Work Text:
Dick:
Dick flew awake with a gasp, heart pounding through his chest. There's a bullet wound in his shoulder he can't remember receiving, but he's definitely staring up at the cave infirmary ceiling so he was at least safe. Probably. He's met too many alternate Batmans to say that for sure.
Now…. what happened to the evil magician wielding some ancient artifact and the rest of his memory? It would be just his luck to get hit with something, especially a magical amnesia-inducing magical blast that Jason and Steph would laugh at him for eternity for.
"Master Richard?" Dick took a relieved breath, at least Alfred should be able to walk him through the situation before his siblings found out, and blinked slowly before looking over at Alfred.
And blinked again.
And again.
Alfred still had hair.
This was bad. This was really bad. Temporal distortion then, whether his current body thrown into the past or his mind thrown into his past body. If the blue burst had been the initial temporal distortion, then likely the latter, given the bullet wound.
He'd been deaged.
Dick was going to kill that magician himself, forget about Jason's guns. Alfred having hair placed his current time before Jason had been reluctantly reintegrated into the Bat ecosystem and Dick cannot deal with that. Absolutely not.
"It is a joy to see you awake," Alfred stated, moving to Dick's bedside to check his wounds. Definitely a bullet wound in his shoulder, and other injuries that concurred with Dick's experience with long falls. "Master Bruce has been very worried for you."
Dick blinked. Bruce…. so this was either after Tim joined the family and Dick had been in Gotham to help the new Robin or before Dick became Nightwing.
"What happened?" He rasped. Alfred offered him water which he took, waiting for a response. Policy for this sort of situation was to find Batman and rattle off the correct codes, and then Batman would help Dick get back to the correct time-period, but that first depended on Batman being experienced enough to need codes for the bimonthly time shenanigans.
Besides, could Dick even get back to his previous timeline? He'd been thrust into his old body. Chances were, he was just stuck here, in some alternate universe / timeline situation. In that case, did he really want to tell Bruce? The man would be absolutely paranoid about everything.
"After the Joker shot you, you fell off the roof and Master Bruce defeated the Joker and retrieved you."
No.
This can't be real. That magician couldn't possibly be cruel enough to deage Dick back to his Robin years. No. This can't be happening. This can't be the last day he was Robin. He can't go through this again.
Dick blinked as Alfred began changing his bandages, and made a perhaps hasty decision to not say anything. He'd rather sit through the upcoming argument and disappear to Blüdhaven to recoup and figure out what to do. Perhaps talk to Wally about timeline changes before he showed up and actually created a relationship with baby Jason.
"Well, I'm not a child — and I'm not dead, either! I cannot stop helping people because of one incident!" Dick growled back when Bruce first suggested leaving Robin dead. It's not verbatim to what he'd said last time, but Dick's older now. And tired. And understands better that Bruce was trying to protect him, even if he chose a terrible way to go about it. Doesn't mean he can't give Bruce hell for his own awful decisions though.
"You almost did die tonight, Dick — and had you, the Joker would not have been responsible. I would." Bruce folded his arms, glaring down at Dick.
Dick fumed. Nevermind. He was changing the timeline now. Maybe his words wouldn't have any effect, maybe they would. "That's not how blame works, Bruce. The Joker tried to kill me, therefore it's his fault. I chose this. I'm 18 now; if you wanted to stop me you should have actually put in effort when I was, say, eight."
Bruce's face darkened. "We got lucky today. You could've died. I can't let you put yourself in that situation again."
Dick paused, took in a deep breath. He may be 18, but he's mentally older than that. Bruce doesn't have nearly as much control over his life anymore. Bruce had gotten better. They'd had a long talk, eventually, after Dick had begun spending more time around the manor for Tim and Bruce had actually apologized. "That's not your choice to make anymore," he responded simply. "You can't stop me from pursuing my own destiny, Robin or no Robin."
Bruce's lips pressed into a frown as he stared Dick down. Dick stared back at him, unwilling to be cowed by Bruce. Bruce could dislike this decision all he wanted, but that wouldn't change Dick's choice.
Almost imperceptibly, Bruce softened, leaning forwards to wrap Dick in a hug. "That's one thing I've learned, Dick — a man might as well pursue his destiny, because it'll catch him if he doesn't." Dick froze. Bruce had said that same thing last time — he remembered it, debated over it as if trying to figure out that had been Bruce giving underhand permission or if Bruce would later ignore it if things went wrong. It was different this time. This time, that sounded like permission.
Jason:
Jason was twelve again. And on the streets. That fucking magician. He'd hit Nightwing, but it was as if the world had been reset. Jason knew his magic too, and he doubted this was some fixable problem. His soul had been pushed back through time — he had the All-Blades still, at least. Jason was stuck in his godforsaken twelve year old body.
He had a good idea why he was back in this time period too. The magician had been taunting Nightwing about being kicked out from Robin, and if Jason recalled the family trauma correctly, the fact that the newspapers were yelling about the Joker possibly killing Robin meant Dick was about to get fired from Robin.
Which left Jason in an all around shitty scenario. He wasn't keen on getting himself readopted by Bruce Wayne or on spending another two and a half years in the scaly panties, but there weren't resources in Crime Alley for homeless kids until he as Red Hood instituted them. If anything, he was more likely to get trafficked by approaching the one soup kitchen.
And if he wanted to create those resources for kids, well, he needed weapons, a suit, and a reputation. None of which he could easily get access to while twelve without joining a gang or running to the League of Assassins with his future knowledge. Neither of which were options even worth considering.
Stealing the tires off the Batmobile it was. Jason would definitely avoid the stint as Robin, though maybe see if he could get training anyways. Gods only imagine the amount of hours he'd have to put in to get his body retrained before he can restart his crusade to help Crime Alley.
Maybe, if he's really lucky, Dick will have gotten stuck back here with him.
Now here's the real question…. can Jason speed up the adoption process? Having to wait six months for Bruce's anniversary and singular yearly trek into Crime Alley would be irritating, to say the least.
Tim:
Tim woke up in an empty house. Not exactly unusual, except the last thing he remembered was Nightwing getting lambasted with a glowing blue ray, and if he'd also gotten hit and knocked out he would have been kept in the infirmary for observation.
He rubbed his eyes, glancing around his childhood bedroom. He hadn't been here in ages, having moved into the Wayne manor after Jack died and Bruce sat him down, and, later, the Nest. It was weird, because he'd been part of the Wayne family for almost two years, so why would someone bring him back here? Jason or Damian, as a prank, maybe? But Jason wasn't that cruel and his relationship with Damian was slowly getting better.
Also why wasn't the place covered in dust? Surely it ought to have been. He'd taken the furniture he wanted and left the rest to rot. Wait — why was that furniture still here???
Tim lurched out of bed and immediately stumbled. Why were his limbs so short? What had happened? What was — Tim shoved his bathroom door out of the way, sliding to a stop in front of the mirror, and just — stared.
Why was he so short??? And so tiny???
No, no, no, please tell him this wasn't a time problem. He didn't want to be the new Bart. He liked his friends and life. No, no, why was he so small—
Tim scrambled back out of the bathroom, grabbing his phone off the counter, slamming into the much, much older model that still had a button on the front. The screen blinked up at him — okay, wrong month, wrong day. Definitely time travel. What year?
Tim's hands jiggled as he navigated to the browser, feeling almost stupid as he typed it into the browser.
He was ten. This couldn't be possible. Tim was tiny.
Oh, and he recognized the date too. Wasn't this the day Dick was fired? A quick search on news articles, and, yeah, the Joker shot Dick last night.
Wonderful. What was he to do now? Tim had knowledge, had the ability to save Jason's life and prevent Dick's relationship with Bruce from completely blowing up. He could prevent Babs from being shot, prevent Kon and Bart from dying, prevent every major problem the Justice League had faced. And Tim remembered them all.
But could he? Tim knew the problems that had come up in the past with the butterfly effect and heroes causing worse problems then the ones they solved. Not to mention he wasn't sure if this was a permanent situation or not.
No. Tim was a hero, he couldn't stand aside and do nothing. Besides… the ray had hit Dick hadn't it? And the wizard had said something about Robins, so of course they were sent to the last day Dick was Robin. Would that not imply Dick was here too, if not all the Robins?
Tim nodded his head decisively. That was what he would do. He would survive one day in this empty masoleum and pretend to seek Dick out for a school project tomorrow, after he had a day to rest his injuries.
Now, in the meantime, why was he so small? Could he fix this? And to get this body into shape…
Steph:
Steph couldn't remember the last time her father had been interested in her and not his budding criminal empire. Perhaps it was the bitterness of the way he had treated her and her mother, but nonetheless Steph had not been expecting to be awoken to him shaking her gently, running a few fingers through her hair.
She could not help her immediate reaction, launching herself away with a scream, toppling off the bed. Please, no, how did he get out of jail? Why was he here?
"Princess," Steph's dad whispered, reaching over the bed for her. "Is everything alright? Are you injured?"
Steph blinked. Her dad had never— well, not recently. And her limbs felt funny? Why did her limbs feel funny, and why did her dad look so young?
Arthur Brown reached over the bed for her in careful movements, picking her up from the floor and resting her on the bed. Steph let him, clutching the covers in her hand, breathing slowly. If there was one thing B-man had attempted to drill into her, it was patience. She hated it, but it might help in this case, because Steph had no idea what was going on and that terrified her.
He ran another hand through her hair, still looking at Steph with concern, and she scrambled for a reply that wouldn't make him wonder if something was wrong. Something like her knowing.
"It was a nightmare," she whispered, even as she considered that maybe that's what this was. That glowing blue blast had hit Dick and now she was having nightmares about her dad. Yeah, that made perfect sense.
Arthur smiled down at her. Why was he so large? "Mom made some breakfast before you go to school. Your favorites, just to cheer you up."
Steph giggled to appear normal, but her mind was spinning. What alternate universe was this?
Arthur ran another hand through her hair, and Steph melted. God, how long had she wanted her father to be a father? Why was he choosing to do that now, of all times? "I'm going to go downstairs to let you get changed," he said with a grin. He pulled his hand away from Steph's hair when he left and Steph didn't know whether to cry or rage. What game was he playing? What game was her mind playing?
She stumbled into the bathroom, unwilling to go along with this scheme, hating that it was necessary and B-man would approve of her caution. Steph absentmindedly grabbed her toothbrush, looked in the mirror, and almost screamed again.
Why was she so young? And short?
Steph pinched her arm, which hurt like a bitch. Nope. Not a dream. What the hell? The blue light had hit Dick, and it had resulted in her getting deaged or something?
That would explain her dad, but still— Steph couldn't be in the same room with him while knowing what he would do to her and her mother to become a stupid C-tier Gotham villian. He'd started that after he'd lost his job when she'd turned eleven and they'd lost the house.
That was definitely her childhood bedroom. Steph backpedaled back into her bedroom, staring up at the calendar her mom tacked to her wall. She was ten. Wonderful. She had no idea what that had to do with Dick getting hit with glowing blue light, but it didn't matter.
This was fixable. Tomorrow was Saturday. She could sneak to the manner, see if Dick had come back, and somehow acquire the means to become Spoiler early and prevent her family from falling apart.
And hopefully become friends with Tim again. His sorry ass needed her pizzazz in his life.
Damian:
Damian stumbled forwards with legs too short, waving his arms about for balance with limbs that lacked the finely tuned control and muscles he was so accustomed to. There was a sword still in his hand, but it was smaller, and the edge blunted.
"Damian, careful!" his mother snapped, and Damian blinked around in horror at his mother's personal training rooms. Weapons, unblunted and made for adults, were stacked up against the walls; a number of the daggers Talia favored as well as a variety of blades for variety in practice.
Talia was lounging against the wall, dressed finely in League robes decorated with her personal colors, watching Damian apparently run through his newly learned exercises. His teacher from the ages of two to four stood closer, eyes narrowed in anger as Damian apparently messed up.
The impact of that foolish magician's imbecile blast against Grayson must have launched all of them back into time; there was no other explanation for his toddler-sized body and the cold league quarters.
No matter. Damian was more than skilled enough to make his way to his father on his own, and, should none of his brothers have the wherewithal to rectify future events, prevent several unfortunate future encounters.
"Which form shall I present for you today, mother?" Damian asked politely, shoving the planning back into his mind for later. First, he must not signal to his minders that anything was amiss, lest they figure out his plans.
Pride and displeasure wore out on his mother's face, likely pride for his perfect Arabic but displeasure for needing to be reminded of the form. An unfortunate loss, but there are no context clues here Damian could use to glean which exercise he is responsible for today.
"Five," the swordmaster responded in displeasure. "Start over."
Damian took a deep breath. He remembered all of his forms perfectly, of course, the struggle here would be convincing his childish body of it. He moved slightly slower than he ought to in order to ensure the newly resized limbs would not affect his performance, but the extra edge provided by memory of these moves ensured his form was otherwise perfect.
His mother gave him a decisive nod of approval, and the swordsman looked relieved as Damian repeated his steps properly.
"Again."
Damian ran through his forms with perfect strength and balance, as much as a toddler might achieve, patience held to the ready. His mother would take him back to his quarters after lessons, where he would be expected to prepare himself for dinner. Then would be the time to plan, and, later, after he had been put to bed, the time to strike.
To Damian's great displeasure, he would be unable to strike a blow against his grandfather and prevent the man from retaliating for Damian's departure, but his knowledge of his grandfather's future plans should nullify the worst of any consequences. Damian, at this size, and with his limbs unwilling to gracefully swing could not risk fighting his way out, and would instead have to utilize his small size for stealth.
Luckily, Damian had long ago mastered the art of walking silent from Grayson, and he slipped silently from his rooms after his mother had put him to bed. A black cloak that he had used his time before dinner to requisition and shorten to his current stature had been draped around his shoulders, as well as the meager food he had been able to gather from the table tonight. He could not risk the additional effort of passing by the kitchens or pantries, which would be guarded.
It was exceptionally easy for him to creep towards the exit, what with half of the plebians barely bothering to look past their waists. Unacceptable. Damian hoped his mother's rage when she found him missing would force these fools to compensate for their amateur mistakes.
It was again, far too easy for Damian to silently deposit himself inside of the back of a caravel of weapons. He was unsure to what reason his grandfather had ordered this shipment, but still appreciated his desire to move under the cover of darkness. It made things easier for Damian, of course.
The ride was peaceful, allowing Damian a few meager hours of sleep. He will not be discovered missing until his mother attempts to fetch him tomorrow morning, so sometime tonight he must find a computer in order to force his father to fetch him. Damian had briefly considered sneaking aboard a commercial or military flight to the U.S., but the risks of being found on a commercial aircraft were too high merely due to the lack of hiding space and his unfortunate unfamiliarity with their blueprints, and a three year old, to his disappointment, would be unable to travel alone.
Unfortunately, given that he was currently in his grandfather's base in Nepal, Damian would have to rely on either his father's willingness to hear out his blood son or one of his brothers retaining their memories.
An absolute last resort, to Damian's disgust, would be to call for the Alien, though it would unfortunately be successful as his grandfather was no doubt currently unaware of Damian's knowledge of the Justice League. Damian loathed even considering involving the alien in his family's business and was sure he would somehow manage to mess up, but unfortunately there was no other immediately available way to call for help. It was disappointing the Clone was not around; despite Damian's general distaste for him he was loyal to Drake and thus an occasionally helpful minion for Damian.
No matter. Damian was quite sure he would have no problems stealing a computer and navigating to Batman's networks. His father would be hearing from him shortly.
Everyone:
Dick spent his free time texting Wally about his situation. His best friend had promised to subtly consult the Flash about it, but his guess was that Dick was stuck and changes were bound to happen as just by existing Dick was already changing the timeline, which was a fun thought.
Then Dick laid in bed. He watched some TV, scrolled on his phone, and laid in bed some more. Gods, was this how boring injuries used to be without his little demons (siblings)? The peace was not worth the absolute misery of being stuck in bed with nothing to do, no one to talk to, and no way to use his body.
If he was getting carte-blanche to change the world, the first thing he was going to was rescue the little hellions. Every second Dick spent in bed was another second Jason spent on the street, Cass with her father, Tim in that empty house, and Damian, his son, in the League of Assassins.
So Dick was a little miserable.
He was miserable as the day ticked by and more miserable when B went out to patrol without him, unwilling to let Dick join as a sidekick. Which was fine, Dick had already handed Alfred a drawing of the Nightwing costume (the newest one, no need to go through Discowing this time).
Dick was still miserable when Bruce appeared at his door, looking rather nervous. Dick couldn't help but feel rather pleased at the absolute dread Bruce must feel informing Dick everyone officially thinks he's dead.
Then a little head peeks out from behind Bruce's suit as he awkwardly clears his throat. "Dick," he started. "This is Jason. Batman found him stealing the tires off his car and sent him to live with us."
Jason grinned, a wild, manic thing. "I got all four!"
Dick could not help the laughter that flooded out of him. He flopped back onto his pillows, wheezing, torn between pride and hope. Jason wasn't supposed to yank the tires for another six months, and he only got three. Either this was an alternate dimension, or his brother had come back with him.
Also, Bruce was slightly less negative on points for actually telling him this time rather than just letting him find Jason in the house.
"You're going to be the best brother ever," Dick told Jason without a second of hesitation. Even if this wasn't his Jason, he refused to mess up like he had the first time. "Think of all the ways we can torture Bruce."
Jason nodded too seriously, and mischief played in his eyes as both of them watched Bruce suddenly pale. "And if Batman ever comes back! I wanna tease him about his funny night-wing-cape."
Dick started giggling again, and Bruce suffered a long sigh. This had to be his Jason, then. There was no way the Nightwing reference had been an accident; besides, Dick remembered Jason being much less open with strangers, especially as a teenager. "Shoo," Dick told Bruce, waving his hands at the man. "I'm less mad at you now that you've given me a younger brother, but get out. This is sibling bonding time."
Bruce frowned at Dick, but he still looked rather pleased at Dick's excited response. "I have to finish showing Jason around the Manor, Dick, and he needs to eat. Perhaps later?"
Jason pouted. Dick pouted. The combined puppy eyed stare was almost always enough to break Bruce. Alfred tutted from behind Bruce, and both his and Jason's faces collapsed. Why did Alfred have to be immune?
"Master Jason ought to come down for breakfast, as I am afraid I have only brought enough for you, Master Richard. I am sure Master Jason will be excited to hang out with you later, while Master Bruce is at work."
Damnit. And the boredom is back.
Jason returned four hours later, at a proper hour of the day, gleefully strutting into Dick's room while Dick was unfairly stuck in bed. "So, Dickface, you remember too?"
Dick snorted. "Of course, Little Wing? I was the one unfortunate enough to be hit with the light."
Jason rolled his eyes, lounging across the bottom of Dick's bed. "No, you were the one who was the worst at dodging."
"Hey!" Dick reached next to him to swing a pillow at Jason, who dodged squaking. He grabbed his own pillow, whacking it into Dick's legs, which counted only when his torso was injured.
Dick had more ammunition, though, even if he was bedbound, cheerfully play fighting as relief coursed through him. His younger brother was here. He wasn't alone.
A knock on the door startled them both into silence, glancing at each other guilty as Alfred's voice carried through the door. "May I come in, young masters?"
Jason scrambled to replace the pillows and threw himself into a respectable position on the floor. Dick had the decency to wait until Jason was almost done before calling out. "Come in, Alfie!"
Alfred's eyes roam disapprovingly over the chaos created by their impromptu fight. "Master Dick, there are two people at the front door claiming to need to talk to you for a school project."
Dick froze slowly. There was no school project, he knew that much. "Who?" he asked, glancing at Jason and praying beyond belief that it was all of them who had come back.
"A Mr. Timothy Drake and Miss Stephanie Brown from Gotham Academy, Master Dick."
Dick exhaled. They were. They had actually come back. He shot Alfred his best innocent smile. "Oh yeah! I talked to Tim last week! Can you please bring them up, Alfie? I'd answer them myself, but I'm a little indisposed."
Alfred shook his head with a sigh. "Of course, Master Dick."
Dick beamed at Jason the moment the door swung shut. "It's going to be a party!"
Jason sighed, returning to flop across Dick's feet. "Joy! More annoying brats to deal with."
Dick rolled his eyes. "Don't pretend like you're not glad to see them too."
Jason laughed. "Ehhhh, I suspected they were around. My soul got tossed back in time, and I didn't even get hit with the blast. We may have to go rescue Cass and Damian though."
Dick frowned, glancing down at the bandages across his chest. "You're twelve. And tiny." Dick's smile turned teasing. "Sooooo tiny, little wing, it's adorable. You're not taller than Bruce anymore."
Jason scowled, reaching over to whack Dick's legs. "Fuck you, Dickwing. At least I'm not going to be fired from Robin this life."
Dick laughed. "Oh, jumping straight to Hood, are we?"
Jason laughed. "Why would I bother subjecting myself to Bruce's limitations again? All I need is enough time to train again." He paused, "Although, I might want a new name. Joker's gonna be dead soon, no need to remind everyone of him."
Dick doesn't really want his twelve year old brother to murder the Joker, but he's tired of the argument, and he knows nothing he says will change Jason's mind. Better to save his energy for other arguments. Besides, Dick couldn't really deny the parts of him that wanted to see the Joker dead too before he could hurt Dick's family.
"Okay, Little Wing," he said instead, lips twitching into a smirk. "We'll have such fun thinking of your new name; you can be a proper bird this time! How do you feel about Tit?"
"Oh, fuck you," Jason growled again, reaching to pin Dick's hands to the bed. Dick struggled fruitlessly, seeing as he couldn't really fight back. This was totally unfair, that tiny malnourished twelve year old Jason could have the upper hand on him.
Once again, Alfred's knock on the door saved him, and Jason sat up before he could get in any trouble.
"Let them in, Alfred!" Dick yelled, and the door cracked open long enough for Tim and Steph to slip through, bodies both nervous as if they were nervous about being in Bruce Wayne's mansion. Please.
Tim and Steph were tiny, tiny, they were practically babies!!! Ten!!!! Babies!!!! Tim was so tiny and Steph was so cute, oh Dick's heart. He might just melt from cuteness overload.
Alfred lingered for a second, eyeing all of them with a degree of distrust Dick has long learned Alfred adopts when he expects something to end up broken in the next half-hour. "I will bring up snacks in an hour. Please ring for me if you need anything."
Dick grinned. "Thanks, Alfie!"
Everyone held their poses until Alfred's steps retreated down the carpet, and then Steph and Tim both whipped around to Jason, eyes wide.
Dick started laughing again. "You guys are late," he teased.
Jason laughed. "I thought for sure you'd beat me here this time, Timbo. I had to stalk Batman to steal his tires again and everything."
Steph snickered. "Well, I caught this one casing your driveway, trying to stalk you guys, so that might be why."
Tim pressed his face into her shoulder to hide his snickering. "Steph!" He pouted for a few seconds through his laughter, before adding, "So are all the Robins back, then?" he asked. "I thought it might be all of us based on that guy's comments."
Jason tilted his head. "That makes sense, seeing as blondie's here. I suppose Cass could only really confirm or deny that."
"Oh," Steph murmured, realizing riding on her face. "That's why Robin One dying to the Joker was all over the news yesterday."
Dick sighed. "Yeah, B's wonderful firing attempt. Can't wait for him to see me in my Nightwing suit next week." If he could change the future, that was definitely the first thing he was going to do. Dick loved Blüdhaven and his own space, but this time he needed to stay close to his wonderful little siblings.
Tim pulled away from Steph's shoulder, looking up. "So what's the plan? How much can we change? I hacked the Watchtower last night to access their files on multiversal and temporal travel but a bunch of it comes down to the specifics of the situation."
Jason snorted. "Of course you would, smartypants." Dick had to agree. The Justice League definitely needed to patch their security if Tim had already hacked it, and not even from the Batcomputer.
Dick grinned. "I talked to Wally. We're probably okay to cause as much chaos as we want; he doesn't think we'll be able to go home."
Tim's eyes lit up with unholy delight and Steph groaned. "Damn. I wanted to go back."
Jason shrugged. "I mean, not sure if I really wanted my soul to take a trip twice."
Dick paused. Hadn't Jason said something about their souls earlier too? "Jay, didn't you say that earlier? How are you so sure it's our souls and not memories or something that got shoved into here?"
Jason cackled. "Why, because of this! " He stabbed the All-Blades directly into Steph and Tim. Tim blinked down at them with absolutely no reaction. Dick just watched, trying not to laugh and draw Jason's ire to him for being a traitor.
"Damn, I didn't know you still had those," Steph said dryly, also very unconcerned with the flaming blade in her chest.
Jason pouted, flicking his wrists to make the blades disappear and falling back across Dick's legs. "Awwww. Y'all are no fun." Dick finally lost the battle to his laughter as Jason glared at all of them.
Tim blinked at him. "That was the thirty-second time you've done that to me. Why, exactly, would I be surprised?"
Jason pouted harder, and Dick couldn't quite muffle his laughter. Man, he loved his brothers. His idiotic, foolish brothers. They were amazing.
"We gotta get Damian and Cass back," he said, redirecting the conversation to business. The room went quiet as the Bats slipped back into planning mode.
"I'll set up a search screen for Cass," Tim responded immediately. "And try to narrow down parameters based on what we know of her life. I don't know where we'd find her, though, unless she finds her way to us."
Dick nodded decisively. "Great! And Dami?"
Steph tapped her fingers against the wall. "Well, you're the only one currently trained. So either we'll have to wait, or get Bruce involved."
Jason rolled his eyes. "Okay, so I know B is powerful or whatever, but what if we don't? Can you think of the amount we could torment him instead?"
Tim giggled. "How long do you think it would take him to figure it out?" B? Being emotionally competent and good at things within his family? Never.
Dick leaned back in bed, staring fondly at his mischievous, wonderful, amazing little siblings. Just to cause chaos, he kicked Jason and reached his arms out to Tim, who skedaddled closer, warily. Damn, Dick had forgotten how touch-starved Tim could get. "Never, I bet," he responded. "Besides, that way B doesn't try to get involved with our plans."
Jason nodded sagely, apparently noticing Tim's shuffling too because he snatched Tim before he could make his way to Dick, burying the tiny cute little baby into his arms.
Steph snorted. "Dick, he just fired you, right?"
Dick nodded.
"So, who wants to appear in the Cave tonight dressed as a Robin and tell them they're the next one?"
Dick turned his head away again to laugh, and Jason cackled. "Not me!"
Tim paused, and turned slowly to look at Jason. "But why not? Steph and I are too young and you're the next one!"
Jason scowled. "I ain't' following B's rules again. Or his suspicion."
Steph smirked, widening her eyes at Jason. "But it'll mean he will be willing to train you!"
Dick chimed in, just to be an irritating older brother. Besides, Jason was really cute in the Robin suit and Dick needed some pictures of him in it. "And I'll be around to help you with B."
Tim pouted, blinking his tiny baby eyes slowly at Jason. "But you were my favorite Robin," he whispered, curled into Jason's arms, and Dick has the pleasure of watching Jason crack to them. Ha! Baby brothers were menaces everywhere.
Jason sighed. "Fine, but I want pants."
"Deal," Dick responded, "and it'll up our timeline on Dami—"
Someone knocked on the door again. Had it already been an hour?
"Come in!"
Bruce poked his head into the door, doing a double-take at all of the children in the room. Dick put on his best 'I didn't steal the Batmobile again' face, blinking innocently at Bruce. "What's up?"
Bruce looked slowly at all the kids in the room again. "I didn't realize I had so many kids!" he said jovially, slipping into Brucie. "Can I speak to you for a second, Dick?"
Dick looked at his siblings, and then back at Bruce. "I'm sure whatever you want to say to me you can say to all of them," he said cheerfully. He was not going to give Bruce room to breathe. It was bad enough he had to be fired from Robin again .
Bruce blinked back innocently, unable to do much in return because of the Brucie facade that Steph was currently biting her cheek to not laugh at. "Uh — it's just there's a young boy calling for you on the downstairs computer."
He put careful emphasis on the word downstairs, and Dick smirked. Batcomputer then. He might have an idea who this was. Jason turned his head away to hide his laugh at Bruce's euphemisms for his bat activities, and Tim buried his face back into Jason's chest.
"What's his name?" Dick managed to ask with a mostly-level voice. It definitely wavered if the look Bruce shot him was any indication, but considering the whole situation Dick thought a little bit of unhingedness was justified.
"He said his name is Damian," Bruce responded carefully. "And he looks a lot like you, chum. Is there something you need to tell me?"
Dick lost it. Jason and Tim toppled backwards over his legs, wheezing, and Steph crumpled to the floor, clutching her side.
Yes, this whole deaging thing was going to go perfectly.