officialnightwing

[officialnightwing]

The memory of Bruce's death- false though it had turned out to be -was like spikes erupting inside Dick's sternum. His chest splintered and every breath agonizingly sheer, heaving as he stepped forward to glare Damian down.

The memory of the legacy; a mantle like Atlas shuddering under the weight. The memory of Tim; angry for Dick doing triage between his brothers, and then losing himself in his certainty that their father lived; wondering if his brother had gone mad wishing they weren't orphans once more. The memory of Damian; fierce and flightful and snarling at him; refusing the bond that was set between them; the blood of the covenant.

The memory of raising his father's son as his own; of failing to be a father; of understanding for the first time in his life the fragility of Bruce taking him in, recognizing it in every time Damian denied him, every time he disobeyed, every time he hated Dick for who and what he was not.

And here was Damian again; telling him they were not part of each other. That the brother injured in the bed before them wasn't Dick's to care for. That Little Wing was missing but it was not his concern. That Damian was not his.

That they came from another world and so they meant nothing to each other. That they were not really kin. That they weren't family.

The blood of the covenant. Spilt.

Breath heaving, standing before Damian, Dick's voice was strangled and sharp- as if a scream could be spoken, "It doesn't matter where we come from!"

"I don't care about that; about which universe we come from; about where we were born, about who's related to who- you're my brother. In every universe." Blue eyes steadied over Tim, then back to Damian again. "Tim and Jay; they're my brothers, and Alfred's my dakó. I don't care how, where or when- no matter what happens, you're mine."

Dick's throat throbbed. A choking sensation. Like something had caught there.

"And B- he's mine too."

Fuck. Tears. Dick blinked at them, gritting his teeth and wishing he had a damned domino to hide it behind.

"We don't share one drop of blood, but he's my dad. He'll always be my dad. The way he'll always be yours."

No matter how much Damian denied it, how much he said they weren't brothers, he had called Bruce his father and the first sound that had broken after the gunshot, an even more devastating sound was Damian calling for his baba.

"And nobody dying," Dick growled, finally swiping tears out of his eyes and forcing his breath to stop skipping a step. "Not now, not ever."

@damian-demonspawn @butlerofthecave @tim-moth-thy @redhoodedalleydog @officialbruciewayne

It had all happened so fast. One second he was stocking a food table. The next he was applying pressure to a bullet wound in Bruce's chest. People were screaming. Damian and Tim were screaming. Dick was struggling for purchase against Damian. Where was Jason? Jason had shown up right?

Then they were taking Bruce, Tim, and Dick away leaving Alfred and Damian behind. Some how through the grace of higher forces Alfred had been able to get Damian back to the manor.

"We need to change. He wouldn't want to see us in such a state." Alfred moved about grabbing the boys civilian go bags. Alfred presenting Damian with a set of clothes from the boys room as well. Bruce wouldn't want to see his kids covered in blood or still in their Gala clothes. He'd want them comfortable. Clean. So Alfred changed and washed the blood from his hands... not that it felt gone. Not clean.

He picked up the landline as if to call someone and then hung up. It was all over the news. He picked up the phone again feeling this huge need to call someone as if that would make it right. As if it would fix things. Again his mind blanked on who to call so he hung the phone up again. As the phone rattled back into place he noticed he was still shaking despite trying to be strong. His son had been injured. His grand kids had nearly met the same safe. One was missing. It was his fault. He'd been in change of security like always. He'd background checked everyone on that detail over 3 times using the batcomputer one of the best systems with the most access in the world and still he failed. He'd failed to keep his family safe. Again.

His mind shifted again. Bruce would want some comfort. Bruce would never ask for such a thing but Alfred... maybe Alfred wanted the comfort this object would bring as well. He disappeared deep into the house to a hiding spot where a small chest sat. It was full of letters and old important but not decorative Wayne artifacts. Among them included an off white baby blanket. Hand crocheted and stitched together.

As he thumbed over the precious squares he remembered their creation. Each square was made with love crocheted stitch by stitch by either Alfred's hand or more importantly Martha's. The pregnancy had been long and boring for her. She struggled with the process so she couldn't do much without risking hurting the unborn Bruce. Alfred cared for her during most of the day and parts of the night while Thomas labored to make a better world for his son and wife to live in.

She'd begged Alfred for company 'You can't expect me to lounge around the bedroom lonely and bored. Come crochet with me. I need to have this done by the time her arrives.' Not that she wouldn't have had it done at the pace she was going. So Alfred obliged her request sitting for hours by her side slowly crocheting different styles of squares for the to be born master or mistress. They'd talk. She'd nap. Alfred only working while she was conscious. When Thomas would get home no matter how late she chitter at him and show off their progress on the squares from the day. Until one day it was done. There were no squares to be made. She was showing them like usual to him when she put on a begging face. 'But now I'm so tired love and it's nearly time. Would you stitch them all together?'

And Thomas pushed back a little against this idea. Not that he meant it. 'But you and Alfred have worked so hard don't you want to finish it?'

Martha day as ever but nobody was fooled 'Alfred can't labor any more he's already done more than his fair share and I'm tired. You told me not to work too hard. Please? You have nicer stitching anyway.' And with gentle laugher the doctor agreed and stitched all the squares together under Martha's instruction and gaze. Bruce's baby blanket. It was big enough to comfortably fit over a twin bed with how many squares they'd made but it was for their baby so it was still a baby blanket. Alfred thumbed over it again.

(Part of the closed rp with @officialbruciewayne @damian-demonspawn @tim-moth-thy @redhoodedalleydog @officialnightwing )

[officialnightwing]

She misses youuuuu

Babe  ❤️ ❤️ ❤️

[officialnightwing]

Raven's even breaths were calming; the aftershock of a mission, counting the sound of the team off in his head. The hum of Cy's circuitry, whatever chitter or squeak arose from Gar, Starfire effortlessly lifting rubble away from herself as she exhaled loud and clearly- and Raven. Breathing somehow steadying even when she panted and gasped for composure.

Dick's eyes closed. His own heartbeat thumping to a steadier point. Despite that, Haley still cocked her head at him before tentatively alerting; "Yes," he murmured, then cleared his throat. "I mean," Dick shook himself out of his daze. "I will." Then said with a heartwrenching not-laugh, "I don't think Tim's really been chosen once in his life. Not even as Robin."

The circumstances of Tim taking that mantle had been... not necessarily complex, but- another link in the pattern Tim had apparently been making his entire life.

Dick was still percolating on that, on the little signs and hints of Tim's wicked low self-esteem when Rae called him out. Effortlessly, even.

Wry, he chuckled, "you got me." A too long pause, before Dick sighed, looking aside, "Not good. I guess. I got snot all over Jay's shoulder."

Blue and Yellow Roses are left outside of Dick's apartment door. "Happy Hearts Day. - Rae"

By the time Dick had the sense to go back to his apartment, not only were the roses looking a little droopy, but Haley was whining past Dick's doorway. He barely had time to grab the card, put the roses in the entrance and take Haley for a well-needed walk.

He'd expected to be back home that evening when Haley had curled up asleep in her crate. Well in time for her early morning walkies.

Frazzled, shifting Haley's leash in hand, Dick looked at the card- and couldn't help the mixture of affection under his own harsh guilt and still prickling worry.

"Rae," Dick smiled quietly. He tilted his head up, unsure if she really used a mobile, so he defaulted to pinging her communicator instead. Hooking his phone between shoulder and ear, as Haley practically tumbled down the walk-up.

@raven-thewaygate

[officialnightwing]

Dick's hand squeezed, a little tight, at Alfred's shoulder. "It's okay, Alfred." He promised, voice tight as a line above a net. "We'll find him."

So much had happened so quickly, so much had needed to happen so quickly in the aftermath, but Dick had let something slip. Failed to juggle all the variables, and now Little Wing was lost in the aftermath.

Dick had been texting another message to the only contact he had for Jay, unsure if he even still had this burner on him, if he used it at all, or if- if Jay could reach a phone. What if Jay had been shot, somehow, but no- no there had been two shots, the one that missed Timmy and the one that had-

Dick's gaze snapped up to Dami, blue eyes widening, dilating with an uncontrolled flail of feeling. Rage, guilt, rebellion; but no regret, only shame in its sharp scouring down his spine.

"He's my brother," Dick's voice rose, far too much for a conversation with Dami, and yet, there it was, loud and defensive. Still reeling from Tim's exact same accusation. "Our brother. I did exactly what B trained me to do." Blue eyes blazing. Don't you dare judge me. Even as guilt began raking claws through Dick's stomach. His jaw set in a tight line.

@butlerofthecave @damian-demonspawn @tim-moth-thy

It had all happened so fast. One second he was stocking a food table. The next he was applying pressure to a bullet wound in Bruce's chest. People were screaming. Damian and Tim were screaming. Dick was struggling for purchase against Damian. Where was Jason? Jason had shown up right?

Then they were taking Bruce, Tim, and Dick away leaving Alfred and Damian behind. Some how through the grace of higher forces Alfred had been able to get Damian back to the manor.

"We need to change. He wouldn't want to see us in such a state." Alfred moved about grabbing the boys civilian go bags. Alfred presenting Damian with a set of clothes from the boys room as well. Bruce wouldn't want to see his kids covered in blood or still in their Gala clothes. He'd want them comfortable. Clean. So Alfred changed and washed the blood from his hands... not that it felt gone. Not clean.

He picked up the landline as if to call someone and then hung up. It was all over the news. He picked up the phone again feeling this huge need to call someone as if that would make it right. As if it would fix things. Again his mind blanked on who to call so he hung the phone up again. As the phone rattled back into place he noticed he was still shaking despite trying to be strong. His son had been injured. His grand kids had nearly met the same safe. One was missing. It was his fault. He'd been in change of security like always. He'd background checked everyone on that detail over 3 times using the batcomputer one of the best systems with the most access in the world and still he failed. He'd failed to keep his family safe. Again.

His mind shifted again. Bruce would want some comfort. Bruce would never ask for such a thing but Alfred... maybe Alfred wanted the comfort this object would bring as well. He disappeared deep into the house to a hiding spot where a small chest sat. It was full of letters and old important but not decorative Wayne artifacts. Among them included an off white baby blanket. Hand crocheted and stitched together.

As he thumbed over the precious squares he remembered their creation. Each square was made with love crocheted stitch by stitch by either Alfred's hand or more importantly Martha's. The pregnancy had been long and boring for her. She struggled with the process so she couldn't do much without risking hurting the unborn Bruce. Alfred cared for her during most of the day and parts of the night while Thomas labored to make a better world for his son and wife to live in.

She'd begged Alfred for company 'You can't expect me to lounge around the bedroom lonely and bored. Come crochet with me. I need to have this done by the time her arrives.' Not that she wouldn't have had it done at the pace she was going. So Alfred obliged her request sitting for hours by her side slowly crocheting different styles of squares for the to be born master or mistress. They'd talk. She'd nap. Alfred only working while she was conscious. When Thomas would get home no matter how late she chitter at him and show off their progress on the squares from the day. Until one day it was done. There were no squares to be made. She was showing them like usual to him when she put on a begging face. 'But now I'm so tired love and it's nearly time. Would you stitch them all together?'

And Thomas pushed back a little against this idea. Not that he meant it. 'But you and Alfred have worked so hard don't you want to finish it?'

Martha day as ever but nobody was fooled 'Alfred can't labor any more he's already done more than his fair share and I'm tired. You told me not to work too hard. Please? You have nicer stitching anyway.' And with gentle laugher the doctor agreed and stitched all the squares together under Martha's instruction and gaze. Bruce's baby blanket. It was big enough to comfortably fit over a twin bed with how many squares they'd made but it was for their baby so it was still a baby blanket. Alfred thumbed over it again.

(Part of the closed rp with @officialbruciewayne @damian-demonspawn @tim-moth-thy @redhoodedalleydog @officialnightwing )

[officialnightwing]

Damian stilled, and Dick stopped reaching for him. Withdrawing away from the refusal outlined in Damian's body language. It hurt. Ached awfully.

He didn't regret it, precisely. If Bruce had died, it would have been his dying wish that Damian not kneel in his blood, and as it was, the EMTs had needed access. But he also couldn't bring himself to question Damian's rejection. Dick probably would have done the same.

Fighting to keep hurt off his face, and in his chest where it deserved to be, Dick looked back at Alfred and bit his lip.

In Dick's head, he ran through their numbers- and it was like missing a step on a staircase. A gap where there was none that left you fumbling for balance.

Alfred- Jay, Jay, Jay? -Tim, Cass, Damian.

"Where's Jay?" Dick asked urgently. "I haven't seen him."

Little Wing. Little Wing. Little Wing.

@butlerofthecave @damian-demonspawn

It had all happened so fast. One second he was stocking a food table. The next he was applying pressure to a bullet wound in Bruce's chest. People were screaming. Damian and Tim were screaming. Dick was struggling for purchase against Damian. Where was Jason? Jason had shown up right?

Then they were taking Bruce, Tim, and Dick away leaving Alfred and Damian behind. Some how through the grace of higher forces Alfred had been able to get Damian back to the manor.

"We need to change. He wouldn't want to see us in such a state." Alfred moved about grabbing the boys civilian go bags. Alfred presenting Damian with a set of clothes from the boys room as well. Bruce wouldn't want to see his kids covered in blood or still in their Gala clothes. He'd want them comfortable. Clean. So Alfred changed and washed the blood from his hands... not that it felt gone. Not clean.

He picked up the landline as if to call someone and then hung up. It was all over the news. He picked up the phone again feeling this huge need to call someone as if that would make it right. As if it would fix things. Again his mind blanked on who to call so he hung the phone up again. As the phone rattled back into place he noticed he was still shaking despite trying to be strong. His son had been injured. His grand kids had nearly met the same safe. One was missing. It was his fault. He'd been in change of security like always. He'd background checked everyone on that detail over 3 times using the batcomputer one of the best systems with the most access in the world and still he failed. He'd failed to keep his family safe. Again.

His mind shifted again. Bruce would want some comfort. Bruce would never ask for such a thing but Alfred... maybe Alfred wanted the comfort this object would bring as well. He disappeared deep into the house to a hiding spot where a small chest sat. It was full of letters and old important but not decorative Wayne artifacts. Among them included an off white baby blanket. Hand crocheted and stitched together.

As he thumbed over the precious squares he remembered their creation. Each square was made with love crocheted stitch by stitch by either Alfred's hand or more importantly Martha's. The pregnancy had been long and boring for her. She struggled with the process so she couldn't do much without risking hurting the unborn Bruce. Alfred cared for her during most of the day and parts of the night while Thomas labored to make a better world for his son and wife to live in.

She'd begged Alfred for company 'You can't expect me to lounge around the bedroom lonely and bored. Come crochet with me. I need to have this done by the time her arrives.' Not that she wouldn't have had it done at the pace she was going. So Alfred obliged her request sitting for hours by her side slowly crocheting different styles of squares for the to be born master or mistress. They'd talk. She'd nap. Alfred only working while she was conscious. When Thomas would get home no matter how late she chitter at him and show off their progress on the squares from the day. Until one day it was done. There were no squares to be made. She was showing them like usual to him when she put on a begging face. 'But now I'm so tired love and it's nearly time. Would you stitch them all together?'

And Thomas pushed back a little against this idea. Not that he meant it. 'But you and Alfred have worked so hard don't you want to finish it?'

Martha day as ever but nobody was fooled 'Alfred can't labor any more he's already done more than his fair share and I'm tired. You told me not to work too hard. Please? You have nicer stitching anyway.' And with gentle laugher the doctor agreed and stitched all the squares together under Martha's instruction and gaze. Bruce's baby blanket. It was big enough to comfortably fit over a twin bed with how many squares they'd made but it was for their baby so it was still a baby blanket. Alfred thumbed over it again.

(Part of the closed rp with @officialbruciewayne @damian-demonspawn @tim-moth-thy @redhoodedalleydog @officialnightwing )

[officialnightwing]

It had been like pulling a dog away by a leash, but Dick knew that he wouldn't help Tim by hovering over him as he tried to sleep. How could it? Their every instinct, trained already to be cautious, would be paranoid taut after the attack at the Gala. Tim would never be able to rest and recover with Dick looming over his bedside.

Still, he couldn't quite stop himself from throwing glances towards Tim's door. Then back to the empty room set up for Bruce. And finally back down at the surgical suites, hidden behind doors at the back of the corridor.

Dick took a lap of the hallway, up and down, listening and looking and checking, before circling back to sit down. He checked his phone, put it away, checked it again, opened his social media. Scrolled blindly. Put it away.

Another lap. Another heavy return to sitting. Dick all but jumped out of the seat towards Alfred's voice, rushing in to impulsively embrace Alfred. He'd meant it to reassure Alfie, but instead, there had been a pull of need in it; still a child, clinging for comfort from the old butler.

"Tim's..." Dick's voice creaked, and he cleared it. "Tim's resting. He's... he's uh, he's doing good. Sleeping off a concussion." He let go, long enough to take the civilian go bag, blankly looking at it. "Bruce is in PACU."

Dick's eyes flicked to the end of the corridor, swinging the go-bag to his shoulder. "I haven't heard anything much. They said surgery went well." He swallowed. "Stable."

He looked down at Damian, a cavernous feeling of grief and fear nearly making Dick's insides crumple. Damian looked so small, in his hoodie, and this was one was so young, and instinctive, Dick opened himself towards Damian.

@butlerofthecave @damian-demonspawn

It had all happened so fast. One second he was stocking a food table. The next he was applying pressure to a bullet wound in Bruce's chest. People were screaming. Damian and Tim were screaming. Dick was struggling for purchase against Damian. Where was Jason? Jason had shown up right?

Then they were taking Bruce, Tim, and Dick away leaving Alfred and Damian behind. Some how through the grace of higher forces Alfred had been able to get Damian back to the manor.

"We need to change. He wouldn't want to see us in such a state." Alfred moved about grabbing the boys civilian go bags. Alfred presenting Damian with a set of clothes from the boys room as well. Bruce wouldn't want to see his kids covered in blood or still in their Gala clothes. He'd want them comfortable. Clean. So Alfred changed and washed the blood from his hands... not that it felt gone. Not clean.

He picked up the landline as if to call someone and then hung up. It was all over the news. He picked up the phone again feeling this huge need to call someone as if that would make it right. As if it would fix things. Again his mind blanked on who to call so he hung the phone up again. As the phone rattled back into place he noticed he was still shaking despite trying to be strong. His son had been injured. His grand kids had nearly met the same safe. One was missing. It was his fault. He'd been in change of security like always. He'd background checked everyone on that detail over 3 times using the batcomputer one of the best systems with the most access in the world and still he failed. He'd failed to keep his family safe. Again.

His mind shifted again. Bruce would want some comfort. Bruce would never ask for such a thing but Alfred... maybe Alfred wanted the comfort this object would bring as well. He disappeared deep into the house to a hiding spot where a small chest sat. It was full of letters and old important but not decorative Wayne artifacts. Among them included an off white baby blanket. Hand crocheted and stitched together.

As he thumbed over the precious squares he remembered their creation. Each square was made with love crocheted stitch by stitch by either Alfred's hand or more importantly Martha's. The pregnancy had been long and boring for her. She struggled with the process so she couldn't do much without risking hurting the unborn Bruce. Alfred cared for her during most of the day and parts of the night while Thomas labored to make a better world for his son and wife to live in.

She'd begged Alfred for company 'You can't expect me to lounge around the bedroom lonely and bored. Come crochet with me. I need to have this done by the time her arrives.' Not that she wouldn't have had it done at the pace she was going. So Alfred obliged her request sitting for hours by her side slowly crocheting different styles of squares for the to be born master or mistress. They'd talk. She'd nap. Alfred only working while she was conscious. When Thomas would get home no matter how late she chitter at him and show off their progress on the squares from the day. Until one day it was done. There were no squares to be made. She was showing them like usual to him when she put on a begging face. 'But now I'm so tired love and it's nearly time. Would you stitch them all together?'

And Thomas pushed back a little against this idea. Not that he meant it. 'But you and Alfred have worked so hard don't you want to finish it?'

Martha day as ever but nobody was fooled 'Alfred can't labor any more he's already done more than his fair share and I'm tired. You told me not to work too hard. Please? You have nicer stitching anyway.' And with gentle laugher the doctor agreed and stitched all the squares together under Martha's instruction and gaze. Bruce's baby blanket. It was big enough to comfortably fit over a twin bed with how many squares they'd made but it was for their baby so it was still a baby blanket. Alfred thumbed over it again.

(Part of the closed rp with @officialbruciewayne @damian-demonspawn @tim-moth-thy @redhoodedalleydog @officialnightwing )

[officialnightwing]

"Rae," Dick murmured back, blinking and hesitating over an apology he couldn't have imagined needing. "Hey, hey," he soothed. "It's okay. I called your comm... and I kinda needed..." the hand on Haley's leash gestured. "That."

Raven's direct, easy to understand instruction had cleared some of the haze from Dick's thoughts. The way an order in the middle of a fade into shock was sometimes what a leader did.

"...yeah," Dick breathed out. Once. Twice. Steady breaths. "It'll take more than a bullet to keep B down," the childish confidence was superficial, something Dick had stopped believing before he was fourteen and at twenty-five had been sharply disillusioned to. Even older now, it was something he'd been telling his siblings.

Unspoken, whisper thin below the words, was Dick's confession: this time was too close for comfort.

"Hmm..." Dick hummed in consensus, waiting as Haley sniffed at a seemingly innocuous spot on the pavement. "I think fear is part of it, but... I think it's more than that." He hesitated. "He really doesn't think he's worth saving." This hesitation was longer, Dick's heart sore in the cradle of his ribcage. "We're in a line of work that's built on self-sacrifice; it's been hard enough convincing Dami that he's a person, and he's- less stubborn than Tim."

Dick couldn't help but smile, imagining his brothers hearing that particular assessment. It was true, though; Tim was more independent than Damian, more set in his thoughts, less likely to listen to Dick or even Bruce.

"Right now... you know how bad it hurts when people treat you like a person when you don't want to be a person," Dick concluded. "And there's no easy way to get past it."

Scrunching his nose as Haley selected her toilet for the night, Dick began rifling in his pocket for a doggy bag. Still cleaning up other people's shit, Dick supposed.

"Mmm..." Dick's earlier hum had sounded agreeable, but here he sounded like he didn't agree at all. He didn't voice it, but it was still clear enough that Dick still felt he should handle things for Jay.

"...yeah," Dick exhaled, and the tension cut from his body, shoulders going loose. He had said that; that your reflexes didn't just contain yourself, that the Titans had had to learn to do that in their own way...

...and Raven was right. Voicing things Dick knew to be true. Said so with clarity and grace. Gave Dick enough space to admit to the truth, "...I would have picked Tim."

A sharp swallow. "I would have still picked Tim. But if I'd had to think about it, I'd..." It would have crushed Dick's heart in a fist. It would have taken too long. His brother and his dad would both have been shot. He had trusted the training and history he had with Batman, and he had saved someone.

Quiet, Dick gently tugged at Haley's leash to let her know it was time to turn back to the apartment. "Thanks, Rae."

Blue and Yellow Roses are left outside of Dick's apartment door. "Happy Hearts Day. - Rae"

By the time Dick had the sense to go back to his apartment, not only were the roses looking a little droopy, but Haley was whining past Dick's doorway. He barely had time to grab the card, put the roses in the entrance and take Haley for a well-needed walk.

He'd expected to be back home that evening when Haley had curled up asleep in her crate. Well in time for her early morning walkies.

Frazzled, shifting Haley's leash in hand, Dick looked at the card- and couldn't help the mixture of affection under his own harsh guilt and still prickling worry.

"Rae," Dick smiled quietly. He tilted his head up, unsure if she really used a mobile, so he defaulted to pinging her communicator instead. Hooking his phone between shoulder and ear, as Haley practically tumbled down the walk-up.

@raven-thewaygate

[officialnightwing]

The only thing worse than B's critical, paranoid, self-destructive, emotionally stunted opinion was when the damn man had been right. All without having to do more than give Dick a measured look from behind reflective lenses as he set down Dottie's life's work.

And yeah- Dick could see where he'd been caught up, balancing on a highwire, blissfully oblivious to the net. Dick knew his emotions ran bright like şofranel blooms, all quick in the spring time. He'd been besotted. He'd been careless.

He'd learned his lesson; his crush's work had not only been so incandescently dangerous to not only him, but his family. He'd been too caught up to recognize the risk to not only dear Alfie, to his stoic batdad, to Jay and Tim and Cass and Damian.

Even people he hadn't thought could be in danger.

As a young boy, Dick had learned viciously fast that not only where his talented, brilliant, daring parents not nearly as invincible as he'd thought, but that even the Bat bled. But Clark. Uncle Clark, surely he was someone who could be invulnerable, someone Dick had allowed himself to think of as safe.

And Dottie had almost sold Clark out to Lex. And Dick couldn't begin to guess what Lex had done to Clark before that. But it was bad. Bad bad.

Dottie's betrayal had initially ached with anger and even hate; she'd exposed a refugee to xenophobia. It was hard not to keenly feel the roots of his family tree, the history that he always alighted to, no matter how far he flew. Hard not to draw the comparison and realize that Dot would have been a person who condemned his grandparents to the bari yag.

Someone willing to put his father in danger, his brothers in danger, his Robin in danger - his boy.

That had been when the hate and fury had dulled to a sick feeling, all hurt and ache and disgust. Mostly with her, but there had been plenty of revulsion for himself too, for getting caught up and- and- twitterpated. Besotted out of his wits.

The entire thought still felt like a hot bar. Something metal and flash-sear that he couldn't touch a thought down on without flinching. So he avoided it altogether- something difficult when his brother called him on that line and asked--

Kori wouldn't need it. Roy had other sources. Wally too. Babs especially. Gordon had gone gray yonks ago.

So yeah, Dick kinda knew who Tim was talking about...

"You are so gonna have to be more specific."

Dottie strode confidently into the executive office, just behind the efficient secretary who announced her name. Coming to the desk, she offered her hand to shake. "Mr Drake-Wayne. Thank you for taking the time to see me."

He was dressed impeccably, but it did not wholly disguise his young age. The office carefully constructed not to dwarf his pre-adult height and slim body. The suit expertly tailoured to hide the gangliness of youth. Timothy Drake-Wayne, the seventeen year old Chief Executive Officer.

He rose to greet her, expression a mask of blank professionalism, and shook her hand. A little too firmly for a confident hold. "Ms McVeigh. Please, have a seat."

Calmly, she settled into one of the uncomfortable hard-backed chairs on the guest side of the executive desk. Watching him expertly tuck the tails of his suit as he sat, so it didn't bunch. Every movement meticulous and purposeful.

"I had intended to speak to Mr Bruce Wayne," she answered. "As it isn't precisely a business matter."

Mr Drake-Wayne rose a single eyebrow. A delicate little arch, clearly conveying his lack of intention of allowing her to see Bruce.

It would always be a gulf between them, wouldn't it? The... Wayne Family, and herself. Insurmountable, even before her actions with Luthor, and the article. And believing herself capable of crossing it, that He would catch her on the other side if she leapt, had always been delusional unrealistic.

"Very well - I'll get directly to the point," she began, looking at he young CEO seriously. "Your eldest brother once offered me protective gear, kevlar blend. I am wondering if I can still cash that in."

Timothy Drake-Wayne held up a single finger. Turning slightly away, to angle himself not to face her, he took out - a device that certainly was not a regular cellphone. After a few moments, he asked a simple question: "Did you offer a redhead kevlar?"

[officialnightwing]

They're doing their best, really. Jay's been my rock.

Right now, I think what everyone needs most is breathing space. I think you understand that in a way not all of my friends do, but I miss you all the same, Rae.

Voliv tut ages, voliv tut tehára. Voliv tut mai but desar mai anglal.

Hey. I heard about B. Can I do anything to support or distract you? I'm always here for you or yours.

I feel so bad I had just went to Jump City that morning.

@raven-thewaygate

Hey Rae, hearing from you lightened everything, you have no idea. I'm not sure I'm in a distractible mood, but maybe some downtime together. When I'm not handling the rest of the flock.

I hope you're doing okay too. I know you've known my family almost as long as you've known me. And I'm glad you and the Titans are safe- I'm uninjured too, promise.

[officialnightwing]

The short word triggered Dick's quick, sharp report instincts, and it was already coming out in concise, clear summary before he could think differently: "B was shot, but is out of critical care. Jay has neutralized the attackers. Tim has a concussion. No support requested at this time."

The instinct flailed, a hand reaching for a line to catch and not finding it; instead scrabbling in the air, fragile and ill-feathered.

Dick's voice opened up, his civilian tones, leaking upset and hurt over the call, "Tim's pissed at me for keeping him from being shot instead of our Dad. He's being a tool about it too. Literally."

A soft grunt. Tim was a kid, and that- wasn't-

Bitterness burnt at Dick's tongue. "It was- like I could hear him give the order in my head, all the way in my brain."

B. Batman. The one that apparently gave commands at the back of his head.

Pretty rich of me to complain about MY daddy issues to Rae, Dick thought. Sardonic and a bit vicious. He deliberately bit his tongue on that comment.

"I'm not mad at Jay, though... that's going to be..." Dick sighed. "It's going to be a lot. You know our family."

Blue and Yellow Roses are left outside of Dick's apartment door. "Happy Hearts Day. - Rae"

By the time Dick had the sense to go back to his apartment, not only were the roses looking a little droopy, but Haley was whining past Dick's doorway. He barely had time to grab the card, put the roses in the entrance and take Haley for a well-needed walk.

He'd expected to be back home that evening when Haley had curled up asleep in her crate. Well in time for her early morning walkies.

Frazzled, shifting Haley's leash in hand, Dick looked at the card- and couldn't help the mixture of affection under his own harsh guilt and still prickling worry.

"Rae," Dick smiled quietly. He tilted his head up, unsure if she really used a mobile, so he defaulted to pinging her communicator instead. Hooking his phone between shoulder and ear, as Haley practically tumbled down the walk-up.

@raven-thewaygate

[officialnightwing]

[Text]: that made me laugh :p [Text]: ty babe

Dick hadn't exactly laughed, but he had snorted aloud and given a shark smirk at Hunter's comment. His eyebrows furrowed slightly, because- yeah, way to call him on not eating under stress...

There was a slight frustration; Dick didn't have the energy to assure his boyfriend he was fine as well as his family. But at the same time, a grateful leap somewhere in Dick's chest. It tangled up into a confusing, unattractive mix of neediness, stress and annoyance.

Deciding to off-set it with his own humor, and dodge the matter gracefully, Dick tapped out his reply:

[Text]: aw is daddy gonna take care of me~? (｡- .•)

"H-hey Hunter, baby- I- uhm. I'm going to be busy for the next few weeks..."

The voicemail had an awful tremor in Dick Grayson's usually cheerful and confident tones. A strain to the words that was reserved for the exhausted, numb space after a person has stopped crying slowly. Drained of some sorrowful fear.

"It's not that I don't want to see you. There's a- it's a family emergency- christ you've probably seen it on the news sites- my dad's in hospital."

A sniff; an ugly nasal sound.

"Okay. Okay, um. Good luck with your business meetings, knock 'em dead and- I miss you. Really miss you."

The pause this time was only punctuated with deep breathing. Silence save the scrape of air through throat. Dick weighing up whether to break down and needily plead for comfort.

And then the message ended unceremoniously, plea unsaid.

//Slade played the message twice, mulling over his options. He'd taken two fairly easy contracts, and both had been finished. He was going to head to Metropolis next for some larger business, but that could wait a little longer. Just a little-// //Echoes of lava ached in his bones.// //Or, he could split his focus.//

Text from Hunter: I'm on my way back. I'll be there for you soon.

[officialnightwing]

Blue and Yellow Roses are left outside of Dick's apartment door. "Happy Hearts Day. - Rae"

By the time Dick had the sense to go back to his apartment, not only were the roses looking a little droopy, but Haley was whining past Dick's doorway. He barely had time to grab the card, put the roses in the entrance and take Haley for a well-needed walk.

He'd expected to be back home that evening when Haley had curled up asleep in her crate. Well in time for her early morning walkies.

Frazzled, shifting Haley's leash in hand, Dick looked at the card- and couldn't help the mixture of affection under his own harsh guilt and still prickling worry.

"Rae," Dick smiled quietly. He tilted his head up, unsure if she really used a mobile, so he defaulted to pinging her communicator instead. Hooking his phone between shoulder and ear, as Haley practically tumbled down the walk-up.

@raven-thewaygate

[officialnightwing]

If you had a nickel each time your dad died, you'd have two nickles which isn't lot but it's weird that it happened twice.

And if I a nickel for each time a parent died, I'd have an entire four nickels. I don't think this is a great money spinner.

[officialnightwing]

Hey. I heard about B. Can I do anything to support or distract you? I'm always here for you or yours.

I feel so bad I had just went to Jump City that morning.

@raven-thewaygate

Hey Rae, hearing from you lightened everything, you have no idea. I'm not sure I'm in a distractible mood, but maybe some downtime together. When I'm not handling the rest of the flock.

I hope you're doing okay too. I know you've known my family almost as long as you've known me. And I'm glad you and the Titans are safe- I'm uninjured too, promise.

[officialnightwing]

Dick's heart had been pounding harder than it did when he leapt off a rooftop, turning his head this way and that in his pillow, and kicking a foot nervously against the bed. Therefore, it was at least a little surprising when he paused in his anxiousness to stare at the photo he was sent.

Really, it was amazing how great it was at distracting him. Dick hummed, eyes skimming around the photo- and face flushing, yes, he did zoom in on the lapful of bubbles to see if... mm, yes. Naked boyfriend.

Almost too distracted, Dick's emotions gave a triple layout at the text he received.

Pulling his pillow closer so he could stare at his phone screen past the fluff, Haley now flopped against his side- having given up on getting his attention -Dick read and reread it.

Now his heart was racing.

Fingertips sweating like he was going to come off the fly bar.

[Text]: call?

//On Valentine's Day morning, a large box arrived for Dick. 125 stunning blue roses were displayed within, and delicately tucked between some of the vivid petals laid a card that simply read, 'I had to leave town for a business trip this weekend, but I will miss you. If you were so inclined to ruffle your own feathers while I'm gone, I'm a birdcall away. I may be the Hunter, but Cupid has aimed true and struck me down.'// - @deathstrokewilson

Almost taken aback by the roses, Dick barely had the presence of mind to slip the card free. Reading it over, face blazing, he span the card in his fingertips with a nervous grin setting on his face.

It was sentimental. Sappy, even, in a way that made Dick feel like three or four cartwheels and a high kick. The sort of feeling that made him feel feather light on his feet-

And feathers...

He studied the card, humming to himself. Flicked at it, and span it in his fingers again. Even early morning restful, Dick step was springing as he returned to his bed, jumping onto it gracefully at the same time as grabbing for his phone.

A brief glance around an apartment that was all his- okay well Haley was still snuffled in the blankets, but- okay-

"Sorry girl," Dick picked her up gently and deposited her in the dog bed beside the bed. He stifled a grin at her sleepy protest, before kicking around and shucking his clothes off. Definitely did not want his dog around whilst he took a sexy pic for his perfect civilian boyfriend.

Rolling about, angling his phone, and- "Oh wait wait," Dick was out of the bed, and hastily fetched one of the roses, returning to settle on his stomach, teasing the rose in one hand for the camera.

Perfect. Teasing curve of his ass. Sexy, but more flirtatious- match Hunter's energy, that's just right- Dick snapped a flurry of photos. Almost immediately, he stopped flexing and posing, so he could flick through and pick the best one.

Sometime into this, Haley hopped back up into the warm bed, and Dick squawked and laughed when her cold nose pressed the small of his back. Tugging the sheet up over his back, Dick hesitated over a reply... biting his lip before typing...

[TEXT}: Miss you too. [TEXT]: Love you.

Ohhh... oh that was-- Dick dropped his phone to the side, buried his head in his pillow and groaned to himself whilst Haley sniffed at his hair.

[officialnightwing]

Dick stared at the text, not exactly re-reading it- he'd read it right the first time -but just gazing at it and trying to decipher how he... felt about it. The priority it suggested.

Granted, Hunter's work wasn't life or death the way Dick's family's was. Still, it touched at a quiet part of himself that remembered his father- his first father- John Grayson- plucking him up to set against his hip, and feel his temperature. Dick's timid I don't wanna go out tonight turned into a gentle affirmation that he did not have to perform if he did not want to.

He'd just told Hunter that he was going to be tied up in family crisis for the foreseeable future. Hadn't even managed to admit he would have no nights free whilst the cowl awaited. And it was that thought that prompted Dick's flurry of texts.

[Text]: I wont be able to do any evenings [Text]: and will b busy with family [Text]: you dont have to cut your work short im gonna be tied up

"H-hey Hunter, baby- I- uhm. I'm going to be busy for the next few weeks..."

The voicemail had an awful tremor in Dick Grayson's usually cheerful and confident tones. A strain to the words that was reserved for the exhausted, numb space after a person has stopped crying slowly. Drained of some sorrowful fear.

"It's not that I don't want to see you. There's a- it's a family emergency- christ you've probably seen it on the news sites- my dad's in hospital."

A sniff; an ugly nasal sound.

"Okay. Okay, um. Good luck with your business meetings, knock 'em dead and- I miss you. Really miss you."

The pause this time was only punctuated with deep breathing. Silence save the scrape of air through throat. Dick weighing up whether to break down and needily plead for comfort.

And then the message ended unceremoniously, plea unsaid.

//Slade played the message twice, mulling over his options. He'd taken two fairly easy contracts, and both had been finished. He was going to head to Metropolis next for some larger business, but that could wait a little longer. Just a little-// //Echoes of lava ached in his bones.// //Or, he could split his focus.//

Text from Hunter: I'm on my way back. I'll be there for you soon.

[officialnightwing]

Dick squeezed Tim's hand, quiet as an ache bled in his sternum, because- that was Tim. Always anticipating. Seeing Dick's examples and points before he'd even made them, each clever synapse in that mind of his able to work in parallel, like an electric current, exposed through wood. And yet, the conclusion Tim drew felt so burnt out. So Dick held his little brother's hand in his.

Watched tears swell, and some nameless, unacknowledged creature of an emotion grip Tim's voice by the throat. And all of it met with a puzzled, unattached quietude.

"Flexible is kinda my thing," Dick said, an assuring tiny smile. Fingertips a warm pulse around Tim's.

He wasn't going to change a lifetime of being devalued, of everyone Tim had loved and trusted growing up reducing him to the sum of his parts. Dick wasn't going to break that down, not tonight, not in a hospital bed, with Tim recovering from Dick slamming him into a marble floor and their dad fighting for his life.

It would have to be enough to be of any comfort right now.

"Zhávo mánge," Dick soothed. "It's okay. You don't have to be anyone or anything right now. You are good as you are. Tool or person. I'm just- I'm just so grateful you're still here." He rubbed his thumb in circles on Tim's hand, his own trembling in betrayal of fear. "Daráilem mánge kh' múrro drago phral kámas-mules..."

He breathed out slowly, squeezing his eyes shut, "I would have saved you both if I could have..."

Say their names. List all your babies, Alfred had asked, and Bruce did as his father said- starting with Duke and finishing with Dick, as if unthreading the tapestry of his life. Recalling their arrivals in reverse.

He was still murmuring as he was taken to the ambulance, fading out somewhere between Steph and Tim.

The essential thing had been the oxygen; between the trauma to the lung and progressive hæmorrhage, his cells had been starved of air. Then fluid replacement. Then six gruelling hours of surgery repairing the partial aortic dissection, and the lower left lung resection.

There was an analogy to carrion birds that was a little too on the nose, with reporters watching for an announcement one way or another. The last word had been that Tim Drake was being kept for observation.

In the hours between the shooting and the present, wildfire rumours burned online.

It was reported as a hostage situation gone tragically wrong. Conspiracy theorists speculated it might have been a targeted hate crime. The Gala had been fundraising for the queer community; both Wayne and Drake had been seen dating men. Or perhaps it had been a target specific to Wayne Enterprises. Someone looking to exploit key members of the company. Or was this more personal? A family matter?

The shooters were- depending on who you asked -working for business rival Oswald "The Penguin" Cobblepot, or else Bruce's estranged friend, Harvey "Two-Face" Dent. Or maybe the Joker, this was Gotham after-all. In any case, the shooters had fled in the open panic- and were now believed to have gone to ground in fear of the Bat.

Hours spent, and the Wayne Family announced simply that Bruce Wayne was out of surgery and out of danger, but that the family requested privacy for the time being.

[ this is a closed rp thread with @butlerofthecave @officialbruciewayne @officialnightwing @redhoodedalleydog @tim-moth-thy @damian-demonspawn ]