Humanity

Author's note: The plot developed itself despite my best wishes and will involve a teeny bit of retcon where Stephanie's concerned. A bit of constructive criticism would be much appreciated.

"You're leaving, huh?"

Dick stopped momentarily; "caught red-handed" flashed in his head before he calmed his beating heart and slung his old rucksack over his shoulder. "Yeah, Blüdhaven requires Nightwing's attention." For a moment he looked up to the ceiling and realized just how much like Bruce he sounded when it came to the Batman. It made him blanch before he recomposed and looked back towards his door. He offered the boy in the doorway a sympathetic smile of apology. "I'll try to get back as soon as possible, Timmy." It was something he knew he couldn't keep. Not after all that had happened

Dejectedly, the young teenager entered the room with a feigned look of apathy, but the sadness rolling off him in waves. "You two fought again, didn't you? Was it over me?"

"Tim, no… It isn't at all like that." He heaved a heavy sigh, a headache threatened to grow and he pinched the bridge of his nose in the hope to ward it off. "It's just personality conflict; it isn't because of you at all, and don't even think that again. Understood?"

"I heard you two talking last night, and this morning. You were talking about Jason, about…"

Dick sighed and closed the gap between them and threw an arm around Tim in a hug. "I guess we should talk, huh bud?"

Tim faltered a moment before he nodded. "I guess, but leave the backpack would you? I don't want you skipping out the minute you're done."

"You are a bright little pain in my ass, you know that?" Dick couldn't help but chuckle as he dropped the backpack to the ground and affectionately ruffled his little brother's hair. "We can take a walk around the grounds."

Once outside they stayed rather quiet for some time. Tim huddled against his sweater for warmth and Dick threw his arm around the younger to keep him warm with a half mutter to himself about how he should have had Tim put on a jacket. Still, the teen didn't seem to mind. In fact it seemed to soothe him. "So what all did you hear last night?" Dick finally asked, rather bluntly after consideration of his normal demeanor.

"Enough." Tim replied cryptically, his eyes downcast. "I've put most of the puzzle pieces together, but some I'm still questioning where they should go."

"Take it you heard the screaming match in the cave then."

"Yeah, about Jason, about Bruce's complete inability get over loss, all of it. When it got quiet I high tailed it out of there. What happened?"

Dick pursed his lips; mentally he rearranged the words again and again in his head to find a way to phrase the answer without giving too much away. None of it worked. Finally he gave up with a shrug and tossed caution to the wind. "You're fifteen, sure you've heard worse than what I'm about to say. We did what we always end up doing during a fight—we gave up and vented our frustrations out with sex."

In his arm Dick felt Tim tighten before he relaxed again, as if the information was barely registered, immediately after the younger gave a short-lived laugh. It held no hint of disgust or condescension, but actually relieved. It made Dick suddenly feel uncomfortable—as if Tim knew something Dick didn't.

"So that's how the whole "you told me you loved me" thing ties in with what happened last night."

Dick grunted in annoyance. "Yeah, I guess. Why are you so comfortable talking about this? Shouldn't you be, I don't know, running away or something? Telling me that our relationship is sick, stupid, or something other than asking me questions."

"Dick, I've been tracking Batman since you were Robin; I kept my eye on him when you were dismissed and Jason took up after you. If you honestly think I didn't notice that Bruce loved you, you're an idiot."

Dick halted. He accidently jerked Tim back in the process, but he was far too shocked to apologize for it. "What?"

"You didn't… you didn't know?"

"You should get inside because you catch a cold. I need to—I have to pay Barbara a visit. It's been awhile since I last stopped by. Be good for Al."

As he opened the door to the apartment he was suddenly assaulted by the dim smell of acetone and alcohol. "Babs?"

"In here, boy wonder!"

Dick felt his skin crawl and he involuntarily made a disgusted face at the nickname as he gently closed the apartment door behind him. "The Comish isn't lurking around, is he?"

"Course he isn't, or else I wouldn't be painting my nails. Now get in here, I am not getting my nails messed up to greet you."

He tried not to smile at the former Batgirl's feistiness and instead tried to play up his annoyed face. He rounded the corner into the tight living room his façade immediately faltered and he busted out ear-to-ear in a grin. The red head was parked at her usual spot by the computer, a bottle of nail polish and remover perched precariously on the desk besides her, intently focused on her nails—some an extremely bright pink while others were still unpainted, but the vigilante could assume not for much longer. No matter her physical limitations she was damned sure to live her life however she felt fit. For a moment he wondered why he ever broke it off with her.

Then it hit him and immediately soured his mood.

"What's the problem Dickie?"

Dick made a grumble noise as he moved to sit on the couch beside her and pulled his jacket closer to his body. "It's long and complicated."

Barbara got quiet for a moment and moved to place the nail polish away. "That's what I'm here for Dickie. I'm always here for you! C'mon, wheel me closer so we can talk."

With a contemplative pause he agreed and dragged Barbara right in front of him and leaned back against the couch, suddenly overcome with embarrassment. "It's hard to explain. Just don't—don't say anything until I've finished explaining." Across from him Barbara nodded vigorously, urged him to continue.

"Bruce and I have been—we've been," he swallowed thickly, inched closer to Barbara and lowered his voice, "Last night he was in his usual haunting ground, just staring at Jason's costume. I—it happened so fast, but we ended up in my room. We've ended up in my room a lot in the last two years…"

True to her word Barbara didn't speak a word, but her eyes did widen—and seemed to sparkle in a way that made Dick suddenly feel uncomfortable, just like Tim's did. "Just sex, nothing else between us at all. At least, I'd thought there wasn't until over a year ago." He ran a hand through his hair and exhaled slowly. "He told me that he loved me. I didn't say anything, I couldn't say anything! Then he said it again last night and I…" he trailed off, his voice betrayed him and started to crack.

It took him a moment to calm his nerves; Barbara still clung to his words. "I fucked up big time Barbara. This whole thing started because of me—I'm the one that kissed him, bated him really. Two years, two fucking years, how the hell was I supposed to know this would happen? How was I supposed to know that he…?"

Barbara continued to stay silent, but by that time she had coaxed Dick's feet onto her lap, discarded the boots and socks carefully beside her, and had started to paint his toenails the obnoxiously bright pink. She urged him to continue with a nudge of her hands, so he did. "Every morning he acts like we had committed some terrible sin. This morning he just fought with me, he left me. I just wanted to comfort him, let him know I…I love him, Babs. I want to grab his neck and squeeze most days, but I love him."

She looked up from her work on his toenails and searched for some sign to see if she could throw in her two cents. Dick had the same sort of finality as Bruce did, thus made it easy to pick up on. She returned her gaze to Dick's toes and spoke softly. "I take it he wouldn't let you say anything again last night too?"

In her periphery she saw Dick nod.

"The lifestyle he has decided to lead has a lot of risks—Jason's dead, I'm perpetually stuck in a sitting position—and he wanted you to know, in case anything ever happened to him, that he loves you."

"Then why won't he let me say it back when I feel it, too?"

"He doesn't think he deserves it, Dick."

He gave a juvenile little huff. "Why not!?"

"You're his ward, his raised you since you were nine, he's Batman, you were his Robin, he's dumb! Pick a reason."

Dick stayed quiet for a long moment and watched as she painted his nails. He found it hard to be miffed over it when his head was busy on thoughts of Bruce. "How do you know all this, Barbara?" he finally asked.

"Honestly, mostly on intuition, you two have loved each other for a long time, doesn't take a detective to see that."

"How long have you known?"

"Meh I think it was some point between you always choosing Batman over me, and then breaking up with me shortly thereafter just flipped the metaphorical light switch on."

Dick gave a childish huff. "What should I do about this, o wise Oracle?"

"Personally, I think you should let Bruce know. He has to know how you feel about him—in front of the whole Bat family ideally or at least in front of Stephanie! She and I have a bet going."

"What the hell do you mean by that?"

"Just as it sounds—she bet me that you two would never come to terms with your relationship. I, of course, had to disagree. I want to win, Dick. Let me win, please?"

She batted her eyelashes at Dick sweetly. The uncomfortable feeling he had felt earlier started to set in—it seemed he was the last to know about the obvious inevitability of his and Bruce's relationship. "Get this stupid nail polish off me."

"But Dickie, I spent so much time on all this! Wouldn't want all my hard work to go to waste, would you?"

Under his breath he whispered "I'll show you a waste you red-headed demon-lady."

"What was that Dick? You should really speak up."

Tim hummed thoughtfully to himself and leaned against the counter, his eyes rested on Alfred as if half-tempted to ask a question as each possible scenario filtered through his mind. Finally he seemed to decide to ask his question. He grabbed a muffin and hopped onto the counter beside Alfred.

"So, what was Bruce like when he was a kid?"

Alfred blinked and looked up at Tim, who seemed to have busied himself with a muffin. "What brings this line of questioning, Master Timothy?"

The boy shrugged and took a bite of his muffin with a decidedly bored expression. "No reason Al, curious." He continued with a mouthful.

"I do suggest you don't talk with your mouth full, Master Timothy. You could choke." Alfred replied pointedly with a wrinkle of his nose to show his distaste. "Though I suppose you could say Master Bruce was," he paused, his eyes thoughtful and nostalgic, "a lot like Master Richard."

"Bruce like Dick?" Tim quirked a brow though it quickly relaxed into a smile. "Yeah, I can see it. Dick's a lot like Bruce now, only makes sense. You think they make a good pair?"

It was Alfred's turn to raise an eyebrow. He rested the head of lettuce he had been preparing for dinner on the countertop and stared right at Tim, as if to ask what he meant by that.

"Face it Al, you already knew."

Tim's deadpanned reply, so much like Bruce's, made a smile twitch at the corners of Alfred's lips. "You always were a perceptive boy—"

"—to be fair, Dick sort of filled in the blanks this morning."

Alfred gave a rare chuckle at Tim's interrupt before he continued. "I did indeed, but that is their business. I have already informed Bruce, countless times, he should do something that makes him happy." He finished diplomatically as he picked up a knife and started to cut the head of lettuce.

The rhythmic chop of Alfred's knife cut between them, and for some reason Tim felt rather cheated. "I take it you aren't all giddy over the idea of Bruce and Dick?"

"Oh heavens I hadn't meant it like that." He gave a knowing smile. "But Master Bruce needs to learn to allow himself be happy, regardless of my personal feelings or preconceptions."

"But what if Bruce doesn't—"

Alfred threw up his hand to silence the vexed boy. "Master Bruce already let him get away once; I doubt he would make the same mistake twice."

Tim bit the inside of his cheek, not quite sure if he bought the pitch or not. "Fine, but answer another question if you don't mind?"

"I do believe you already asked another question, but I suppose I could allow just one more."

"How did Bruce and Tim act? Before me, before Jason—when Dick first came to the manor."

Again the nostalgia shone in his eyes. "Happy."

"Happy…" Tim repeated, and he smiled.

Their chat was cut short by soft footsteps just outside the kitchen doorway and the ruffle of a leather jacket thrown against the wall. "Someone remind me why I go over there?"

"Do I smell nail polish?"

"Don't ask, Tim."

"I do believe he already has, sir." Alfred reminded pointedly, still focused on his prep work.

Dick sighed and slumped down at the counter beside Tim. "Don't you start in on me too, Alf. I've had enough lip from people today."

Tim snickered and ruffled his brother's hair in a sort of mock revenge. "Someone's in a bad mood. Here I thought Barbara was your best friend."

"Tim, anyone ever tell you to put a sock in it? Just someone tell me when dinner is, and never let me go all day on nothing but snacks and air ever again."

"Well if one of you would be a dear and fetch Miss Stephanie for me, we could have dinner now." Alfred interjected.

Dinner had started as a silent affair; Stephanie attempted conversation more than once with help from Tim and even Alfred, but none stuck due to Dick's uncharacteristically silent disposition. Halfway through the salads their silence was interrupted by loud bangs, a crash, and a deep groan. Alfred, Dick, Stephanie, and Tim were to their feet and rushed to the doorway, where just outside in the hallway was Batman in full costume, doubled over against the wall for support.

Immediately, they all knew something was wrong—Bruce never wore the Batsuit inside the manor unless there was something deeply wrong—and Dick was first to snap from the shock and rush to the Bat's side. "He's bleeding!"

Alfred already had his jacket tossed off and his crisp white sleeves rolled up over his elbows. "Get him downstairs immediately."

It took the combined efforts of Dick, Stephanie, and Tim to get Batman through the narrow passageway into the Batcave, but it only took Dick to get the costumed crusader onto the operating table. The three backed away like scared children as Alfred worked to patch up Batman, unsure of what to do despite the commonality of the situation. Each time it still felt like some big surprise to see a man they deemed was untouchable lay writhing on an operating table—fragile morality usually masked behind a cowl and cape and darkness.

The three stayed back and watched for what felt like hours as Alfred worked to pull the bullets embedded in his abdomen, to stitch up the bloody mess with a stony resolve and expertise. At some point the shock forced the Bat to black out, so no information could be garnered—which proved only to irk Dick, annoy him to the point of anger.

"It may take some time for Master Bruce to come to, I suggest you three return to the manor and—"

"No Alfred, I'm not going anywhere. Not until I figure out who did this." Dick snapped; his eyes light dangerous as he stalked over towards the Batcomputer with determination.

Stephanie and Tim looked at each other, a silent conversation between the two ensued before they each nodded and Stephanie grabbed Dick's shoulder. "Tim and I will filter through the media channels and pinpoint Batman's last location. You need to stay with him."

"Yeah Dick, Steph and I got this. We're better detective than you are anyways!"

Dick snorted, though attempted a smile for Tim's and Stephanie's sakes. "Fine."

Alfred simply sighed as he started to clean. "I suppose I shouldn't bother reminding that it is a school night…"

"Jason…!"

Dick jumped and threw his hands on Bruce's shoulders to calm and ease him back down onto the table. "Whoa, whoa Batman, calm down. What about Jason?" Batman breathed heavily and removed his cowl to cool his heated body. Dick watched carefully, his own heart nearly burst from his chest as he waited. "What about Jason?" he repeated.

There was a long stretch of silence between them as Bruce evened out his breathing. "I—never mind. It was nothing." He relaxed and closed his eyes.

"Right, adrenaline rush…" Dick's eyes averted to the cowl in Bruce's hand and gingerly worked it from the man's grasp. "Why didn't you call in for back-up? Any one of us would have come to help you! Maybe then you wouldn't be laying here."

He was replied with a grunt and nothing more. Dick snorted and looked down at the cowl, an idea started to spawn. With cowl in hand he walked towards the Batcomputer where Stephanie and Tim were still hard at work, each took turns with suggestions on what to do and how to find out who was the culprit behind Batman's injuries. "Check to see if Batman took any recordings tonight."

Stephanie and Tim both swiveled around to look at Dick. "Why didn't I think of that?" Stephanie finally shouted excitedly; her voice reverberated loudly in the cave and she murmured a tiny "oops."

Tim rolled his eyes and bumped her out of the way to tap at the keys. "Looks like you had a good idea Dick. One recording at nineteen-hundred—"

"—what was Batman doing out at seven I wonder?"

"Quiet Steph! One recording at nineteen-hundred that is twelve seconds long."

Dick pursed his lips for a moment. "Play it."

The three looked up at the screen as Tim pressed play. As they stared up they were greeted with an obvious battle scene. Much of the video was covered by smoke—probably from a pellet Batman had dropped to disorient his foe, but by the flawless execution of parries and counters by the leather-clad man the smoke seemed to do little, if anything, to deter the opponent.

Dick may not have been a detective on Bruce's level, or even Tim's, but he wasn't an idiot. The man on the twelve seconds of video was no common street criminal. On the last second Dick watched as the mystery man moved his hand behind his back, just as he started to move it back he caught a glimpse of solid metal. Then the feed cut. Without any instruction Stephanie rewound the playback and paused.

"This guy, whoever he is, was trained." She noted aloud, her face pulled into a contemplative look.

"Yeah, just look at those moves. No way had he just learned that on the streets, not even Gotham streets."

"What I want to know is what's with the damn mask, and how the hell Batman got into a scuffle with this guy to begin with." Both teenagers turned to look at the older, both rather perturbed by darkness that befell the usually optimistic young man. "Don't look at me like that. You were wondering it too."

Behind them Alfred cleared his throat. "It is nearly five in the morning. Would it be too much for me to ask the three of you to get some sleep?"

"Isn't like we are going to get much more out of the footage and Bruce doesn't seem to be in a talkative mood. I'm done." Dick finally conceded. He patted both Stephanie and Tim on the head. "You two should probably hit the hay too."

Try as he might, Dick just couldn't soothe his mind enough to sleep. He sat up and punched at his pillows to fluff them, numerous times, to no avail. Just beyond his window he could see the sun had started to rise and made him admit to himself that he was worried. Worried about the mystery man… No, he was worried about Bruce. It annoyed him greatly, especially since he knew Bruce would be perfectly fine.

Or is he? A little voice in his head taunted. He gave a choked sigh before he got up and shook the negative thoughts from his mind on pure willpower. No, Bruce will be fine. He has to be. On autopilot his feet drove him towards the door way, then down the hall… He was too tired to even fight with himself, he knew where his feet wanted to go, and he was not about to stop it.

He creaked open the door to the master suite—Bruce's room. There was no one in there, Dick didn't expect there to be since Bruce was likely still in the Batcave. He tiptoed into the room and closed the door as silently as he could behind him and went over to the bed. Dick sighed almost happily as he lain on the bed—it felt foreign for a moment before he eased into it, the scent of Bruce Wayne lulled his senses and wrapped him in comfort he didn't think he would feel. He pulled the blanket covers over his chest and snuggled in; the silence was short-lived as the door creaked open again and a head poked in.

"Dick, can we join you?"

The young man couldn't help but smile a bit at Stephanie's question. He sat up and motioned her to come in and she did, followed by Tim who shut the door.

"Worried about Bruce too, huh?" Dick asked with a feigned casualness as the two teenagers joined him in the bed and burrowed under the covers along with Dick.

"Tim won't admit it, but yeah. We both are." Stephanie murmured as she wrapped her arms around Dick's waist to give him a snuggle.

"How did you know I'd be in here?"

"I figured you'd be worried and you would either end up in here or down in the Batcave." Tim answered innocently. "You really are easy to read."

The three said nothing more on the subject for sleep started to drown their senses and hunkered down to finally get some rest.

"Do you always just lay there for hours when you wake up?"

"Huh? I'm sorry Timmy, did I wake you up?"

Tim smirked and sat up. "No, just been watching you. Mind if I ask you something about you and Bruce?"

Dick gawked for a moment before he sat up too and composed himself. "You can ask, but I probably won't answer."

The younger looked down at Stephanie, who was still fast asleep, before back to Dick. "How did you and Bruce act when you first came to the manor?"

"That's kind of a strange question, don't you think?" he muttered and drew his knees to his chest. "I was nine when I moved in, it wasn't like we…" he trailed off, his cheeks flushed to a rather bright red.

"I know I just want to know how you two acted."

"Like pals, I guess. Heh, he used to call me chum. We did everything together, we trained, we talked, and we had fun. Even crime fighting back then was a lot different; it almost feels like a whole different life now." Dick reminisced, blue eyes muddled with emotion as if he longed for those days again.

"What changed?"

"I—I don't know. The criminals stopped seeing me as just some kid, they started seeing me for the threat I really was. The Joker… Joker was first to actually target me, stabbed me in the leg. Then Bruce changed. Batman was always distant, but then Bruce became distant too. He loved me as both Bruce and Batman, I know he always did, but he stopped calling me chum, started being harder on me with the training, with the criminals. I tried not to mind, I knew why he was doing it, but it felt like…"

"Like he was cutting himself off." Tim finished helpfully.

"Bingo. Can I tell you something and trust you not to tell it to anyone else?"

"Of course Dick, I am great with keeping secrets. You should know that by now."

"Heh, you're right—whatever was I thinking!" he paused to smile and punch Tim affectionately. "I thought I started the whole thing with Bruce just to show him I had power over him, to play the leading role for once. I just wanted to be close to him again. Then Jason died. Apart of me really envies Jason for dying."

"I understand Dick, I understand…"