Lol. I've been reading a shit ton of YJ/Batman/TT fics like dudes it's been three years. I'm in college now. I've brought my comics back up to school with me. I've been watching Gotham. I thought I should get my name back out there after three years given the name change (I was Fighter1357 and I'm so sorry for anything I wrote during High School dear god) and like Yj is getting a third season in 2018? The fuck? I'm about that shit.

Anyway. I do not own any of these characters and I am only using them for my, and other's enjoyment. They belong to DC Comics respectively. Thank you!

Damian enjoyed working with Nightwing. He'd never admit it and, god forbid if Wing ever found out, he general preferred it to working with his father. Batman, because generally Damian refused to call him Bruce or even Father anymore unless he was directly talking to him, simply didn't know what to do with Damian. And Damian didn't know what to do with Batman. Because, we, it wasn't like Bruce was actually social. He knew how to put up a front, but he couldn't exactly do that with Damian.

And well, Damian couldn't exactly return the favor. He preferred Dick because Dick wasn't like him at all. Dick made jokes and he laughed and god, well, he was so annoying sometimes. But he was serious too, and he was calm and, at the very least, he could focus. It was like the best of both worlds. Dick was what Damian had wanted in his father after he knew a father could be more than what he'd been taught. It just took him a while to realize what was right in front of him.

He and Nightwing were standing at the top of some Wayne Building on the west side. Batman was following a case for the League and called the eldest Bat in. Dick had been good natured about it, and he made it quite clear he enjoyed working with Damian. It was part of their dynamic that Damian "hated working with him". Because despite all the jokes and all the instances that he complained and rolled his eyes in frustration, he'd allow that singular smile. Dick would grin back, that big goofy grin that he'd grown into before he'd become the Batman.

And the thing was, they worked well together. Damian and Dick. They were Batman and Robin. Better than maybe the originals. Weren't the students always supposed to surpass the masters? Maybe Nightwing wasn't quite there yet, but perhaps he'd passed Bruce in his own ways (he'd always have a natural athleticism that no other bat could achieve). And maybe, some tiny, incredibly small part of Damian hadn't passed Dick. Yet.

He was still learning to be okay with that.

Things took time.

He'd at least learned that from Grayson.

So they were making progress.

"Robin," Nightwing hissed. "You paying attention?"

"Of course," Robin immediately snapped. "I'm not Todd. I listen."

Nightwing stared at him for a moment before he nodded. "I think we're done here for a little bit, alright? We should head back soon."

Damian opened his mouth to argue but a sharp look from the older hero shut him up. Damian had also learned to hold his tongue and listen to his elders. That was also something he was learning to be okay with because, god, some people were so stupid. But Nightwing had been on edge all night, as if something were deeply disturbing him. Robin hadn't been able to drag it out of him and normally Nightwing was pretty open, so it was cause for a little concern. Nightwing was really open. He'd chatter on all night if he could, sometimes. But like Damian had noted earlier about his… brother (father?), Nightwing could be serious. It was one of those nights.

Nightwing motioned for them to move buildings. Before Damian had even retracted his grappling, he had already turned to Nightwing to speak. But the man had moved toward the opposite edge of the new building and was leaning over the side, eyes narrowed.

Robin, not Damian, cleared his throat. "Nightwing?"

The man didn't move.

Robin tried again. "Nightwing, perhaps—."

"Something's wrong," Nightwing interrupted. "Don't you feel it?"

Robin frowned. "What are you prattling on about?" he growled, trying to erase the broken name of his mentor.

"Something's just not right. I feel like something's about to happen. Robin, head back to the cave," Nightwing demand. He pulled himself away from and the edge and twisted to turn to look at Robin. He crossed his arms over his chest, waiting for the oncoming argument.

It was delivered. Robin balled his fists. "You've been ignoring me all night and now you send me home, Grayson?"

Nightwing frowned. "No names on the field. Go home, Robin. Now."

Robin opened his mouth, only to pause when Nightwing held up his hand.

"Your father would kill me if you got hurt. I have a bad feeling about tonight and I trust my feelings. Go home," Nightwing's statement was final. His words had those deep no-other-option tones that Batman sometimes held when he talked to Superman about a league issue. Half the time, they didn't know Robin was listening in from the rafters of the Batcave, but Damian had observed his father… Bruce? Batman?... to know when his tone was being repeated. But Robin didn't have it in himself to argue. He frowned, hesitated a moment before he turned, and bade Nightwing no farewell.

When he arrived in the cave, he slammed his mask on the ground and growled. How dare Nightwing tell him what to do? How dare he tell the real of the Batman (but was he really?) what to do?

He stomped over to the chair and sat down and crossed his legs. He stared up at the batcomputer, green eyes hard as steel.

"Wing send you home?"

"Shut up, Drake."

"Probably did it to keep you safe," Tim remarked. He stood next to the chair of the batcomputer and frowned. "You're in my spot."

"You were listening in to our conversation," Damian snapped. "You take our privacy, I'll take your spot." Damian paused and added, "And it'll be mine one day anyway."

Tim rolled his eyes and stared up at the batcomputer. He squinted, rubbed his eyes, and then looked up at it again. There was the blinking red dot of Nightwing's location. It was moving fast around the west side of Gotham where Damian had come from. It killed Damian to not be able to join but he was too mad at Nightwing for ignoring him to go back out and ignore orders. Thus, he'd grumpily stare at the computer until Nightwing came home. If he was hurt, then Damian could scold the older brother (?) then.

But then Damian frowned. Not that he wanted Grayson hurt. He'd grown out of that too.

It was little more than an hour when the sound of the motorcycle rolled in through the entrance to the cave. Tim had pulled up another chair and was sitting in a slouching position. He glared at the back of Damian's head through the nice plushy chair that made up the batcomputer's main point of access. Damian, who could easily ignore Drake in all the hours of the day, spun the chair and turned to where Dick rested his motorcycle.

They man's suit was a beat up. As expected. How beat up, though, was difficult to see in the low light of the cave. But Dick wobbled for a minute there and didn't answer Tim's question.

The boy sat up and frowned. "Nightwing?" He paused. "Dick?"

Dick slowly removed his helmet from his head. His hands shook as he rested it on the handle bar before he collapsed in a heap on the ground. Tim and Damian's eyes widened before they rushed forward to take him to the medical bay. Dick's breathing was labored, and he seemed to have some control of himself to help the boys carry him. Getting him on the bed was the hard part and Dick's head lolled against Damian's for a moment as they pushed him up on the white sheets.

"I'll go get Alfred," Tim said, his voice shaking a little. "Make sure he's okay."

Damian stared at Dick before he turned and pulled one of the seats up.

"I didn't want you to get hurt," Damian admitted. "Well, perhaps a little. But it was not my intention Grayson, and I'd appreciate it if you stop."

But Dick's strangled breathing continued and his chest only rose and fell in response. Aside from the occasional twitch of his fingers, Dick Grayson didn't move. Damian grasped his hand for a few moments before he frowned and pulled it away. Couldn't risk Grayson waking up and thinking that Damian liked him or anything.

Alfred and Tim arrived a few minutes later.

As the man snapped on the rubber gloves, he turned to Tim and said, "Have you contacted Master Bruce?"

Tim shook his head. "Radio silence. No contact until he gets back."

Alfred didn't reply, if he'd even heard Tim at all. He immediately shooed them both out. Only Tim seemed to protest and Damian stumbled out a bit and stood right at the door before Alfred shut it in his face. It wasn't that Damian couldn't handle pain or injury— he could. Perhaps a little too well for his age, but that wasn't the issue. His issue was the strangeness of seeing Grayson simply collapse like that, his body buckling and going down in a way that held none of the grace that the acrobat usually possessed. It was flimsy and sad. There was a strangeness to seeing a Grayson who, despite his idiocy sometimes, managed to get the least injured out of all of them but still took the most risks.

Jason called Grayson the Golden Boy, but Damian couldn't disagree more. He knew that Grayson and Bruce avoided talking about the years where they argued like Drake and Todd. He knew that Grayson still held his tongue, not because it he had learned his lesson but because it wasn't worth it anymore to him.

It was strange seeing Grayson looking like he'd gone up against Superman. It was strange seeing him looking as if he'd simply given up in the middle of the fight. But Nightwing had been distracted and it wasn't unusual for heroes to slip if they were tired, and as much as Damian denied it he was a part of Grayson's life. Damian knew the general inner workings of Grayson's schedule. He had acquired it, through no fault of his own, from Alfred who'd simply given it to Damian on a whim.

Not that Damian had complained. Or hung it up.

Not at all.

Tim paced outside the med bay doors. Alfred had drawn the thick blinds and obstructed any view of the two of them. There weren't any cameras in there, generally, and even if there were, Tim would've been apprehensive of checking them on the off chance Alfred would find out. Damian let out several strings of curses at front door for several minutes before he settled down outside the door against the opposite wall.

Damian hated the Waiting Game. It was annoying and he was a very in the moment type of person. That extended to waiting for people to recover or for news to come to him. If it weren't for his slight fear of being benched by his father (Bruce?), then he would've burst in the door and demanded to know everything. But the only thing he could do at the moment was cross his arms and glare angrily at the door in a semi-decent imitation of his own… whatever's glare.

It would be some time before Alfred opened the door, a worried frown on his normally expressionless and somewhat pompous face.

"We'll wait until Master Bruce returns," he told Tim and Damian. "Go upstairs and change. There's frozen food in the fridge."

The boys glanced at each other before they picked themselves up without a fight. It wasn't normal when Alfred permitted they eat frozen food and he only did it when something bad had happened. Damian clenched his fists. If only Grayson hadn't been an idiot and sent him home, then perhaps he could've helped stop this. Whatever 'this' was.

They each stood silently in the kitchen as Tim waited for their frozen pizza to bake. Damian was leaning back on one of the bar stools, his arms folded and his green eyes bearing into the granite in front of him.

"It's not your fault," Tim said. It was a rare moment of brotherly affection. He and Damian were almost always at each other's throats. But Tim felt the need to pull himself up to be comforting— especially since Dick wasn't here to do it.

"Of course not," Damian scoffed, but the half-heartedness of the comment didn't go unnoticed.

Tim cleared his throat and continued. "I mean, Dick makes his own choices. He's an adult. And he'd be glad, and you know this too, that it isn't you down there. He'd rather is be himself. Dick's just that kind of guy."

Damian turned his head to look away. It was one of those rare instances that Drake was right and it frustrated Damian to no end. Dick was self-sacrificing and even though he'd made some terrible decisions regarding his own life, he was also very resilient in the end. Dick knew his limits, sometimes, and knew what he could or could not pull back from. The question, then, was why hadn't he called for backup? Even if Dick had sent Damian home, the man wasn't proud. He wouldn't not have called Damian or even Tim, if he was that desperate, if he needed the help.

"He's too willing to throw himself down," Damian said. He tried to keep his voice even, but it was quieter and lower than he had intended to come across.

Tim nodded. "He's pretty dumb like that sometimes," he agreed. "But there isn't anything we can do about it now. First thing after Alfred tells us what's wrong is to find out who did this."

"He's an idiot," Damian said.

"You're worried about him," Tim said at the same time.

Damian opened his mouth to retort but the oven beeped and Tim turned away to pull the pizza out.

"You are," Tim said. "You like him a lot more than you let on. Maybe you should tell him that sometime."

Damian watched Tim slice the pizza and pull out the paper plates for days like these; where one of them was injured and they all played the Waiting Game. His shoulders dropped and he leaned on the counter in front of him. Tim was, once again, right. Maybe he could focus on how much that annoyed him instead of focusing on his worry for Grayson. He only lifted himself from his thoughts when Tim placed a plate by his head.

"Eat up, tonight will be long," he instructed. Tim paused a moment and hesitated. "Uh, Little D—."

"You do not get to call me that, Grayson isn't dead," Damian snapped, "and even if he was, you certainly don't have permission to call me by that name."

Tim held up his hands. "Hey, I was just trying to relate!"

"Well, stop," Damian growled, his mouth turning into a frown. "I don't want to relate to you."

The older boy opened his mouth, offended, but he stopped when Alfred appeared at the kitchen door.

"Master Bruce has returned and has been informed of Dick's status. You may come down and see him, after we explain," the Butler said before he turned and walked back down the hall way to the entrance to the bat cave.

The moment of aggravation forgotten, the boys looked at each other with wide eyes and followed Alfred out of the kitchen, their pizza forgotten. Alfred was unusually silent as they walked down to the Batcave. Bruce was standing there with his cowl down and arms folded. He seemed troubled but the look washed away into indifference when they entered his sights. Damian scowled. Now was not the time for emotionless squabble.

"Tim," Bruce beckoned. "Damian, wait here."

Damian moved to protest, but Alfred placed his hand on his shoulder and his father shook his head. Damian reflected Bruce's own scowl on him as the two of the heroes walked down to where Dick was being held. It didn't help that, to Damian, he was closest to Grayson out of all them. He needed to be there. Maybe, a tiny voice whispered, if you acted like you cared more than perhaps father would let you in with Drake.

He squashed it and scowled more fervently at the doors. Alfred said nothing before he too disappeared after the men. A few minutes later, Bruce and Tim appeared. Tim looked deeply troubled— too emotional for his own good— but the strange look made Damian's stomach drop.

"It cannot have been that bad? Is Grayson alright? Will he heal?"

Bruce and Tim glanced at each other. "The injuries should, yes. Most of them are gone actually," Bruce said calmly.

"Gone?" Damian echoed. "It's only been a few hours—."

"There were complications," Bruce interrupted.

"What were there?" Damian demanded as he glared up at his father.

Bruce's mask of indifference shifted to brief frustration as his brown eyes met Damian's. But then that too disappeared and his father look tired. "Damian," there was a pause, "son. Do you want De-aging is?"

Damian blinked. "The process of reversing ones age, typically not of their own volition, to appear younger," he said hollowly. "How young is he?"

Bruce seemed to blink at his sons automatic response. "Yes that's exactly it. He's ten."

Damian seemed to sway for a moment. Ten. That was younger than him by two years. He felt a hand on his shoulder. He jerked himself away and glared up at his father, but it was half-hearted.

"May I see him?"

"He hasn't woken up yet," Tim said, his eyes flickering to Bruce before he steadied his gaze on Damian. "And we want to tell him before—."

"You got to see him," Damian snapped. "And Grayson cares for me more, it would be more appropriate to see me when he wakes than you."

Tim opened his mouth to argue, his eyes narrowing, but Bruce stepped forward and placed hands on both of his sons.

"Enough," he said, "Damian, you can see him for only a two minutes. Get going."

Damian didn't waste any time. He stalked past Drake and his father and into the room that was now unlocked. The door was open. Alfred was near one of the monitors, writing something down.

"Don't wake him, Master Damian. Master Richard needs his rest," Alfred said. He'd taken to calling Grayson 'Richard' once the young man had turned eighteen. Grayson protested often when it first began happening (before Damian's time), and still did, but the old Butler would not be moved. He insisted on calling Grayson Richard despite the man's protest of, 'It's Dick, Alfred!' to which Jason yelled from the other side of the manor, 'Yeah, he's a Dick!"

Alfred and Grayson were not amused.

Damian shook his mind of the memory. Grayson was tiny. He was thin and his face was so young that Damian, if he hadn't known it was Grayson because he'd been told, would not have recognized his older brother (father?). He grabbed the mans, boys?, hand and squeezed. But Grayson didn't reply. He was wearing sweatpants that were far too big and no shirt. On his chest looked like a raw, new, wound. But Damian had seen this wound before and it was mostly scar even then. But it was red here— a carved 'J' over Grayson's heart. It had been from the Joker.

He stared at his father-figure before a hand appeared on his shoulder. "Let's let Dick rest, Damian."

"Of course, father," Damian whispered. He stared at Grayson up until they closed the door.

Dick's heart seized when he realized he wasn't fighting on the Gotham rooftops and he didn't, really know where he was. When he gripped his hand and felt the soft sheets of the medical room in the Batcave he was able to relax. He tried not to dwell on the fact that he could recognize the sheets, those specific sheets, by touch. He sat up and groaned, rubbing his head. He didn't feel sore, not like he should, but there was a burning sensation on his chest and his wrists, oddly enough, felt rough.

He looked down to inspect them.

His hand was a lot smaller than expected. He didn't move. Didn't breath. He twisted his hand and wrist around. His wrist was red and sore and scratched up. But his hands looked like a child's. He looked down at his bare chest.

There, on the left side, was the carved J. But it was raw and fresh. He winced. God that hurt.

He threw the sheets off his legs. Okay, so he was definitely smaller. The sweatpants he was wearing were far too large and he seemed dwarfed by everything around them.

The door opened and he turned to find a stone-faced Tim.

"Do I even want to know?" Dick asked and oh, god, his voice was so high.

"We're not even sure," Tim admitted. He walked over to the side of Dick's bed and sat down in one of the chairs Alfred had left. "We think you got de-aged or something. Not sure if it's magic or a serum. Your blood showed nothing but…," he coughed. "Bruce and Damian headed over to where your last location was before you started heading back. Do you remember anything?"

Dick racked his brain. Everything felt a bit foggy and he was a little disorientated. "I remember insisting Damian left because I had a bad feeling, that's it." He touched his throat, as if that would help it go deeper.

Tim leaned forward, his face business. Dick could see that the boy was trying to ignore what was in front of him. Tim was oddly like Bruce in that way.

"Not even getting here and collapsing?"

Dick paused. "No."

Tim waited a moment before switching the subject. "At least you know who you are? You could be stuck with the mentality of a ten year old."

Dick grinned and stuck his tongue out at the now taller, and older, boy. Tim scowled, not appreciating Dick's sense of humor, and folded his arms. Before they could say anything else, there was the sounds of footsteps and sneaker skidding across the floor. Damian appeared in a frazzle at the doorway, his hands gripping the frame.

"Grayson!" he shouted. "Do you know who I am?"

Dick blinked and furrowed his brow. "I'm sorry, who are you?"

Damian's eyes went wide and his knees shook.

"His kidding, Damain!" Tim insisted. "Which is super mean, Dick."

Dick laughed. "Sorry, Lil' D. I didn't mean to worry you. Thought it'd be funny and I was wrong."

Damian stood straight and held his head high before he stalked over to the other chair on the other side of Dick. He slouched into it and scowled. "I do not appreciate your sense of humor, Grayson." He scrunched up his nose. "You're tiny."

It was Dick's turn to scowl. "I know I am. I forgot how small I was as a kid."

"How did you ever manage as survive as Robin?"

Dick gave his characteristic grin, which seemed far more childlike and mischievous than when he was older, and shrugged. "Skill and talent, kid."

"I'm older than you, I hardly believe you can call me kid," Damian snapped.

"You're not older than me," Dick said seriously. "I'm still me, D."

Damian sniffed.

"Do you remember what happened?"

Dick turned to find Bruce standing at the door frame. He had the Batman suit on but the cowl was pulled back to reveal a tired face. Dick suddenly felt dwarfed. It didn't help that Tim was already taller than him when he was twenty-five, or Jason either. But now even Damian was a few inches taller and Dick was tiny.

Dick sat up, suddenly feeling the need to keep his face emotionless and his attitude like Batman's. Where had that come from? He hadn't felt that way in years. "No, nothing. I remember telling Damian to leave and that's it."

"Nothing?"

Dick shook his head. "Nothing. Sorry. I wish I could help more. Know how to change me back?"

Bruce's frowned deepened, if that were possible, and sighed. "No. There's nothing in your blood and the Talismans that Zatara gave me to detect magic aren't helping."

"Oh," Dick said, his voice going high. He cleared his throat and felt red cross over his face. "Okay, that's fine. I don't mind."

Barbara slipped into Dick's old room at the Manor.

"Hey," she said, leaning around to get a look at the bed. Dick was sprawled out over it with his legs and arms around him, staring up at the large velvet canopy. He sat up quickly and a deep red seemed to crawl across his face.

"Babs!" he shrieked, his voice going high. "No, no, you're not supposed to see me!"

She frowned. "I'm not allowed to see my boyfriend?"

He shook. "No! I'm young! I'm a child!"

She sat down on the bed next to him and touched her hand to his shoulder. He seemed to shake and he had tears pricking at his eyes. She wondered if it was because of this distress that his younger body was acting accordingly.

"You're right. This is really weird," she said. "But we can still be friends?"

He didn't look up at her. His blue eyes were zoned out and his head hung in down to the floor. His shoulders shook. "You'll wait for me?"

She smiled and shook him so that their eyes met. "Of course. I promise."

Dick nodded. "Right. I, um, I wanted to give you something. Bruce had most of my stuff brought from my apartment but…" he stood up and walked over to the desk where several boxes were stacked. They were most likely from Dick's work. Bruce had called Dick's supervisor and said he was extremely sick but the recovery process would go well if he had things to distract himself with. Amy had sent over Dick's open cases immediately, wishing the man (boy, not that she knew about that part though) best wishes. When he returned, he snuck a small box into her hand.

Barbara stared at it before she looked at the child in front of her.

"I wanted… I was going to… soon," Dick explained. "I'm sorry."

She opened up the box. A small modest diamond ring was settled in the velvet. They'd talked for several months about getting married eventually. She'd always hoped it was serious but could never be too sure. Tears began to form in her eyes.

Dick's eyes widened. "Oh, uh, no don't cry!"

"I'm happy!" she insisted through the tears. "I swear, god, Dick. I'm so happy."

There seemed to be a smile of relief over his face and he dropped his shoulders. "Oh, thank god. I mean, obviously, we can't get married now but—."

"Eventually," she said. "I know." She slipped the ring on her finger and smiled. It fit perfect.

Eventually, she thought. Soon.

It was probably good that Dick Grayson was such an optimistic person. A month after he'd been de-aged, they were still searching for ways to return him and he remained in good spirits. Damian had told Dick that he was more knowledgeable and skilled than he and, thus, deserved the title of Robin again. Dick had been wary of it, especially of working with Bruce again, but in the end it seemed to work out alright. They didn't realize anything was wrong until almost two months later.

"Jason's coming today, Bruce says he needs help on a case. I think it took a lot for him to admit it," Tim remarked that morning. He was on his fifth cup of coffee already.

Dick frowned. "Jason? Who's Jason?"

Damian and Tim looked at each other. Tim leaned forward and Damian slowly slid off his chair and slipped from the kitchen. Dick cast a worry glance at the boy before he turned to Tim.

"Dick, what do you mean who's Jason?"

Dick seemed to hesitate. "I don't know who Jason is."

"Jason. He was Robin, remember? Now he's Red Hood."

Dick blinked. "I have no idea who you're talking about."

Bruce and Damian appeared a moment later. Dick spent that night in the medical ward where they measured his brain activity. The next week, he'd already forgotten Damian and Tim. He seemed to remember Bruce and Alfred and everything before he was eight. But the details all seemed fuzzy. Dick had always had a particularly good memory, bringing things up from when he'd been nine or ten to Bruce when, No, Dick, I don't remember that joke you told me on April 10th ten years ago.

They had to lie and tell him that Dick wasn't the first boy that Bruce had adopted. Aside from Damian and Tim, Jason lived away from home and worked on his own. Dick seemed to recall the details as they lied through their teeth. He knew that Jason had been killed by the Joker and had been Robin but he didn't know how he knew that.

It was a patrol, Bruce told him, you hit your head.

They hated lying to him.

He seemed to know Barbara, which made her happy. He knew her as his friend, but he didn't seem to know from where. She just smiled sadly at him when he asked her about the ring on her finger.

"He's gone right now," she said. "But he'll come back."

"Oh!" the ten year old exclaimed. "Cool!"

A year later. Dick turned eleven, Damian turned thirteen and they still had no way to turn him back.

Another year. Dick was twelve. He met Kid Flash, Red Arrow, and Aqualad with Batman.

"Kid Flash is so cool, Lil' D!" Dick exclaimed to Damian, who was lounging haphazardly over one of the plush couches in the library. Damian winced at the name.

"Is that so, Grayson?" He drawled, a scowl etched on his face.

"Yeah! He can run superfast and everything and he's really funny! He liked my jokes too and I made this really awesome pun, but I can't remember it so I can't tell you," Dick said, disappointed. He was holding himself straight up on the back of the couch Damian was across. He twisted around, his feet pointed straight in the air.

"If you'd repeat it, it wouldn't be funny. It loses its humor when you tell it again later to someone who wasn't there," Damian said quietly.

Dick scrunched up his nose. "Who told you that?"

Damain paused. You did, he thought, but held his tongue.

"You don't have a sense of humor," Dick laughed.

Damain scowled further. "It's above your comprehension, Grayson."

"Why do you call me Grayson? You've never even called me Dick. Or even Richard." There was a pause and Dick slowly lifted up one hand to balance himself. "Not that I want you to call me Richard or anything but still."

Damian hesitated. You couldn't call the person you thought of as your father figure by their first name, no matter that Grayson, Todd, and Drake all called Bruce by his first name. "I'm the only Wayne here," Damain explained, "I'm reminding you of my place above you."

Dick lowered himself to the floor. "Oh, okay."

Damian sat up, "Grayson, I—."

"No!" Dick exclaimed. "No, it's fine. I gotta go upstairs anyway, I got a new video game and I wanted to try it out."

Damian watched his father leave before he sunk lower into the couch and held in his tears. He thought it would get easier. He lied to himself.

It was almost a year later when they were all sitting in the Batcave quietly when Batman and Robin returned through the Zetatube. Tim and Damian sat up almost immediately. Jason was lounging across Bruce's chair and sat up lazily as the group walked over.

"—so cool!" Dick was saying, talking animatedly as he began to take off his mask and gloves. "We kicked butt! I mean, sure, I'm totally grounded now but at least it made it all worth it!"

"What happened?" Jason asked, seriously.

"Robin, Kid Flash, and Aqualad snuck out and broke into Cadmus to investigate. They were found, escaped, and discovered Superman's clone. They broke him out and might now form a covert operations team for the Justice League," Batman explained stoically.

Jason paused and pursed his lips. "Only you could deliver that as emotionless as you did. At least add some excitement, Bats."

Batman only glared.

"It was awesome!" Dick said again, tugging on Jason's sleeve. The kid was barely tall enough to look thirteen. He came up to just under Jason's chest. He'd taken to Jason immediately, apparently the man's off-putting personality making him more interesting. And despite what Jason tried, he really liked the kid. Not more or less than the original Dick because he really missed him, a lot, but enough that he wouldn't be as mean. He ruffled Dick's black hair.

"Dork," Jason joked. "I can't wait to hear about it."

"It was foolish of you to go out by yourself, Grayson," Damian said, his arms folded over his chest. "You could've been hurt."

Damian was, out of all of them, the most protective over Dick. It was a little cute until it got annoying at times. Recently, Damian had taken up Nightwing's old mantle, at least until Dick returned. And he operated here in Gotham as opposed to Bludhaven. He insisted that Dick's mantle shouldn't be forgotten. Robin was being used and there was no reason Damian shouldn't be Nightwing for the time being.

But then again, the time being of Dick's oddity was only supposed to last a week. Maybe two. Not almost three years. But there wasn't anything they could find. Bruce and Damian still searched rigorously. Tim and Jason did too, though they seemed to have given up sooner. Tim, like Damian, had taken to the younger Dick immediately and insisted that they hang out. Jason knew it was because Tim wanted to be the older brother to Dick that Dick had been to him.

The older brother that Dick should've been to Jason.

The man winced. He tried not to think about that anymore. He'd forgiven Dick for his rudeness when Jason first came to the manor— he kinda understood the man… boy now.

"I was fine, Lil' D!" Dick said. "Almost got cloned. That wasn't asterous."

Damian scowled at the word. Dick had taken to ripping apart suffixes and prefixes several months ago. Jason and Tim wondered to Bruce if he'd done this the first time. The man had paused and shook his head, "I think it was etymology."

They wondered of the implications.

Would Dick repeat feelings and ideas he'd had at this age? Would he have emotions he didn't understand? Dick had complained in the past of phantom pains but they didn't know if that was because of his condition or because of just crime fighting in general.

"Dick, you should go rest," Tim said, "I'll come up with you. You eat dinner yet?"

"Nah, think Alfred will let us have pizza?"

"Not if you're grounded!"

When they left, Jason and Damian turned to Bruce. "A covert operations team? You can't seriously be thinking of actually letting that happen?"

Bruce hesitated, an unsure look on his face. Jason straightened a little. It wasn't often that Bruce was unsure of something. The man turned in his chair and leaned back a little, rubbing his eyes.

"'Get on board or get out of the way', that's what they said," Bruce whispered. "He's… he's getting more independent again. I just don't want to make the same mistakes as last time."

Damian and Jason glanced at each other in a rare moment of comradery. "He's not going to leave. He has us this time, too, and so long as you don't fire him… Dick will stay, Bruce," Jason said, his voice quiet. "He's only thirteen. I doubt he's thinking what you think he is."

"He had Aqualad and Kid Flash. He was ready to go and do his own thing now—."

"You're being ridiculous," Damian paused. "Father."

Jason noted the hesitation of the word and tucked the information away for later. Before he could say anything, Damian scoffed and was walking toward the entrance to the Batcave, back up toward the library.

After a moment, Bruce sighed. "I'm losing him too," he remarked.

"Who? Damian?"

Bruce nodded. "He barely looks at me. He doesn't really call me father anymore and I…"

"I'm not super close to the kid, B," Jason noted uncomfortably. "I don't know what to tell you."

Bruce opened his mouth but Jason held up his hand. "Listen, Bruce. Damian is almost fifteen. He's had to live with a man he looked up to as his father for almost three years as a child. I think he just misses Dick, probably more than we realize or than we do. And Dick… independence isn't a mistake, B. You'll be an idiot to think it is. But Dick is allowed to grow up now how he is. If he's ready to go solo in two or three years, assuming we don't fix this shit he's gotten himself into, than let him. We both know he's stronger at this age the second time than the first. Give him the damn team, I don't care whatever the hell you do, but don't try to change him, Bruce. This isn't a second chance. He still has his own life," Jason snapped. His voice had remained steady, only rising a little at the end. His hands were griped tight into fists and he was leaning forward a little.

Bruce paused a moment before nodding. "I should get back to this."

"Oh, fuck you!" Jason snapped.

"Jason—."

"No, nah. I'm going upstairs. I'll see you later, B."

To be continued...