I'm not too surprised when Clark stops by the next day. When Alfred comes to Dick's door and informs me that I have company I nod soundlessly and step to the door, trying not to wake my son. Dick's been restless and edgy ever since the surgery, the pain in his knee bringing back painful memories no doubt. He's sleeping now though, and I don't want to wake him, so instead I stand silently and pull the comforters over his shoulder, telling him, "I'll be there in a minute."
I stop by Damian's room, tell him, "Go sit with your brother", and he nods, standing obediently. He might not know what has unsettled Dick so, but he seems to understand my desire not to leave him alone.

I wander downstairs to where Clark's standing in the hallway and greet him cautiously. I've never been exactly positive where Clark and I stand, he's always been a little too rules oriented for me, but I think I know what he's here for today.

He looks up when I come in, telling me, "I appreciate you seeing me."
"You didn't give me much choice."
He shrugs, "Dick needs to decide who's subbing for him in Bludhaven while he's laid up here."

I hesitate, then sigh. It'll have to come out eventually. "Dick's retiring."
Clark freezes, and he looks surprisingly concerned, "Is he that badly hurt?"
I shake my head, "No. Not exactly."
"Than what's the matter with him?"

I bristle at the phrase, then tell him, "Nothings wrong, Clark. He's worn out. He's retiring."
I had expected another response besides the one he gave. He ran a hand through his hair, then asked, "So he went back to the Tower then."

"No." I'm confused, "No, he's staying here."
"But he retired."
"And…"
"And if he's not Nightwing anymore…"
I catch on fast enough, tell him, "No, Clark, he's not Nightwing anymore. But he's still my son."

Clark runs a hand through his hair, then asks, "Is there any chance that he'll reconsider?"
"I doubt it."
I turn and leave him then, going back upstairs, Damian sees me and smiles making room for me on the couch. He leans against me slightly as I look at Dick, then asks, "He looks young."
"He is young." He's only twenty – five. I forget that. I nod at the position he's in and say, "He's always slept that way."
"Really?"
"Really. When he was younger he had a rabbit under the other arm."
Damian's eyes widen, "He did not."
"Oh yeah. Plush. Blue. Bow tie. The whole works."
I don't tell him the whole story of that, of how the social worker had taken the original from him and forgotten to give it back, and I'd had to find him a new one before he would go to sleep. He'd only been five at the time I think. Way too young.

Damian snickers, "I can't wait to tease him about that -"
I refrain form pointing out that he sleeps with a ratty blanket that's more shreds that fabric. I don't particularly desire to drive Domain to use those pointy little elbows that Dick's been teaching him to throw.

Tim taught him how to organize his notes. Dick taught him street fighting. I should be angry, but I can't quite manage it.

I smile at my youngest, then sya, "I've got something to take care of, Damian. You all right here?"

He nods, going to curl up on the bed. Dick stirs just enough to pull the blankets over him sleepily, and then goes back to sleep himself.

I smile and leave my sons upstairs.

Both of them.