often he’ll let them out. Whatever’s coming, Jason is most able to handle it.

Wayne is looking at Jason, and he hates it, hates the intensity in his gaze, hates how Wayne seems to see right through him. He opens his mouth to say something, anything, but Wayne speaks first.

“I know that the four of you have been through … a lot,” Wayne says carefully. “I want to be clear that I would never touch any child sexually, nor will I allow anyone else to hurt you. You are safe here.” Wayne sounds choked up – he clears his throat before continuing. “This is your room; no one will enter it without your permission. There’s a lock on the inside of the door – please use it if it makes you more comfortable.” 

Jason feels a hot surge of anger, and has to fight to keep it off his face. Why is Wayne doing this? Does he think they’re stupid enough to believe him? He has them for as long as he wants them, he doesn’t need to lie. 

“Well, goodnight,” Wayne says awkwardly, and just … walks away, down the hallway. Jason watches him go, and only when Wayne goes into his room does Jason close the door.

He doesn’t lock it. There’s no point.

He turns to his brothers, and where Dick looks tired and Tim looks calculating, Damian looks triumphant.

“You see!” he crows. “Father is a great man who has extended his protection to all of us.”

“He’s lying,” Jason snaps.

“He is not! How dare you!”

“No fighting,” Dick interjects quickly. “Not tonight. Damian, why don’t you shower first?” 

“I will,” Damian says, always needing the last word, “and I will not prepare myself for anything because nothing will happen tonight because my father is not lying! ”

Jason wants to retort, but Damian is already stomping to the en-suite, and besides, Dick’s glare is enough to make Jason bite his tongue. 

“He’s lying,” Jason says as soon as he hears the shower turn on.

“None of this makes sense,” Tim adds, frowning. “There’s too many moving pieces and I can’t keep them straight.” He sits down heavily on the bed, and Dick follows. 

“It’s simple,” Jason says. “Wayne is a creep who managed to pay off the FBI so he could get all four of us.”

“But then why would he say that he’s not going to use any of us?” Dick asks.

“You don’t believe him, do you?” Jason responds incredulously. Damian might be convinced, but Dick’s been in this life for almost a decade, there’s no way he’d fall for something like that.

“Of course not, but why would he say it? The minute he does anything to any of us, we’ll know for sure he’s a liar. There’s no point.”

“Who knows what he’s thinking? Maybe he’s worried that we’ll say something to Miss Walter.”

Tim’s gaze is unimpressed. “If we go off the assumption that he’s paid off the FBI, Miss Walter couldn’t do anything anyway. He wouldn’t need to worry about that”

Jason runs his hand through his hair, frustrated. “Maybe Damian really is his son, and he doesn’t want him to know he’s a pedophile. Maybe he thinks it’s funny to confuse us. I don’t know why Wayne is acting nice, but it doesn’t matter because we know the truth!”

Tim shakes his head. “There’s something that we’re missing. If Damian’s really Wayne’s son – and I think he probably is, Damian looks a lot like the pictures in the hallway of Wayne when he was younger – then how did he set this all up? Did he send Damian to the Orchid just so he could claim us four years later? Anyone with the amount of money and power he has could have just bought us directly. Or did he really not know he had a son, rescue the son from a human trafficking ring, and then turn around and decide to keep the other boys he rescued?”

None of this makes sense to Jason, and it’s far too convoluted to follow after the day they’ve had. “All I know is, if you’re a poor orphan with no money and no protection, and you end up in a rich guy’s house, there’s only one thing they want you for. No matter how you look at it, Wayne’s a bad person, and we can’t trust him.”

“I agree,” Dick says easily. “We can’t trust Wayne. But we’re missing something, some glue that holds this all together, and until we figure it out, he’ll always be one step ahead.”

The shower’s been off for a while, Jason notices, and before long Damian steps out. He doesn’t speak to any of them, just silently climbs onto the ridiculously massive bed and crawls under the covers. He turns his back to the three of them.

Jason feels his stomach curl. He hates fighting with his brothers. But if Damian is going to pull risky stunts like dictating what food he’ll eat and contradicting Wayne, it will be all the harder to keep them all safe. He looks helplessly at Dick, who’s always been the best with Damian. As Dick walks to the other side of the bed, Jason notices with a start that Damian’s shoulders are shaking. His little brother is crying, but he’s not making a sound, and Jason can’t do anything about it.

“Hey,” Dick says quietly, crouching down to look at Damian. “No matter what, we’re still family. We’re still your brothers. We’ll figure this out, okay?”

Damian’s shoulders begin shaking even harder. “I have a father,” he gasps out, “I succeeded in finding my father and you hate him.”

Dick is silent for a moment, weighing his words.

“Look, Dami, things are confusing right now. Maybe Wayne is who he says he is. But just in case he’s not, we need to be more careful, alright?”

“He will not hurt us.” It’s said plaintively, as if Damian doesn’t think he’ll convince them but needs to try anyway. This is just another thing to blame Wayne for – making Damian feel separate from them.  

“We’re just being careful,” Dick repeats gently. “I promise, I would be so happy if he’s telling the truth.”

Yeah, so would Jason. Getting to live with his brothers, no strings attached? Jason would be over the moon. Thing is, there’s no way that’s happening. Not to them.

Chapter Text

Jason can’t say that he slept well, but he slept. 

He had taken first watch, and was going to wake Dick up to take second watch. When he saw Tim’s head nestled on Dick’s shoulder and Damian practically wrapped around Dick’s gently rising-and-falling torso, however, he couldn’t bring himself to wake them. The floor of their new room is hardwood, so he had taken a blanket and pillow to build a nest of sorts, right by the door.

A few hours of fitful sleep won’t kill him, but he needs to be on his toes, needs to be prepared for the first full day belonging to Wayne. 

Breakfast is a tense affair. Wayne sits at the head of the table; Damian, who seems intent on causing Jason as much anxiety as possible, sits directly to Wayne’s right , close enough that Wayne could grab him before Jason could react. 

Damian makes a passable attempt at carrying a conversation with Wayne. The man doesn’t seem upset, at the very least, but he keeps glancing towards Jason, Tim, and Dick whenever there’s a pause. Jason forces down scrambled eggs on toast and tries not to wonder what this food will cost them. It doesn’t matter. Wayne can do whatever he wants with them whether or not Jason eats the eggs.

Mr. Pennyworth seems okay, but he calls them all “Master,” and it makes Jason’s skin crawl. He won’t complain, of course - Master is a lot better than some other things he’s been called. 

After breakfast, Wayne offers to take them on a tour of the manor. Jason half expects him to lead them to some underground lair or sex dungeon, but he doesn’t. He shows them where his office is, where Alfred’s bedroom is, where the family room, den, and living room are, on and on and on. Jason begins to map the house out in his mind, but it could take weeks to get everything straight. When they pass the third ballroom , Jason decides to focus only on the rooms they’ll be in regularly, because this house is simply ridiculous.

And then.

Wayne shows them the library.

The room is massive, shelves running up and down the walls and across the floor just like the public library Jason used to hide in when his dad was particularly drunk. In one corner there’s couches and armchairs and pillows and blankets and what looks like a fireplace, and by the door is a desk with a desktop computer, and Jason has to restrain himself from touching anything.

He would have done a lot for access to a place like this, back at The Orchid. Hell, he’d still do a lot for access to this library. Wayne wouldn’t show it to them if they were never allowed to use it, so there has to be a way to earn some time in here. There has to be.

Jason clearly hasn’t succeeded at keeping the want from his face, because Wayne looks straight at him as he says, “You’re all welcome to read any of the books here.”

Tim has to tug Jason away from the entrance to the library when Wayne continues with the tour. 

Returning to the library after lunch is a sound tactical decision, okay? Dick is watching Tim and Damian, who wanted to go find the dog. If Jason wants to figure out what Wayne’s play is, what he’s up to, then it makes perfect sense to place himself somewhere secluded and alone. Maybe Wayne just doesn’t want Damian involved in any of this? Whatever his plan, the library is the obvious choice to try and draw Wayne’s attention. The man obviously saw how enamored Jason was with the room.

And it also makes sense to find a book to read. Wayne had said that they could read any of the books in the library, so actually doing so is a great way to test his honesty. Wayne hadn’t said they could sit in the comfy armchairs curled up under one of the fuzzy blankets, but Jason does just that after picking two books partially at random. Even if Wayne gets mad at him, it’s good to know what his limits are. Every piece of information, every reaction that he draws out of Wayne, is valuable. 

He picks up one of the books that he grabbed and starts to read. He has to fight to keep his eyes open – the comfortable setup, combined with his less-than-ideal night, have him yawning within minutes. 

It would be a spectacularly bad idea to fall asleep here.

Time slips away as he gets lost in the story, about a priest whose son has disappeared in a big city. The language used is challenging enough to keep him awake, and the setting foreign enough that he needs to flip to the appendix every now and then.

He used to dream of this, back in the Orchid. A quiet day, a room full of more books than he could count. Dr. Hurt would get them books, occasionally, but Jason would always request the Scholastic Success books and other homeschooling books. He wanted so badly to dream of a future, and he hated the thought of being uneducated. 

He is so focused on his book that the knock on the door makes him jump in the seat. Then he jumps out of the seat, because Wayne is standing in the doorway. 

Shit. Jason’s heart is racing in his chest, his hand gripping the book tightly. He was trying to make Wayne angry, or at least see what his limits are, but when Wayne is standing right there it’s hard to make himself remember that. At least Tim’s not here , he thinks wildly.

He can’t make himself say anything. He just waits for Wayne to cross the room and grab him, or yell at him, or something . He feels like he’s vibrating out of his skin, waiting for whatever’s coming.

Nothing happens.

Wayne is just looking at him, not coming any closer, not even crossing the library’s threshold. 

“I’m sorry that I startled you,” he says eventually. “Alfred made fajitas for dinner. Would you like to join us?”

Jason glances at the ornate clock hung over the fireplace. 6:30. Has he really been reading for over five hours?

He forces his hands to relax around the book. Dinner is a perfectly normal reason for Wayne to come find him. Nothing bad will happen at dinner, probably. Nothing’s happened at any of their meals, so Wayne probably doesn’t want to involve Alfred in any of this.

Wayne is still looking at him, and Jason hates it. But food is more important. He picks up the second book and begins walking to the bookcase that he grabbed them from.

“You don’t have to do that,” Wayne says, and Jason freezes. What is he doing wrong, what is Wayne mad about? Why does nothing here make any sense ?

“You can take the books with you, if you want,” he continues. “As many as you’d like.”

And okay, Jason’s not going to say no, but why would Wayne allow that? Access to the library would be a great incentive to get Jason to do whatever Wayne wants.

“Alright,” Jason says, because Wayne seems to expect him to say something . He walks towards the doorway, and Wayne moves out of the way so he’s not blocking Jason in.

“What were you reading?” Wayne asks as they head to the dining room.

Jason tries to focus on the distance between himself and Wayne as they walk. “Cry, the Beloved Country,” he answers. Why does Wayne care? 

Wayne smiles. “I remember reading that for the first time. Where did you get up to?”

Jason frowns, but if Wayne wants to chat about pre-Apartheid South Africa, Jason’s not going to stop him.

“James Jarvis just arranged for a dam to be built in Ixopo.” 

Wayne does a double take, looking at Jason in shock. “Already?” he asks. “Isn’t that almost the end?”

“Yeah,” Jason responds. He’s careful to keep the frustration out of his voice, but he hates it when adults assume he’s stupid.

“Then it’s good you took two books. What’s the other one?”

“The Good Earth.”

For some unfathomable reason, Wayne winces.

“Do you know what it’s about?”

“No,” Jason answers, “it was close to Cry, the Beloved Country and it looked interesting.”

Wayne looks like he wants to say more, but hesitates. Jason isn’t sure what to do with the silence.

“I can put it back,” Jason says eventually. “If you don’t want me to read it.”

Wayne shakes his head, still walking forward. “You can read it,” he says, “it’s just …” He pauses. 

When Wayne continues, his tone is slow and even. “Partway through the book, the main character buys a woman from a brothel who had been sold there as a child.”

Huh.

Wayne is right, damnit, Jason would very much not like to read that.

But Jason isn’t going to tell him that. He hold onto the books tightly as they reach the dining room.

It becomes a routine.

Dick and Jason take turns staying awake or sleeping by the door. Tim insists that he should also be on guard duty sometimes, but Jason is adamant in his refusal.

“You’re still growing,” Jason tells him on the second night. “And we need you well-rested.” You’re the cleverest of all of us, Jason doesn’t say. If anyone can figure out what Wayne’s up to, it’s you. He thinks Tim understands, even though it’s never said out loud.

Damian, for his part, tries to convince them that they don’t need to stay awake or guard the door. It’s a moot point, because if no one is keeping an eye out, Jason won’t be able to fall asleep anyway.

Every morning, they have breakfast with Wayne. Every morning, Wayne tries to talk to them. And the worst part is, it’s starting to work. They start to carefully contribute to the conversation. It’s not that Wayne is a great conversationalist, either. There’s just something so awkwardly compelling in his manner that it’s hard not to answer when he tries to ask them about their likes and dislikes, their opinions on random topics.

If this is an act, Jason thinks, it’s a good one. But he’s not going to be taken in so easily. Besides, if Wayne wants to chat with them, Jason will chat. It’s hardly the worst thing he’s been asked to do.

After breakfast, Jason stays with Tim and Damian while Dick goes to the gym. If Wayne is looking to corner one of them alone, better Dick than Tim. Better Dick than Damian. It’s a good way to try and draw him out, to get Wayne to do something so they can figure this whole situation out.

(What kind of house has a full-on gym inside? It’s so weird. Who needs a whole gym in their house?)

While Dick is in the gym, Jason and Tim wander the house, trying to find any clues that might illuminate their situation. Of course, they can’t go into Wayne’s office, but their might be hints somewhere else, and they really need to figure this out. Tim seems to be made for sleuthing – he seems a lot more comfortable in this type of massive house than Jason could ever hope to be, and has a bunch of great ideas for where to look. Damian is happy to follow them. While they look for any evidence, Damian pulls out his sketchpad, Ace curled at his feet, and draws.

Every conversation with Damian feels like a widening chasm. He either gets angry, which is bad, or he becomes sad and upset, which is even worse. Damian is starting to talk more with Wayne than he does his own brothers, and it makes Jason’s stomach twist.

Soon enough, Wayne will do something, and Damian will be forced to recognize that his father can’t be trusted. Not that Jason wants that to happen! But it will, so it’s better to be prepared.

(What if Damian is right? A small voice occasionally whispers in his head. He ignores it. It doesn’t matter that they haven’t found anything yet. They will.)

Wayne also talks with them during lunch. Jason doesn’t understand it. Does Wayne want them to act like a happy family? Is that what gets him off? Some of the clients were chatty, sure, but they liked to hear themselves talk; they never wanted to hear what Jason had to say in return. Wayne asks about how they spent their morning, and seems genuinely interested to hear about Dick’s workout regimen, how he’s trying to regain enough strength to do some of the acrobatics he used to do in the circus. Dick is skilled at drawing and keeping attention, which is good, because if Jason and Tim had to talk about their mornings in detail, he’s sure Wayne would realize that they’re snooping.

After lunch, Jason heads to the library. 

Again, this is a tactical decision.

It’s also really, really nice to be able to grab whatever book he wants and curl up in the armchair he’s coming to think of as “his.” Not that anything really belongs to him in any meaningful sense. If Wayne wants to, he could forbid Jason from coming in here, and there’s nothing Jason could do about it.

Still.

The thought is nice.

Sometimes, Tim or Damian come to let him know dinner’s ready, and sometimes it’s Wayne. When Wayne comes, he never actually enters the library. He just stands in the doorway while Jason puts away any books he’s finished. While they walk to dinner, Wayne asks about the books Jason’s reading. More often than not, Wayne not only remembers the book but is able to talk about it in detail, and his analyses are pretty good. The discussions are even enjoyable, sometimes. 

The man actually seems happy the first time Jason disagrees with something he said.

The discussions sometimes continue into dinner. Like they’re a real family. Like Jason is really Wanye’s son, or something, and Wayne actually cares about his opinions.

When Jason steps back and analyzes the situation, or when he, Dick, and Tim discuss things after dinner, he gets frustrated. Because each day Wayne acts like this makes it harder and harder to remember that Wayne is planning something, and they have no idea what. Each day it becomes that much easier to talk to Wayne, that much harder to stay vigilant in his presence.

But Damian can’t be right. He just can’t. Despite not being able to find Wayne’s motives, despite all of Damian’s surprisingly logical arguments, there’s no way this is real. The odds of Wayne really just happening to free his biological son from a trafficking ring are too low. He must have orchestrated at least part of this, and they need to figure it out before they get caught in his trap.

After ten days of this, Miss Walter comes back.

Chapter Text

Tim breathes in, breathes out, and reminds himself that they’ve prepared for this and nothing bad is going to happen.

They’d planned for Miss Walter’s visit in advance. Dick and Jason had agreed with Tim that no matter what Wayne did to them, they needed to stay together. They would lie and cover up anything that might lead Miss Walter to remove them from Wayne’s custody, because they couldn’t let themselves be separated.

To Tim’s immense surprise, there isn’t anything that they need to deny or explain away. No bruises, no welts, no pain of any kind. Wayne hasn’t touched them at all.

That could change, after this visit. But Wayne is a smart enough man to know that waiting wouldn’t be necessary. None of them would have said anything to Miss Walter, and even if she did get suspicious, the money and power that Wayne has would be enough to smooth anything over. Wayne didn’t need to wait until Miss Walter approved him for longer-term care.

That’s another thing that worries Tim - how soon this visit happened. Miss Walter had said “a few weeks,” and it’s only been ten days. Maybe Wayne did want to wait until after this visit, for whatever reason, and got her to push it forward? Just because Tim can’t parse Wayne’s motivations doesn’t mean he doesn’t have them.

Jason, Tim, and Damian sit on an ornate bench outside the small sitting room where Miss Walter is talking with Dick. Wayne is somewhere else – Miss Walter insisted that he give them all space, and that she'd talk with Wayne later.

Tim isn’t worried about what Dick might say, or what Jason might say. But Damian… Damian could put there stay here in jeopardy without even meaning to. Tim knows that, despite his frustration with them, Damian would never intentionally do anything to separate his brothers. But with the way Damian’s been acting lately, Tim needs to be sure that he won’t say anything that concerns Miss Walter.

“I’m thirsty,” Tim announces, because he isn’t sure if Miss Walter can hear them and he doesn’t want to take the chance. “Damian, do you want to come get something to drink with me?”

It’s not a particularly good excuse for leaving, but Tim doesn’t care. Damian can clearly read on Tim’s face that he needs to say yes, so he does. They head towards the kitchen, but Tim diverts into another small room along the way.

“Damian,” he says firmly, because he really cannot afford another fight, not right now, “you need to be careful when talking to Miss Walter.”

Damian scoffs. “I will be pleased to tell her that Father has done nothing to any of us, just as I told you on the first night here. There is no need for me to lie.”

“I know that,” Tim says, still half in wonder that it’s the truth. “But if you tell her that we don’t trust Wayne, that we don’t feel safe here, she might decide this isn’t a good place for us and separate us from you anyway, even if Wayne hasn’t done anything yet.”

“Perhaps if you all came to your senses and realized that there was nothing to fear, there would be no risk of us being separated!”

Tim closes his eyes. Breathes in. Breathes out. “Damian,” he states calmly, opening his eyes, “you are going to tell Miss Walter that we have not been harmed by Wayne, in any way. You will also tell her that we are comfortable, and adjusting well, and that we trust that Wayne will not hurt us. If you do not, you will continue to live here, and Dick, Jason, and I will be sent somewhere else – maybe even different places.”

He pauses for emphasis, because he needs Damian to listen.

“Do you understand?”

Damian deflates, anger rushing out to be replaced by something closer to sadness.

“I wish you would at least try to give him a chance.”

Tim pushes away the sudden stab of guilt lodged in his chest. 

“Damian, I need your word.”

“I won’t say anything that will jeopardize your places here,” Damian responds. “I would have been careful, even if you didn’t tell me to be.”

“Good,” Tim says, because he can at least trust that Damian wants them here, even if he’s upset with them. “Now, lets go back before Miss Walter wants to talk with me.”

Jason’s already gone in by the time they get back. Dick is waiting for them, relaxed but deep in thought.

“How was it?” Tim asks quietly as they sit down.

“Fine. Nothing we didn’t expect,” Dick responds. He doesn’t say anything else, clearly thinking about something. Tim doesn’t push. If Dick says it went fine, then Tim trusts him.

There’s nothing else to say while they wait for Jason. Tim mentally prepares himself for whatever discussion Miss Walter would like to have with him. Soon, Jason will come out, and Tim will go in, and say whatever he needs to say to keep them all together.

Jason comes out sooner than Tim expected – his discussion was significantly shorter than Dick’s. Tim’s not sure whether that’s a good thing or a bad thing. Miss Walter is right behind him, and Tim stands up, ready to get this over with.

Then Miss Walter shakes her head. “I was hoping to speak with Damian next,” she says lightly, and despite the way she phrased it, Tim knows that it’s not a request.

Damian glances at Tim as he gets up, and Tim knows that Damian will be careful. But he still feels wrong-footed, because why does Miss Walter want to talk to Damian first? Did Dick or Jason say something that Miss Walter thought was suspicious? Tim can’t do anything, and he hates it. 

“How did it go?” he asks Jason, partially to distract himself from worrying.

Jason shrugs. “I think it was okay. We talked a lot about the library here.”

“You weren’t in there as long as Dick was.”

Jason shrugs again. 

By the time Damian walks out of the sitting room, Tim is pacing. He can’t help it. Too many scenarios run through his mind, too many ways that he and his brothers might be separated. Miss Walter had told them that this was their best chance. If they mess this up, then it’s over.

“Tim,” Miss Walter says gently, “I’d like to speak with you now, if that’s okay.”

He forces himself to stay present as he follows Miss Walter into the room. 

It’s less of an interrogation than he expected, more of a conversation about how Tim is settling in, what he spends his days doing. Tim tells her he’s been sleeping well (true – Dick and Jason won’t let him stay awake and guard the room) and that he likes to explore the manor during the day (false – he doesn’t like it, but he does it to try and figure out what Wayne is planning). They talk about his brothers. Tim tells her that Wayne hasn’t hurt him, touched him, denied him food, or even raised his voice (true – surprisingly).

He almost thinks that things are going well, that Miss Walter will give her approval and they can all stay together with no complications.

Then, she says “Tim,” in that horrible, gentle, too-kind voice that adults always use when they have something bad to say.

He can’t speak. Can’t respond. Can barely think.

“You know that your parents were under investigation for neglect after they failed to report that you were missing for five years, and in fact tried to hide your absence.”

Tim nods and presses his hands into his thighs to hide their shaking. They couldn’t have gotten custody, could they? Tim had made it clear to Miss Walter that he wanted to stay with his brothers, but if his parents won custody he’d have no choice but to leave them; his parents would never agree to take in the others, and Damian would have to stay with Wayne anyways.

He doesn’t want to leave his brothers. But when has what he wanted ever mattered?

“I’m afraid that it was worse than we originally thought.”

How? How could this get any worse?

“Tim,” she says in that same awful voice, “new evidence has been revealed to suggest that your parents were responsible for your kidnapping. That they orchestrated it.”

“No.” He doesn’t recognize his own voice. His head falls forward of its own volition, resting on trembling arms. “They wouldn’t…”

Except they would. Even before he started sneaking out, he knew they didn’t want him around. The little time they spent in Gotham was usually spent in meetings, or at the country club, or anywhere that wasn’t their home. They hadn’t ever wanted him. No one did, except his brothers.

Dimly, he hears Miss Walter’s voice filtering through the fog in his mind, phrases like “arrest” and “lost custody” and “human trafficking charges” floating just out of reach. He doesn’t want to believe this. Doesn’t want to be here. He wants his brothers, wants Dick to handle talking and Jason to protect him and Damian to support him. He doesn’t know how to get them in here. Miss Walter wanted to speak with each of them alone.

A sealed water bottle appears in his peripheral vision and he takes it, drinking obediently. Only afterwards can he make himself look at Miss Walter.

“Sorry,” he says automatically. Miss Walter’s “no need to apologize” feels just as automatic.

“What this means,” she continues, more slowly, “is that you are now eligible for a long-term placement, just like Dick and Jason are.”

Tim forcibly drags himself fully back to the present. This is much more important than parents who he already knew didn’t want him.

“I still need to discuss this with Bruce, but if he agrees and if you are amenable, we should be able to turn this into a long-term placement for all of you.”

Tim is nodding before he fully processes what she’s saying.

If he agrees.

There’s more to the conversation, then she leaves and his brothers come in, but he can’t focus on that. 

If  Wayne agrees. 

If.

It’s not a guarantee. Wayne doesn’t seem to want anything from them. Maybe that’s the answer, maybe that’s why Wayne hasn’t done anything. Maybe he’s changed his mind and he doesn’t want them. Maybe he just wanted to help Damian settle in. Tim hadn’t even considered this.

Miss Walter leaves and his brothers come in. He waits, fear churning in his stomach. After what feels like hours, she returns with Wayne, and the relief he feels upon being told that Wayne’s agreed to foster them long-term momentarily pushes all thoughts of what his parents have done and what Wayne will do out of his mind.

After a celebratory dessert of ice cream cake, and what Wayne awkwardly referred to as a “family movie night,” they bundle into the bedroom, waiting.

Always waiting.

Wayne didn’t have to wait until this visit, didn’t have to wait until long-term custody was official. But he chose to anyways. Things could change tonight. They likely will. 

So they wait.

“You are being irrational,” Damian protests, after thirty minutes in which none of his older brothers make any attempt to sleep. “Father has been nothing but kind to us all.”

Dick tries to reassure Damian, but Tim doesn’t say anything in response. Damian’s not wrong, is the thing. It’s just that Wayne’s past actions have nothing to do with how he will act in the future. 

Maybe Wayne didn’t set this whole thing up, maybe he didn’t pay off whoever he needed to in order to get them all in his manor. That could explain why he waited – maybe he really thought he had to.

But what are the odds that Damian, who was kidnapped from somewhere in the Middle East, would just happen to be sold in the same city his father lives in? And then that his father just happened to be the one to find and rescue him? 

No, much more likely that Tim’s just missed something, or that Wayne had his own reasons for waiting.

Damian’s raised voice breaks through Tim’s attempt at understanding Wayne’s motives.

“I have had enough !” 

He grabs the blanket that he’s been sleeping with the past few nights and stomps towards the door.

“I cannot handle you tonight. I will sleep elsewhere.”

Tim watches with growing horror as Damian leaves the room. He hears the door to the next room over open and shut.

Then a click. A lock.

Damian locked them out.

He looks to Dick, then Jason. Both look just as shocked as he feels.

“I’m sleeping outside his door,” Dick says eventually. 

“No.” 

Jason’s voice is harsher than Tim’s ever heard it.

“We can’t keep going like this,” Jason continues. “I’m going to Wayne tonight.”

“No,” Tim breathes, at the same time as Dick says “like hell you are.”

“We need to know what his plan is.” Tim hates the waver in Jason’s voice, hates even more how clearly he’s trying to suppress it. “We haven’t figured it out yet, and I can’t stand this – this waiting , it’s going to drive me insane.”

“Just give me more time,” Tim all but begs. “I can figure it out, I promise.”

He doesn’t know if he’s lying or not.

“Maybe Wayne wants us to be grateful, to pretend like we want it, I don’t know , but I’m going tonight, and then we’ll know where we stand.”

Tim isn’t strong enough to hold Jason back. Dick isn’t either. They have no choice but to watch him walk down the hall, carefully, as if he’s not sure about this either.

He can’t stop Jason. Damian is out of reach. Tim leans onto Dick’s shoulder, and they slowly return to their room.

Not ten minutes later, a knock at the door makes Tim jump. None of them ever knock, which means that it has to be –

“Bruce,” Dick greets calmly, but Tim can see that he’s looking at Jason, standing just behind Wayne. Jason looks – upset. Frustrated. Humiliated. But unharmed, as far as Tim can see, and he lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding.

Wayne moves to the side so Jason can walk into the room. Jason turns so he’s facing Wayne, and Dick laces his fingers through Jason’s. Wayne stays outside, not entering the room, just like he promised on the first night.

“I would like to reiterate,” Wayne says gently, slowly, “that I will not, under any circumstances, use any of you sexually. You are children, and you are under my care. That means that it is my responsibility to protect you from harm, not perpetrate it.”

Wayne pauses, looking at each of them in turn.

“That I am now your long-term foster father does not change anything in that regard.”

He pauses again, and Tim gets the impression that Wayne’s waiting for them to say something. The silence is oppressive in its weight.

“Do you have any questions?” Wayne prompts.

If there’s ever a chance to ask Wayne about what’s going on, this is it. Even if Wayne is lying, all information is helpful at this point.

Tim isn’t as sure as he has been that Wayne is lying.

“Why did you agree to take us?” he asks quietly, because he needs to know.

“Because I know…” Wayne seems to struggle for words. He starts again. “I lost my parents when I was young. I know what it is to lose family, and I couldn’t countenance gaining a son by taking him away from his brothers.”

And really, what is there to say in response to that? It sounds reasonable, except for the fact that good things don’t happen to them.

Tim is only half awake when Damian returns in the middle of the night. 

“I missed you all,” he says simply. 

Tim falls back asleep before he can respond, heart lighter.

When Tim wakes in the morning, things seem more clear than they did last night. Everything Wayne’s said and done suggests that he’s being honest, that he really doesn’t want to use any of them. It’s almost enough for Tim to believe him.

Almost.

But there’s one piece that doesn’t fit. He can buy Wayne really working for the FBI. He can buy that Wayne cares enough about family not to want to separate them. 

But the chance that Damian, born and raised somewhere in the Middle East (and never forthcoming about exactly where), just so happened to be kidnapped and brought to the city where his unknown father lives? It’s not like The Orchid was international. Dick and Jason and Tim were all kidnapped from Gotham.

It would have to be a huge coincidence. Maybe it is. Maybe it’s just one of those one-in-a-million chances. But it still bothers Tim enough to ask Damian about it, once they’re all awake and dressed and ready for their day.

Damian’s brow furrows. Tim knows how much he hates talking about his past, but they need to know. 

“I was not kidnapped from my home,” he responds to Tim’s inquiry. “I was kidnapped from Gotham.”

Tim’s mouth drops open. It’s an effort to close it.

“Why were you in Gotham?” Dick asks carefully. 

Damian is quiet for a long while. That’s okay, though. Tim can wait.

“My mother died,” he eventually answers. “My grandfather did not want me. He sent me here alone and told me to find my father, although he did not tell me who or how.”

Damian carefully does not look at any of them.

“I failed.”

Tim should comfort Damian. Should say something like “sorry for your loss” or “you didn’t fail” or “your grandpa sounds like an ass” like Dick and Jason are saying. He can’t, though. The pieces are all falling into place. Wayne hasn’t been lying.  

He gasps wildly, trying to press back tears. 

 Because if Wayne hasn’t lied to them, then all the stuff he’s said, about not raping them or hurting them, about protecting them, about him caring for them –

True.

All true.

Tim sobs.

Chapter Text

That afternoon, Wayne finds them and asks them to join him in one of the lounges.

“I have some things for you all,” he says, and Dick does not like the sound of that. If they were still at the Orchid, he would have assumed that the “things” were at best unpleasant, and at worst painful and humiliating. But Tim seems to think that Wayne isn’t lying, and nothing that Wayne’s done so far has been painful or humiliating. Dick forces himself to breathe steadily and tries not to let himself jump to the worst possible conclusions.

“Things” could mean clothes, right? They had only brought the clothes that the FBI provided them with, so maybe Wayne wants them to have more options. Or maybe Wayne bought them some games – they had Monopoly and Scrabble and two decks of cards in the Orchid, but Dick hasn’t found any games in the manor yet.

They follow Wayne into the lounge, and Dick doesn’t push himself to the front of the group, doesn’t put himself between Wayne and his brothers. It’s hard, tamping down on these protective instincts. 

It’s not a room that Dick has been in before. There’s a large table in the center, wooden and ornate, and Dick immediately focuses on the four boxes on the table, next to a large pile of papers and pencils. The boxes are sleek and white, the words MacBook Pro printed in neat gray letters on the sides.

Dr. Hurt had a laptop. He rarely let them see it, keeping it in his office under lock and key. If any of his brothers had managed to steal it, even for a few minutes, they maybe could have gotten a message out, been rescued earlier. It’s dangerous, for a jailer to give prisoners access to the outside world like that.

That Wayne is, presumably, giving each of them a laptop speaks volumes. 

“Now that you’ll be staying with me for a while, it’s important to consider your education,” the man says, like any of this is normal. Dick can feel Jason go deathly still next to him, and Tim gasps softly, like he doesn’t know if this is real. Damian moves towards the table and grabs one of the boxes, sitting down as if laptops are perfectly reasonable gifts.

“We’ll start with some diagnostic tests,” he continues. “These are just to find out where you are in terms of core subjects. Please don’t worry about how well you do – all that’s important is that we know where to start with your lessons.

“Once we have that baseline, we can decide on an education plan for each of you. If you want to go to school in-person, that is an option you can work towards, but you can also choose to do online school. Either is perfectly fine.”

With a careful glance at Wayne, Jason and Tim move to the table, opening their new laptops slowly. After a moment, Dick follows.

It doesn’t really matter for him, though. His little brothers can actually go to school and get a diploma, opening a world of possibilities they had barely dared to dream about. But Dick can’t go to school, can he? Not when he’s almost eighteen and has barely had any sort of education in a decade. Jason tried to get Dick to learn from the homeschooling books they had access to, but even so, Dick is years behind where he’s supposed to be. 

Wayne directs the others to some “online assessment” and walks them through each step. Jason’s eyes light up as he starts, and Dick has no doubts that Jason will be up to grade level by the beginning of the next school year. Damian’s brow is furrowed in concentration, and Dick has to do a double-take because he’s seen that same look on Wayne’s face once or twice.

He startles badly when Wayne appears next to him, seemingly out of nowhere. 

“Do you want to get started?” Wayne asks gently. And Dick should, honestly, this is far from the most unpleasant thing he’s been asked to do and he really should just do it to keep Wayne happy. But what’s the point of taking the assessment? To rub in how far behind Dick is?

Wayne is looking at him, though, and there’s no malice in his eyes, and Dick’s little brothers seem mostly sure that Wayne is being honest.

“I’m too old.” Too old for high school, too old for foster care, too old to stay here for much longer.

“Have you ever heard of a GED?” Wayne asks.

Dick shakes his head. 

“They’re subject tests that you can take instead of completing high school. It’s equivalent to a diploma. You can study for that, instead.”

Oh.

Dick didn’t know there was an option for people too old for high school. 

“How long does it take?” he asks.

“There’s no rush,” Wayne responds. “It depends on where you are in certain subjects. I think it takes a few months, on average.”

A few months.

Shit.

He doesn’t have a few months.

His eighteenth birthday is in thirty-two days.

Miss Walter explained it like this:

Dick is going to turn eighteen soon.

Dick will age out of foster care on his eighteenth birthday.

Because of the ongoing criminal trial, Dick cannot leave protective custody.

Bruce Wayne is not licensed to foster adults or act as protective custody.

Unless Bruce Wayne chooses to file the paperwork before Dick’s eighteenth birthday and become licensed protective custody, Dick will not be able to stay here.

Miss Walter said she would talk to Wayne about it. 

That things should work out.

Dick doesn’t really expect things to work out.

Why would Wayne choose to keep him?

The results of the education assessment do not surprise Dick in the slightest.

Jason is above grade level in English. His science and social science scores are below grade level, but not by too much. His math isn’t great, but Wayne seems to think that with a few months of online school, Jason could bring himself to grade level.

Tim is at grade level in English, science, and social science, and only a year behind in math. Wayne seems surprised, but Jason explains about the homeschool books, how it wasn’t a perfect or complete curriculum but it was something.

Damian is above grade level in all subjects. Of course he is , Dick thinks fondly. He insisted on learning at Tim’s pace, not wanting to be left behind.

“I want to go to school in-person,” Jason says as soon as his results come in.

“We can definitely do that,” Wayne responds, smiling slightly. “I think with a few months of effort, you should be able to start tenth grade in the fall.”

Jason’s face is soft with wonder.

Tim says that he wants to stick with online school, and Damian is unsure either way. Wayne says that it’s fine, they have the time and space to think about these things and decide. He says that they can choose one thing and change their minds later.

Can it really be that easy?

With the countdown in his head ticking closer every day, Dick watches.

He sees his brothers slowly becoming more comfortable in the manor. They spend time doing schoolwork every day, excited at the prospect of a real future. It’s a slow start, but soon they’re making significant progress.

Jason takes books from the library and reads wherever he chooses. Sometimes, he sticks with his brothers, but other times he reads alone. Unlike in the beginning, he doesn’t read alone to draw Wayne out but simply for the joy of finding new places in the manor. He even asks Wayne for one or two books that Wayne doesn’t have.

Tim seems lost with no sleuthing to do, and there’s only so much schoolwork he can do in a day. Wayne notices and asks him if there are any hobbies he’d like to try, and Tim asks for a camera. 

A camera.

Dick knows they’re expensive, but if Wayne was willing to buy four laptops, maybe a camera isn’t too much.

Damian still spends his free time either sketching or with Ace. He seems much calmer, more at peace, now that his brothers are no longer suspicious of Wayne’s every move. Now that his brothers are being fostered long-term.

They’re all healing, slowly but surely. When Wayne walks into a room they don’t instinctively tense, or if they do, they calm down as soon as they see who it is. Jason manages to sleep through the night without walking up to take his shift guarding the door. Tim starts speaking with Wayne more naturally and less like each conversation is a minefield to be carefully tiptoed through. 

Wayne doesn’t even seem to notice some of his kindness. When Tim, with his wry, ironic sense of humor, accidentally says something rude at dinner, Wayne doesn’t hurt him or take away his food or muzzle him like Dr. Hurt would have done – he laughs instead, seeming not to notice the way Tim’s entire body tenses as the words slip out. When Jason confesses to a small tear in one of the library books, Wayne doesn’t even revoke library privileges – he just orders another, reassuring Jason that he really isn’t angry.

Dick watches all of this, and he’s happy for them. He is. This is more than he could have dreamed of for them. He wants his brothers to have this, this almost-happy, almost-normal life. He wants them to stay here. Dick wants to stay here.

Wayne hasn’t said anything about the paperwork necessary for Dick to stay.

Dick forces himself to breathe evenly as he stares at the innocuous wood of Wayne’s office door.

This is fine. Everything’s fine.

His birthday is in twelve days. Just under two weeks.

He needs to convince Wayne to let him stay.

He can hear Wayne typing. Part of him doesn’t want to interrupt Wayne’s work, sure that he will be displeased. But he knows that this is just cowardice, just putting of the inevitable. He needs Wayne to want Dick to stay, so Wayne will fill out whatever paperwork necessary.

It won’t be so bad. Of this, Dick is certain. Wayne is not cruel, not violent. He is sometimes awkward but always kind. There’s really no reason for Dick to be afraid.

He only needs to knock once. The typing stops. Dick can hear the soft slide of a heavy chair against carpet, then even softer footsteps. He realizes he’s holding his breath and exhales as the door swings open.

This is fine. Everything’s fine.

Except he’s not so sure if he remembers Wayne being this big. This tall. Did Wayne always have that much muscle? He can’t look up, can’t meet Wayne’s eyes.

“Hello, Dick,” Wayne says warmly. 

Dick’s practiced this. He knows what to say. He forces the words out of his mouth, almost proud that he doesn’t choke on them.

“Can we talk?”

If his voice shakes, just a little, Wayne is polite enough not to call him out on it.

“Of course.” Wayne pauses. “Do you want to talk here, or downstairs?”

Downstairs, where his brothers were? Absolutely not. They don’t need to hear this.

“Here is good.”

He walks silently into the room. There’s a large desk in the center of the room, and Dick expects Wayne to walk there. Wayne doesn’t. Instead, he turns to one of the corners, where two couches face each other across a tasteful area rug. Wayne gestures to one and sits in the other, and Dick tries to convince himself that his hands aren’t shaking. There is nothing to be afraid of, he tells himself and almost believes it.

Now that he’s here, sitting across from Wayne, he realizes that he doesn’t know how to start. He’s practiced this conversation, but bargaining with Wayne in his head is much easier than bargaining with Wayne in the flesh.

How to begin? 

Wayne frowns slightly, shifting forward. “Is everything all right?”

Dick thinks he nods. He’s not sure if his head is really attached to his shoulders. It’s hard to feel it.

“Would you like some water?”

He shakes his head. He couldn’t keep anything down right now.

“Chum,” he says quietly, “can you tell me what this is about?”

The question is enough to force the words through Dick’s teeth.

“I turn eighteen in twelve days.”

Saying it out loud grounds him, reminds him why he’s here. 

“Twelve days,” he repeats.

He wore a button down shirt, because some of the nicer clients liked it when he stripped slowly, as if he was a willing lover. But his hands are still shaking, and there’s no way he could pull that off with any kind of grace. Instead, he slides quickly off the sofa, kneeling at Wayne’s feet.

“I want to stay. I’ll do anything to stay.” 

Dick doesn’t say anything else. He doesn’t think Wayne is the type to like excessive begging. If he thought it would help, he’d remind Wayne of how flexible he is, how much experience he has. The words are on the tip of his tongue as the silence stretches. He wants to look up, to see how Wayne is reacting, but he can’t bring himself to.

“Dick,” he hears eventually, “Please get up.”

He scrambles to obey. Anything, anything Wayne wants. 

Standing up makes it easier to see Wayne. There’s no lust in his expression, no anger, nothing that Dick expects. He doesn’t know if that’s good or bad.

“Do you remember what I told you, the first night? And the night after Miss Walter visited?”

Dick nods. He does remember.

I would never touch any child sexually.

You are children, and you are under my care. That means that it is my responsibility to protect you from harm, not perpetrate it.

That’s the whole problem. Dick won’t be a child in twelve days.

“We can wait,” he says desperately. “You can wait to use me until I’m eighteen, but the paperwork needs to be filed before. Please.”

He can’t fail. He needs to convince Wayne, because he can’t be separated from his brothers.

Wayne is quiet again. Dick feels like he’s going to vibrate out of his skin with anticipation. He doesn’t have anything else to offer.

“Okay," Wayne says after too-long a silence, "there are two things I need to tell you. Can you sit down, please?”

Dick hurries to obey, sitting across from Wayne.

That doesn’t sound like a yes. It doesn’t sound like Wayne’s accepting his bargain. His chest tightens.

“First of all, I will not have any type of sexual contact with you, under any circumstances. Even when you turn eighteen and are no longer considered a child legally. I do not condone rape in any form, do you understand?”

Dick shakes his head. “It wouldn’t be rape,” he says, desperate for Wayne to agree. “I want this.”

“You want to stay with your brothers,” Wayne corrects gently. “You feel like you need to offer this in order to stay. That’s not consent, that’s coercion.”

And Dick can’t really argue with that, can he? He doesn’t want to have sex with Wayne. He racks his mind desperately, trying to think of anything else he can offer to convince Wayne to let him stay. He comes up blank.

“Secondly,” Wayne continues, “I’ve already filed the paperwork.”

Dick stares. He cannot have heard that correctly.

“What ?” 

He’s surprised to here how hoarse his voice is.

“Miss Walter told me that she talked to you about it. We had to rush it, but it should go through in a few days. The judge promised it would be done by your birthday. I was going to let you know once it’s been completed.”

His chest goes tight again. He needs to focus on breathing. He didn’t know it could be so difficult.

“I’m sorry, chum,” Wayne says sadly, as if any of this is his fault. “I should have been better at communicating. I thought Miss Walter told you that I would file the paperwork.”

He needs to say something. Needs to respond.

“I didn’t think you’d want me,” he gasps out. “She said she’d ask – but I thought – I thought you’d say no. ”

Wayne’s right hand comes up, and Dick stops himself from flinching back only through sheer force of will. But the hand doesn’t come anywhere near him. Wayne lifts it to his own face, wiping away tears.

"I said yes."

He said yes.

“I know we haven’t known each other long,” Wayne continues, choked up, “but I’m very glad you’re here. You’ll always be welcome here.”

Dick believes him.

Chapter Text

They met with the principal and Jason’s homeroom during summer break. Bruce, Jason, and Miss Walter were shown around the school and Jason took more placement tests. It took two weeks for the results to come back, but Jason passed every test required for tenth grade and was even given permission to take AP Literature as a sophomore. Jason kept a countdown on the fridge, crossing off each day eagerly, and finally the first day of school is here.

“It’s okay to be nervous,” Bruce says, pulling into the carpool lane of Gotham High.

Jason rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling, so Bruce counts it as a win.

“You have my number, right? And Alfred’s, and Miss Walter’s?”

Bruce knows he does. He added them to Jason’s phone himself. He can’t help asking, anyway. 

“I’ll be fine, B,” Jason responds. “I’ll call if I need anything.” He shifts his backpack, clearly impatient.

“You remember where your homeroom is?”

Jason huffs. “Room 211, with Mrs. K. Do you want me to tell you the rest of my schedule, too?”

Bruce laughs as Jason swings the door open and leaves the car.

“I’ll see you at 3:30. Remember to have fun!” He calls out as the door swings closed again.

He stays there, watching, as Jason walks towards the school entrance. 

“It’s okay to be nervous,” he tells himself. “Jason will be fine.”

Just before Jason disappears through the school doors, he turns and waves at Bruce, grinning from ear to ear.

More than fine, Bruce thinks gratefully.

Tim doesn’t want to go to school in-person just yet. He’s doing well in online school, but Miss Walter says that he should have some sort of social interaction. Tim signed up for a local teen photography course that meets twice weekly downtown. 

Which leads Bruce to his current predicament.

At the edge of Wayne Entreprises’ roof.

At least there’s a railing, he thinks weakly as Tim lifts his camera.

Tim wanted to come later at night – he says the view of the Gotham skyline from up high is beautiful with the night sky as its backdrop. (Just how Tim knows that is not something Bruce wants to think about.) Bruce wanted him to take these pictures during the day, which he thought was much safer. Sunset was their compromise, and Bruce has to admit that there’s something touching about seeing Gotham blazing in the orange light.

Bruce doesn’t take his eyes of Tim as he walks the perimeter of the roof, but he doesn't speak, doesn't want to interrupt him. Only when Tim nods, satisfied, and heads towards the stairwell does Bruce ask, “How was it?”

“Exhilarating,” Tim answers breathlessly. His eyes are alight. “I think I got some good ones.”

Bruce would ask to see them, but Tim never lets anyone see them before he edits them. 

Besides, no photo could possibly rival the look on Tim’s face right now.

Bruce can admit that this is maybe a bit over the top.

In his defense, there’s really no reason for Wayne Manor to have three ballrooms.

And Dick did say that he needed somewhere to practice if he wanted to open a studio one day.

Converting one of the ballrooms into a gymnastics and acrobatics space seemed like the logical conclusion.

He’s nervous, though, now that the gymnasium is done. He had kept it a surprise, telling the boys that the hired contractors were just doing repairs. But he regrets that decision, because the last time Dick wanted something big from Bruce, he felt as though he had to offer sexual favors in order to get it. Bruce really doesn’t want Dick to jump to any similar conclusion about this.

The best thing to do, he decides, is to tell Dick over breakfast, with his brothers nearby and Alfred over in the kitchen. Hopefully the presence of others will calm any fears that Dick might have.

Dick’s eyes go wide when Bruce tells him, and Bruce isn’t sure if that’s a good or bad thing. He doesn’t say anything. Damian does, though, and Tim, and Jason – they all want to see the new gym. They rush off, and Dick follows slowly, Bruce right behind him.

The younger boys ooh and aah over the new equipment, asking Dick what it’s everything’s for. Dick answers steadily enough, but Bruce still can’t get a read on him. 

Then Dick looks at him, and all of Bruce’s doubts melt away.

“Thank you,” he says simply, and turns back to his brothers, explaining how the uneven bars work.

It’s the most meaningful expression of gratitude Bruce has ever received.

A week before Damian’s twelfth birthday, he sits down next to Bruce and pulls out his laptop, which opens to the homepage of a local animal shelter’s website.

“I wish to volunteer here,” Damian says firmly. “They are a well-regarded, humane shelter. I have done my research.”

“This looks great,” Bruce says as he scrolls through the website. “We actually considered adopting from here, before we got Ace. It’s…”

His voice dies out as he reaches the end of the Volunteers page. “I’m sorry, chum. It looks like you need to be fourteen to take care of the animals.” He hates having to deny Damian anything, but there it is, in black-and-white pixels.

He probably could bribe someone. But he won’t, and Damian wouldn't want him to. He has a very strong sense of ethics, especially when it comes to the treatment of animals. 

“This is true, Father, but their Paws for Reading program is available to those who are twelve years of age. This is the volunteer program that I wish to join.”

Bruce clicks on the link to the Paws for Reading page. 

Huh. 

“You want to read to the dogs?” 

“And cats.” Damian nods importantly. “Cats need human socialization just as much as dogs do.”

“Do they?” Bruce asks as he opens the volunteer form.

“They do.” Damian hesitates, then adds, “Many of the shelter animals have been ill-treated by those who were meant to care for them. By reading to them, I can show them that there are kind people in the world, people who don’t want to hurt them.”

Bruce pauses. Looks at the son who he hadn’t known a year ago.

“I think,” he says, smiling, “that you will be eminently suitable for this role.”

He has a whole speech prepared, “I care about you, no matter what” and “This doesn’t have to change anything” and “We can revisit this later if you aren’t sure” and “You’ll always have a place here” warring to escape first.

When he sees their joyful faces across the adoption forms, he realizes that he needn’t have bothered.