Dick found himself ensnared in a web of emotions that clung to him like a persistent shadow. The loss of Batman, another paternal figure and family member, cast a cloud over his usually vibrant spirit. Night after night, the darkness became a canvas for the haunting nightmares that plagued Dick's restless sleep. Images of his parents' fall, the chilling echoes of Jason's demise—these specters tormented him in the quiet hours when the world was cloaked in silence. Sleep, usually a respite, became an elusive refuge, slipping through his grasp like sand.
In the waking hours, Dick moved through life in a state of semi-automatic existence. Every smile, every agile movement, carried the subtle undertone of disbelief. Batman, an indomitable force, an emblem of unwavering strength, was not supposed to fall. As the days unfolded in a monotonous rhythm, Dick grappled not only with the loss of Batman but also with the shroud of helplessness that accompanied it.
The realization weighed on Dick like a lead cloak. As the eldest in the Bat-Family, the mantle of responsibility now draped over his shoulders, and with it came a torrent of conflicting emotions. He found himself standing at the precipice of an unwanted destiny, the cowl of Batman looming before him like a specter of duty. In the midst of grief and mourning, a new burden settled on Dick's heart—the duty to become Batman. It wasn't a role he had sought or desired; on the contrary, Dick had spent years forging his own path, distancing himself from the imposing shadow of the Dark Knight. Nightwing had become more than a persona; it was a symbol of emancipation, an assertion of individuality apart from Batman's enduring legacy.
Now, as circumstances thrust him back into the role he had long tried to escape, Dick grappled with the weight of overseeing his siblings. The very thought of anyone else within the Bat-Family shouldering the pressure of becoming Batman was intolerable to him. Cass, Tim, Steph—all of them had their own struggles, their own journeys, and Dick couldn't bear the idea of any of them being burdened by the unrelenting expectations that came with the cowl.
The pressure to protect and guide his siblings, already a significant responsibility, now intertwined with the profound fear of losing them. The nights stretched before him. The city that had once been patrolled by the iconic duo now awaited its lone guardian, and Dick Grayson couldn't escape the harsh reality—he was that guardian. Despair crept into his thoughts as he grappled with the notion of being Batman. The very role he had resisted, the emblem of his past, was now his to bear. It felt like a regression, a return to the starting point he had fought so hard to move away from. The freedom that Nightwing had symbolized, the autonomy he had carved out for himself, now seemed like a distant memory.
The doorbell, an unexpected interruption in the quietude, pierced through the turbulent mind of Dick. Alfred, preoccupied in the kitchen, continued with his culinary endeavors, leaving Dick to answer the door. Since Batman's passing, unannounced visits had become a familiar occurrence, as the extended family of vigilantes, heroes, and allies had made sure to check on them and see if they needed anything.
No one came to see if they were all right. Everyone knew that they were not all right.
As Dick approached the door, the usual roster of faces flashed through his mind—members of the Titans, Teen Titans, Justice League, and even the occasional appearance of the Gotham Sirens during their nightly patrols. However, what awaited him on the other side was a surprise that eclipsed all expectations.
With the creak of the door, Dick found himself face to face with someone he never thought he'd see again. The shock etched across his face was palpable, before him stood Jason Todd. The world around Dick seemed to blur for a moment, and he struggled to reconcile the sight before him with the reality he had come to accept.
Stuttering in disbelief, he managed to utter, "Little Wing?" The recognition, the flood of memories, and the sheer unexpectedness of Jason's presence overwhelmed him.
Dick's eyes widened, jaw dropped, and his body, seemingly unable to bear the weight of the revelation, succumbed to the shock. With an almost theatrical flair, Dick Grayson, the former acrobat and seasoned crimefighter, fainted on the spot.
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Jason's eyes lingered on the prone form of Dick Grayson, his older brother who lay sprawled on the floor as if the very sight of Jason had robbed him of his strength. A sigh escaped Jason's lips, a mixture of amusement and exasperation. He had anticipated some level of shock and surprise, but Dick's dramatic reaction had surpassed even his expectations. The corners of Jason's lips curled into a wry smile as he mused over the predictability of Dick's response. Fainting at the sight of his supposedly deceased younger brother seemed like a classic Dick Grayson move. It was, in its own way, oddly comforting for Jason. Despite the tumultuous past and the complexities of their relationship, some things remained unchanged – like Dick's flair for the dramatic.
Damian, standing nearby, raised an eyebrow, his expression portrayed his lack of amusement. He was unimpressed by the theatrics on display, his sharp eyes locked on Dick's unconscious form. Damian had always been one to maintain composure, even in the face of the unexpected. Meanwhile, Billy, still adjusting to the dynamics of the Wayne family, turned to Jason with genuine concern etched across his features. His worry manifested in the furrow of his brows and the softness in his eyes as he inquired, "Do you think he's okay?"
Jason, accustomed to the theatrics of his adoptive family, let out another sigh, this one tinged with fond exasperation. "He'll be fine," Jason reassured Billy. "Dick's just being his usual drama queen self. Give him a moment to recover from the shock."
Jason sighed and knelt to collect his unconscious brother, before carrying him towards the living room. Alfred's entrance into the living room was perfectly timed – or perhaps, in this case, perfectly untimed. His inquiry about the commotion brought him face to face with the unexpected scene: Jason laying down the unconscious form of Dick on the sofa. The exclamation that escaped Alfred's lips was a mixture of astonishment and disbelief, punctuated by a sharp, "What was going on?"
The old butler stood frozen, his eyes widening at the sight before him. His beloved grandson, whom he had presumed to be lost forever, was not only alive but also standing right in front of him. "M-Master J-Jason?" Alfred stuttered, his voice trembling with a mixture of shock, disbelief, and the overwhelming rush of emotions.
Jason, despite the casual demeanor he often wore like armor, couldn't help but feel a lump form in his throat at the sight of Alfred's reaction. The stiffness of his smile betrayed the emotions swirling within him. "Hey, Alfie," he greeted, the words carrying a weight of years lost and aching for reconciliation. "It's good to see you again."
As Alfred processed the reality of Jason's presence, the shock slowly transformed into a flood of emotions that played across his features. The initial disbelief gave way to a profound joy, tinged with a hint of sorrow for the lost years. In a heartbeat, Alfred crossed the room, his pace quickened by the unspoken need to close the distance between himself and the grandson he had mourned. The warmth of the hug lingered in the air as Jason and Alfred pulled back. Alfred's eyes, misty with unshed tears, reflected the myriad emotions that surged within him – relief, joy, and the pain of the years they had lost. Jason, for his part, held a mix of gratitude for the acceptance he found and remorse for the pain his absence had caused.
Jason took a moment to compose himself, his gaze turning to the familiar surroundings of the Wayne Manor. The antique furniture and elegant decor seemed both unchanged and oddly distant. "Alfie," Jason began, his voice carrying a weight that went beyond casual conversation, "I never wanted to disappear like that. But I had my reasons, my own demons to face." His gaze flickered, betraying the unspoken burdens he carried.
Alfred, ever the pillar of support, nodded understandingly. "Master Jason, life is seldom a straight path. We all grapple with our demons, and it seems you've faced yours."
Jason offered a half-smile, appreciating the lack of judgment in Alfred's words. "Yeah, demons tend to follow me around. But I've learned to dance with them rather than fight." Jason then paused and frowned. "No, if we are being 100% honest, I've learned to eradicate them. Demons no longer have any power over me. Literal or figurative."
"How has it been here without me?" Jason inquired, a genuine curiosity in his voice.
Alfred's gaze softened as he considered the question, and he began to recount the challenges faced by the Wayne family in Jason's absence. The void left by Jason's death had cast its shadow over the household. The absence of the second son, once a vibrant presence, had been felt in every echoing corridor and hushed conversation. "There were times, Master Jason, when I feared I had failed you," Alfred admitted, his voice carrying a tinge of regret. "I should have done more to bridge the gap that had formed."
Jason shook his head, understanding the weight of the burden Alfred often carried. "Nah, Alfie, we all have our roles to play. You've held this place together, and I can see that." His gaze softened with a newfound appreciation for the man who had been a constant even when everything else seemed to unravel.
Alfred's keen eyes flickered with a mixture of surprise as he finally noticed the two young boys that stuck close to Jason. Alfred's eyes lingered on the youngest one, who was a perfect copy of his Master Bruce seldom for his coloring. However, he would recognize those sharp emerald eyes anywhere. "Master Jason, would you do me the courtesy of presenting us? I am sure I taught you better manners than this, young man."
"Right," Jason chuckled. "These are my little brothers, Damian Alfred Head and William Joseph Head. We all share the same mother, adopted or not." Jason hesitated for a second before taking a deep breath and collecting himself. "Dami is the son of Talia and Bruce, I met him after Talia took me in and healed me. As for Billy, we found him when we moved to Fawcett City."
"Nice to meet you Mister Alfred," Damian and Billy echoes politely, making Alfred smile proudly at the polite young boys.
Alfred's gaze shifted from one young face to another, his expressions revealing an understanding that surpassed mere acknowledgment – it was acceptance. "So, these are my grandsons?" Alfred's voice carried a warmth that betrayed the depth of emotion beneath the surface. "Welcome home, Master Damian, Master William."
Damian and Billy, being unusually guarded and stoic, allowed a small, imperceptible smile to grace their features. They could feel the tension in their older brother's form, and it was starting to affect them. But now that Alfred was around, Jason had started to unclench.
Jason couldn't help but grin at the scene. "Yeah, Alfie, they're a handful, but they're family."
"Hey!" Billy protested with a pout.
While Damian simply rolled his eyes, "We should be the ones saying that, Mister Trouble Magnet."
Alfred, however, was not one to let the moment linger in sentimentality for too long. His eyes sharpened with curiosity as he began connecting the dots of their fabricated identities. "Fawcett City? Does that mean that you are Jason Alexander Head, the famed author that Master Timothy likes so much? And that Master Damian and Master William are the good friends Mister Jon made in Fawcett City?"
Jason chuckled, appreciating Alfred's unerring deduction skills. "You got it, Alfie. We've been living a quieter life, but we're still around."
Alfred's gaze shifted to Jason with a pointed curiosity. "Then, how did no one recognize you? You've had many encounters with the civilian identities of various members of the Justice League. Not to mention, continuous contact with the Kent Family."
Jason reached into his pocket, retrieving a beautiful ruby and gold necklace. The glint of magic emanated from the intricate design. "Magic," he replied simply, watching as Alfred's eyebrows rose in shock.
The elderly butler, usually unflappable, blinked at the revelation. "Does that mean that you are also the Red Ghoul?" Alfred's tone held a mix of surprise and a hint of admiration.
Jason's smirk turned sharp, predatory, embracing the mantle he had taken upon himself. "The one and only."
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Dick gasped as he was startled awake. He slowly looked around and collapsed back on the sofa he was laying on. It was a dream. A fucking dream. Of course, it was a dream. People just don't come back to life. That is not how it works. However, Dick's pity party got interrupted when the door to the living room slammed open and a confident Jason strutted towards the couch whistling.
The initial disbelief transformed into a surge of emotions, and Dick sat up abruptly, staring at Jason as if confirming the reality before him. The dream's sadness lingered briefly, only to be replaced by an overwhelming joy that threatened to bring tears to his eyes. Jason, however, seemed unfazed by the emotional storm brewing within Dick. The familiar smirk played on his lips, and he teased, "So, sleeping beauty is finally awake?"
But Dick couldn't find it in himself to respond to the jest. His gaze remained fixed on Jason, searching for any sign that this was a trick, a cruel illusion. Then, as if confirming the impossible, Jason placed a tray of chilli dogs and iced tea on the table in front of the sofa. The words spilled out of Dick's mouth, his voice a mix of incredulity and pure astonishment, "Little Wing? You are alive?"
Jason, ever the wolfish trickster, spread his arms wide, the smirk on his face almost mischievous. "In the flesh! Now don't go on fainting on me again, Dickface."
Reality struck Dick like a lightning bolt. Without hesitation, he threw himself into Jason's arms, a tight embrace that spoke of years of longing and grief. The weight of loss lifted in that moment, replaced by the sheer relief of having his little brother back.
"Little Wing, I missed you!" Dick's voice held a mix of joy and unshed tears.
Jason's smirk softened into a genuine smile as he returned the hug, the tension and pain of years apart dissolving in the warmth of the reunion. "I missed you too, Dickie."
The happiness that surged through Dick was a burst of sunlight breaking through heavy clouds. His little brother, the one he had mourned, the one he had believed lost to the shadows, was right there in his arms. The sheer joy radiated from him, warming his entire being, and for a moment, everything else faded away. It was a sensation akin to finding a missing piece of his heart, a piece he had thought gone forever.
Yet, as the euphoria settled, confusion crept in. Jason was supposed to be dead, buried six feet underground. Dick had mourned him, accepted the loss, and moved forward in the way life demanded. Or as much as he could. The sudden reappearance of his little brother defied all logic, leaving Dick grappling with a reality that should not be possible. Questions flooded his thoughts, seeking answers that seemed elusive.
Guilt followed closely behind, a heavy cloak draped over Dick's shoulders. Jason had died, and Dick felt responsible. The guilt was a phantom ache, a reminder of his perceived failure to protect his little brother. The pain of losing Jason had haunted Dick's nights, a nagging doubt that whispered he could have done more. Seeing Jason now, alive, and well, stirred the guilt to life. How could he have mourned Jason when, all this time, he had been breathing somewhere in the shadows?
But then, amidst the swirl of emotions, relief emerged as the prevailing tide. Relief that overpowered the confusion and guilt, anchoring Dick in the present moment. The relief was a soothing balm to the wounds of loss, confirmation that, despite all odds, Jason had returned. The weight of grief lifted, replaced by the comforting realization that his Little Wing was back in his arms. As the hug continued, each emotion rippling through the fabric of their shared history, Dick held onto the relief. It became the anchor that steadied him in the storm of conflicting feelings. In that moment, with Jason's heartbeat echoing against his chest, Dick embraced the enigmatic return that made their reunion possible.
Once the brothers settled on the sofa, the atmosphere in the room shifted, becoming a blend of comfort and curiosity. They indulged in the simple pleasure of iced teas and chilli dogs, the familiar taste of home grounding them in the present moment. The clinking of the glasses and plates were the only sound in the room until Dick, unable to contain his burning questions, turned to Jason.
"How?" The word hung in the air, loaded with a mixture of awe and confusion. Jason knew exactly what Dick meant — how had he returned from the dead?
A heavy sigh escaped Jason's lips, carrying the weight of the extraordinary tale he was about to unfold. "You see, when I said that Robin gave me magic, I had no idea I meant it quite literally."
Dick's eyes widened in disbelief. "You've got magic?!" The shock in his voice echoed through the room, punctuated by Jason's hearty laughter.
"I know! That was my same reaction!" Jason's laughter, however, morphed into a scowl. "I died, but instinctively I parted my soul from my body. While my body succumbed, my soul lingered in the Living Realm. Turns out, I'm a natural-born necromancer. Untrained, as I am, it ended up with me waking up in my coffin, in a catatonic state."
Dick, his expression shifting from shock to horror, whispered a heartfelt, "Oh, Little Wing... I am so sorry."
Jason shook his head, dispelling the weight of blame. "It was not your fault. No one's fault but the Joker's." The mention of the arch-nemesis cast a shadow over both their faces, a shared darkness that bound them.
As the story continued, the room seemed to hold its breath. Jason recounted his eerie wanderings through Gotham in a zombie-like state until Talia found him. Nanda Parbat, Lazarus Pits, and an unexpected adoption marked the subsequent chapters of his journey.
"Adopted you... that means you are the Red Ghoul?!" Dick's eyes widened with realization, the pieces of a complex puzzle clicking into place. Jason nodded, his gaze steady. "And you did not come back because you hate us."
A sigh escaped Jason's lips, accompanied by a gentle shake of his head. "I do not hate you, Goldie. Did you forget that T has two other sons? I have two younger brothers that depend on me. When I woke up, rage consumed me because of the Pits. Broken, I put my revenge first and hurt Damian in the process. But when T put me in charge of his care, I knew I had to put him first. When Billy joined us, that feeling only intensified. How could I come back after finding out he had lost yet another Robin in his care? Luckily, Blondie survived, but her case still stands! How could I return when Batman continues to put children like them in danger?"
The weight of Jason's words hung in the air, a sobering reminder of the harsh realities they faced.
"When we were kids, you used to call me 'Golden Boy.' Bruce often drew parallels between us, and even if he didn't mean it to breed envy, it did. It felt like I was the benchmark you were always trying to measure up to. Over time, as we grew closer, it became a playful tease between us. Yet, deep down, that twinge of inferiority lingered. I could sense it.
"And it stung me too because, let's face it, gold? It's malleable. So much so that people could leave imprints on it just to check its purity. I was labeled the Golden Boy, but my resilience had its limits. I'd often buckle under pressure.
"But you, Jay? You were like steel — unyielding, unbreakable. You weren't something casually stumbled upon; you were crafted, honed into something far stronger than I ever was. I realized that, and I stepped back, making room for you to shine.
"Bruce, with his intensity, was like a relentless flame. I reached my breaking point with it. I had to change, become someone else. I've always been adaptable, polished — someone people could rally behind. It made me a good leader, but not necessarily the right tool to mend a fractured world.
"Then there was you, always standing firm, your convictions sharp enough to slice through any adversity. Your spirit? Indomitable. Even when that monster, the Clown, attempted to," Dick's voice wavered, emotions bubbling up, momentarily choking him. "Even when he took you from us, he couldn't shatter your essence."
Dick reached out, fingers searching until they found Jason's shoulder, gripping it with a mix of relief and emotion. "You're not broken, Jay. You never were." A genuine smile graced Dick's face. "Now, how about introducing me to Dami and Billy? I'm eager to get to know my new little brothers!"
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As Dick and Jason engaged in their heartfelt conversation, the atmosphere in the Wayne Manor kitchen buzzed with activity. Damian and Billy, under Alfred's watchful eye, gracefully maneuvered around the culinary domain. Alfred, initially surprised by the youngsters' culinary prowess, found himself more than impressed, particularly with Damian. Having dealt with Bruce's apparent aversion to the kitchen and enforced a permanent ban on his precious kitchen, Alfred half-expected Damian to share a similar disinterest in culinary matters. However, the kitchen came alive with the rhythmic clinks of utensils and the tantalizing aroma of something delectable in the making. The two young cooks displayed a level of skill that surpassed even Alfred's own when it came to baking.
A realization dawned on Alfred, a smile creeping across his face. The culinary talent showcased by Damian and Billy wasn't an anomaly; it was an inheritance. Among all the Wayne children, it was Jason who had embraced the culinary arts with gusto. Fond memories flooded Alfred's mind, remembering the cherished moments spent in the kitchen with his favorite grandson. Jason had been a maestro in the kitchen, finding solace in baking and deriving joy from crafting sweet delights that brought smiles to the faces of his family. Now, witnessing Damian and Billy effortlessly carry on the culinary legacy, Alfred couldn't help but feel a bittersweet surge of nostalgia.
As the sweet aroma of the Banoffee pie began to fill the kitchen, Damian, with a hint of trepidation in his eyes, turned to Alfred, however, with an encouraging smile from his older brother Billy, he gathered his courage.
"Could you tell me more about the Wayne Family, please?" Damian's voice carried a weight of curiosity and a touch of sadness. "I've been educated in the Al Ghul ancestry, both magical and the line that founded the League of Shadows. However, neither umi nor akhi ever told me much about my father's side... it made them sad."
The mention of umi and akhi – the tender terms Damian used for his mother and brother – added a layer of emotion to the request. Alfred felt a pang in his chest at the sincerity in Damian's request. The boy's eyes, reminiscent of both Bruce and Talia, held a mixture of eagerness and melancholy. In that moment, Alfred recognized the unspoken yearning for connection, for a sense of belonging to the family that had shaped his father and, indirectly, himself.
Alfred's mind briefly wandered to the trials of Gotham, a city that had seen heroes rise and fall, her alleys echoing with the footsteps of those who dared to bring light to her darkest corners. He remembered Dick's transformation from Robin to Nightwing, a metamorphosis forged in the crucible of Gotham's challenges. The city had a way of shaping those who called her home, molding them into heroes or, at times, breaking them.
Later revelations about the mystical underbelly of Gotham had only deepened Alfred's understanding of the burdens that came with bearing the Wayne name and being a gothamite. The dark magical nexus beneath the city, an ancient force intertwined with her very foundations, had a tendency to snuff out the light that dared to shine too brightly. Jason and Talia, in their wisdom, had spared Damian, and later Billy, from the shadows that clung to Gotham. In the face of these reflections, Alfred couldn't help but shudder at the potential perils that might have awaited Damian and Billy in the city's alleys. Jason and Talia's decision to raise them in Fawcett City, a place where the light seemed to dance more freely, appeared wiser with every passing moment.
Shaking his head off those gloomy memories, Alfred moved to answer Damian's question. "Some of the eldest members of the Wayne Family can be tracked to the 18th Century and among them are Revolutionary War general "Mad" Anthony Wayne, Herkimer Wayne who fought in the war of 1812, and Winslow Wayne who fought beside Theodore Roosevelt. A problematic ancestor was Silas Wayne who was a Philadelphia silversmith and allegedly a highwayman. Silas's descendants would eventually find a document written by Benjamin Franklin which exonerated him." Alfred hummed as he continued with his impromptu lesson. "Anthony Wayne was an 18th Century ancestor of Master Bruce and guerrilla fighter of the colonial times. Anthony earned his nickname "Mad" for charging British redcoats like a maddened bull. Like his descendant, Anthony worked alongside a sidekick and partner named Robby Douglas."
"It seems that mean that the Waynes have always been warriors for centuries." Billy chuckled, while Damian smiled proudly at his ancestry- he had warriors from both sides of the family.
Alfred smiled slightly, "That they have, Herkimer Wayne and Winslow Wayne were only some of the other few soldiers and warriors in the Wayne ancestry. As for Silas Wayne, now that is an interesting story. Silas Wayne was a Philadelphia silversmith and allegedly a highwayman. He was victim of a conspiracy to frame him as part of a band of highwaymen in order to get him exiled from town. His name was cleared during his lifetime by Benjamin Franklin, but the document was lost because Silas died from pneumonia at the age of 30. He was married to a woman called Martha and he was supposed to reveal the document to her after her mother died, but unfortunately, he died first, never being able to clear his name publicly. His latest descendant, Master Bruce found the document written by Franklin which exonerated Silas and cleared his name. He gave the document to a museum for all the public to learn the truth about Silas Wayne."
"How dare they try to run my family from our city?!" Damian was furious at the thought of someone trying to besmirch the Wayne name.
Luckily, Billy playfully nudged him to calm him down. "At least, his name was cleared by your dad."
Alfred smiled at the two of them, they reminded them so much of Jason and Richard when they had been young. "Dr. Thomas Wayne is the father of Bruce Wayne and the husband of Martha Wayne. He was an inheritor of the Wayne family fortune, until he was murdered by a mug called Joe Chill. The criminal shot Thomas in front of Martha, which caused her to die of a heart attack, leaving Master Bruce an orphan at a young age." He then paused as he remembered his precious friend and father of Bruce, his smile turned fond and sweet. "However, when Master Thomas lived, he focused on his career as a doctor, working on bettering the world via healing. Meanwhile, it was Mistress Martha who focused on Wayne Enterprises and worked on the bettering of Gotham via philanthropy. That is the reason why Master Bruce had decided to honor their legacy by opening the first gratuitous hospital of Gotham, the Thomas Wayne Memorial Hospital, and what became one of the greatest foundations in the world, the Martha Wayne Foundation."
The interruption caused by the pie's completion was met with a mix of excitement and anticipation. The clinking of cutlery and the rustling of napkins added a comforting rhythm to the atmosphere, as the three of moved to set the table for dinner. Cass and Steph's absence, off to the Clocktower with Oracle, and Tim occupied with the Teen Titans, meant that this particular dinner was an intimate affair, of only Damian, Billy, Jason, and Dick. To which Alfred was grateful for, as the rest of the family was still unaware of the new members of the family.
The moment took a more poignant turn as Dick and Jason joined the table, the glint of joy in Dick's eyes as he witnessed the dinner made Alfred's old heart warm with content. As the group settled into their seats, laughter, the elusive guest that had stayed away for too long, now echoed through the room. The walls seemed to absorb the joyous sounds, as if the very essence of the house was rejoicing in the return of life and light.
As the evening unfolded, the first bite of the Banoffee pie was met with a chorus of delight, the flavors melding into a symphony of sweetness. Each shared story, every burst of laughter, and the clinking of glasses forged new bonds. The Wayne Manor now echoed with the sounds of laughter, breaking the solemn silence that had settled in the wake of Bruce's demise.
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After ensuring that Damian and Billy had settled into their respective bedrooms, the heavy wooden doors of the Wayne Manor library swung open to admit Alfred, Dick, and Jason. Each carried a drink in hand—Alfred with his classic martini, Dick nursing a beer, and Jason sipping on his Arak. The dim glow of the chandelier cast a warm hue over the room, setting the stage for a conversation that promised to be as intense as it was necessary.
Alfred, taking a moment to adjust his glasses, broke the initial silence. "It seems Master Damian and young Master Billy have found their places in the household quite comfortably."
Dick, still holding onto the sense of joy from the dinner, grinned. "Yeah, they're fitting right in. It's almost as if they've been here all along."
Jason, swirling his glass thoughtfully, finally spoke, his voice tinged with a gravity that demanded attention. "Look, I know it's been a while since we've all been together like this, but there's some stuff we need to talk about."
Alfred, sensing the shift in mood, set his martini down. "Go on, Master Jason. We're listening."
Jason took a deep breath, his gaze drifting to the ornate fireplace before locking onto Alfred and Dick. "The League of Shadows has grown, more than you can imagine. They've taken down the Court of Spiders and Deathstroke."
Dick's eyes widened, a mix of surprise and concern. "That's... that's huge, Jay. But what does that mean for us?"
Jason's expression hardened. "It means there's a power vacuum, and someone needs to fill it. Which led to other criminal syndicates acting out. While I was tangled up with curses, demons, and the All-Caste's drama, there's another war brewing beneath the surface. A war with the Light."
Alfred's brow furrowed. "The Light? You mean the organization that's been pulling strings from the shadows for centuries if not millenniums?"
Jason nodded. "Exactly. Essence, the actual head of the All-Caste, called me in for the final showdown. I took down a weakened Savage."
Dick leaned forward, his voice tinged with concern. "Is that why you took so long to come back after Bruce's death?"
Jason's eyes darkened, a storm of emotions swirling within. "Partly. I needed to ensure that the threat was neutralized. But now, I'm here."
As the weight of Jason's revelation settled in the room, a palpable silence lingered. Dick, sitting back in his chair, ran a hand through his hair, processing the information. He knew he should feel something about his Little Wing confessing to the act of killing Savage, yet all that seemed to surface was an overwhelming sense of relief. Relief that The Light's menace had been eradicated, and Savage's malevolent influence would no longer cast a shadow over Earth for centuries to come.
Dick never shared the same moral qualms about killing as Bruce did. The complex web of ethics surrounding lethal force had never infuriated him the way it had the Dark Knight. Some of his fellow Titans didn't hesitate to cross that line, and Dick, in a pragmatic twist, always found himself okay with it. To him, as long as the line was not forcibly drawn in his direction, he navigated the issue without the moral complexities that haunted his mentor.
Dick couldn't help but smirk internally at the irony. The same rule that supposedly defined Batman's moral code was often compromised by alliances with heroes who had no qualms about taking a life. Diana, Wonder Woman herself, would more often than not deal a fatal blow to her adversaries. The incongruity didn't escape Dick's notice, considering Bruce's staunch adherence to the no-killing rule. Then again, Dick has long since made peace with the fact that his second father was a hypocrite.
Alfred, sipping his martini, appeared unfazed. A man who had served in the British army, he carried a different perspective on the matter. Having seen the brutality of war, Alfred harbored no illusions about the necessity for lethal force in certain situations. His understanding was anchored in a reality that accepted the grim necessity of such actions. He has long since come to realize that the world was not made of black or white, but many shades of grey.
What lingered unspoken between the three was the enigmatic demise of the Joker. The iconic villain, who had inflicted immeasurable pain upon the Wayne family, has conspicuously deceased for many years now. Neither Dick nor Alfred dared to probe Jason about the details, details that they knew deep in their cores that Jason had. The Joker's death was a chapter they were content to leave closed, a dark era finally concluded. Their collective concern was not how the Joker met his end but that he could no longer wreak havoc upon their lives.
Jason, sensing the weighty silence that lingered, decided to break the tension by changing the topic of conversation. He looked at Dick with a determined gleam in his eyes, "Don't worry, Dickface. I've got a plan to make sure no one questions the absence of Batman, and you get to keep being Nightwing."
He might have his issues with Bruce and Batman, but he will never let the weight of the Dark Knight crush his Big Bird. Nor was he blind to all the good the symbol of the bat had done for Gotham City. Without Batman, the city's power vacuum will overwhelm the batkids.
Dick's eyes shifted from contemplation to a glimmer of curiosity. "Really? What's the plan, Little Wing?"
Jason leaned forward, elbows on the table, "Magic, Big Bird. I've got a few tricks up my sleeve. I'll cast an illusion spell that will keep the non-magic folk from wondering too much. They'll see Batman in action, and Gotham will think everything's as it should be."
Dick's eyebrows arched, a mix of skepticism and hope on his face. "Magic, huh? Always found it a bit hard to wrap my head around that stuff."
Jason chuckled, "Yeah, it's a whole different world, but trust me, it's handy. We'll make sure the citizens of Gotham feel Batman's presence, even if it's just an illusion."
Alfred, nodding approvingly, chimed in, "A clever solution, Master Jason. Your magical prowess certainly comes in handy."
Jason grinned at Alfred's approval, appreciating the acknowledgment from his grandfather. "Thanks, Alfie. I've picked up a few tricks over the years."
Dick, his skepticism slowly transforming into a grin, raised his beer in a mock salute, "Well, if anyone can make magic work for the Bat, it's you, Little Wing." After all, he still remembers the most famed quote of the second Robin: Robin gives me magic. "Let's keep the legend alive."
Jason returned the salute with a confident smirk, "Count on it, Big Bird. Gotham's not ready to let go of its Dark Knight just yet."
Alfred, looking between the two, couldn't help but feel a surge of pride. His grandsons, each unique and formidable in their own ways, were now blending their strengths.
As Jason and Alfred continued to engage in conversation about magic, Dick found himself lost in a silent contemplation. He took a sip of his beer, the cool liquid providing a momentary distraction. His gaze wandered, lingering on the countless tomes that lined the library shelves. In that reflective quiet, Dick's mind spiraled with a whirlwind of thoughts. He had spent years under the shadow of the Bat, molded and shaped by the enigmatic figure that was Batman.
He leaned back in his chair, fingers tracing the condensation on his beer glass. The library, bathed in the warm glow of the chandelier, seemed to envelop him in a cocoon of memories. The weight of leadership had always been his burden, especially after Bruce's demise. Yet, the prospect of stepping into the void left by Batman had felt suffocating. Now, with Jason's magical solution, he felt an unexpected surge of relief.
Now he had a different path before him. A path where he could continue to protect Gotham, uphold justice, and lead the Bat-family, all without the looming specter of the Batman. A smile tugged at the corners of Dick's lips, a subtle acknowledgment of the newfound freedom. He marveled at the ingenuity of his younger brother, appreciating the way Jason's magical prowess presented a solution that allowed Dick to honor the legacy of the Bat in his own way. The mantle of Nightwing can continue to be a symbol of autonomy and resilience.
This is it, Dick mused internally. I'll stay in Gotham. The city needs someone to lead the Bat-family, and I'll do it on my terms, as Nightwing. Gratitude swelled within him as he glanced at Jason, still engaged in an animated discussion with Alfred. The weight of Batman's absence lifted, replaced by a sense of purpose that he hadn't felt in a long time. Thank you, Little Wing, Dick thought, his gaze lingering on Jason. For giving me a way to carry on without the shadow of the Bat. Gotham will still have its protector, just in a different form.
"What will you be doing now, Master Jason?" Alfred's question made Dick snap out of his train of thought. "Will you stay?"
Jason smile was sad, as he helplessly shrugged. "You know I can't, Alfie."
"W-why not?!" Dick exclaimed, eyes widening in shock. "I just got you back!"
"I am not disappearing, Dickface," Jason snorted, knocking their knees together in a gesture of comfort. "But I have kept both Dami and Billy out of the vigilante business for years now, they need to focus on their school and being children. Dami will be starting his second year at the Nanda Parbat Academy for Magic and Billy will be entering his fourth year. I will need to focus extra hard on Billy, because in fifth year he will have a big set of exams coming."
"Nanda Parbat Academy for Magic?" Dick repeated slowly, as if he was not believing what he was hearing.
Jason turned to him surprised before barking a laugh. "I know I have not mention that, but I am sure the Big Bat would have been informed that the League of Shadows had moved their headquarters."
"Master Bruce had been investigating that before Darkseid," Alfred informed him, making both kids pause.
"Right," Jason knocked down the rest of his Arak and stood up to serve himself another glass. "Well, after T won the war against that bastard Ra's, she decided that the League of Shadows needed a new start. So, she moved the headquarters to Infinity Island, an island owned by the Al Ghuls. She passed down ownership of Nanda Parbat to her children and we decided to open a school for magic. The magical children of Asia did not have many options in their continent to get their education."
"You've always been a nerd, Little Wing," Dick smiled warmly at his brother. "I've never met a kid that loved to study as much as you."
"I am so proud, Master Jason," Alfred smiled proudly at his grandson, so proud of the young man he had become.
Jason ducked his head, blushing brightly under the praise. "Oh, shut it!" He threw himself into the armchair, away from Dick's octopus arms. "I wished I could stay for longer but I need to return to Fawcett City, I have so much work to do at Fawcett University. Not to mention, I am still only halfway through my next novel and my editor is on my ass to get it done before the semester is over." Jason huffed. "I want to tell her it is not so easy to be a novelist, a professor, a script writer, and a guardian for two young boys on your own. But that woman is scary!"
"Wait! You are a novelist, Little Wing? And a professor?!" Dick exclaimed, beaming proudly at his brother. "Have I read something of yours?"
"My civilian identity is Jason Alexander Head," Jason shrugged, as if it was no big deal.
"You mean that award winning author that has Baby Bird raving? I am so proud!" Dick squealed, throwing himself on Jason, who halfheartedly tried to push him off. However, he suddenly stopped hugging him and jumped away. Both Jason and Alfred stared at him worriedly, as Dick lost all color on his face. "Jason Alexander Head... as in the professor ROY HARPER HAS BEEN CRUSHING ON?!"
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In the Batcave, the hum of the Batcomputer filled the air as Black Bat and Spoiler stared at the screen, their expressions a mix of confusion and intrigue. Spread across the monitor was the revelation they had not anticipated – the DNA results confirming the identity of Jason Peter Todd, the second Robin, and the mysterious Red Ghoul.
Cassandra's eyes, keen and perceptive, flickered across the screen as she absorbed the information. Her connection to the Bat-family ran deep, but the enigma of Jason's return had always eluded her. She had trained next to the memorial case dedicated to the fallen Robin, and now, the pieces were falling into place. Jason's resurrection explained the destructive act that had shattered the memorial, an act that had left an indelible mark on the Batcave. Stephanie, the ever-curious Spoiler, couldn't help but feel a mixture of emotions. The stories of Jason were like legends passed down within the Bat-family, tales of a Robin who had faced tragedy, and now it seems he had returned from the grave.
Yet, despite the significance of the revelation, the impact on Black Bat and Spoiler was somewhat muted. Jason's return, while undoubtedly a momentous occasion for Alfred and Dick, didn't carry the same weight for them. They had never truly met Jason, and his existence had remained more of a historical footnote than a personal connection.
For Cassandra, who possessed an innate ability to read body language and detect the unspoken, the revelation of Jason's true identity brought a sense of closure. She had sensed something hidden beneath the Red Ghoul's exterior, a secret he had been determined to guard. Now, with the truth laid bare on the Batcomputer, Cassandra felt a measure of relief, the mystery resolved. Stephanie, on the other hand, found herself caught between the detachment of an observer and the acknowledgment of the larger Bat-family dynamics. Her curiosity piqued, she wondered about the face behind the stories, she can't wait to see how much chaos the Red Ghoul will create.
Meanwhile, Oracle and Robin stood side by side, their eyes fixed on the glowing display of the Batcomputer. The revelation before them left them both in a state of pure disbelief. Oracle, once Batgirl and Jason's mentor in the crime-fighting world, felt her heart skip a beat. The emotions that surged within her were a tempest of joy, astonishment, and a profound sense of reunion. She had been the one who had guided Jason through his early days as Robin, who had shared patrols with him in the darkened alleys of Gotham. Oracle had seen beyond the mask, considering Jason her little brother.
As the news of Jason's revival registered, tears welled up in Oracle's eyes. The librarian job at the Gotham Public Library, a quiet homage to Jason's love for books, suddenly carried a deeper significance. The memories of their shared moments, their math tutoring sessions, the laughter, and the struggles flooded back. It wasn't just about the return of a vigilante; it was the return of her little brother, a piece of her past that she had long mourned.
The Batcomputer's soft glow cast a reflective light on Oracle's face as she whispered, "He's back, Tim. Jason is back."
As Oracle whispered the revelation of Jason's return, Tim Drake's mind became a tumultuous sea of conflicting emotions. The Batcave, with its silent echoes of the past, suddenly felt charged with an intensity that surpassed the usual brooding atmosphere.
Beside Oracle, Robin, the keen strategist, and detective, struggled to process the revelation. Tim Drake had known Jason during his time as Robin, having stepped into the role after Jason's tragic demise. The impact of Jason's death had reverberated through the Bat-family, shaping the dynamics in ways they could never have predicted.
Tim's confusion was palpable, etched across his features as he processed the unexpected news. The second Robin, Jason's Robin, had always been Tim's hero. He had looked up to Jason with admiration, reveling in the moments when the seasoned vigilante acknowledged him during the glamorous galas, they both attended in their civilian identities. The image of Jason, with his signature smirk and snark, had fueled Tim's aspirations to become a worthy successor.
Yet, the revelation that Jason was not only alive but also living a double life as Jason Alexander Head, Tim's favorite author, didn't evoke the anticipated burst of happiness. Instead, a cloud of uncertainty and unresolved tension hung in the air. Tim's admiration for Jason clashed with the memories of the Red Ghoul, the merciless vigilante who had berated him, branding him a child soldier during their encounters. As Oracle continued to process the news, her silent tears showcasing the personal connection she shared with Jason, Tim grappled with his own conflicting sentiments. The hero worship he had harbored for Jason as Robin now faced the harsh reality of the Red Ghoul's scathing criticisms.
Tim's gaze remained fixed on the Batcomputer screen, the DNA results of Jason Peter Todd displayed prominently. In the hallowed silence of the Batcave, Tim found himself torn between the admiration for the fallen Robin and the scars left by the Red Ghoul's harsh judgments. The dichotomy of emotions within Tim seems to overwhelm the teenager.
The atmosphere in the Batcave only thickened with tension as Jason, Dick, and Alfred entered. Jason, clad in his Red Ghoul gear but without his mask, exuded a mix of anticipation and apprehension. Upon spotting Barbara in her wheelchair, Jason's steps faltered for a moment before he approached her. Kneeling, he enveloped her in a heartfelt hug, the warmth of their reunion contrasting sharply with the cool ambiance of the cave. Barbara's eyes glistened with tears, a myriad of emotions flashing across her face as she welcomed Jason back into the fold.
Stephanie, as Spoiler, and Cassandra, Black Bat, followed suit, their greetings imbued with genuine warmth and a sense of camaraderie. The trio's interactions with Jason were a testament to the complex dynamics that defined the Bat-family, a blend of shared history, conflicts, and unbreakable bonds. However, when Jason's gaze fell upon Tim, the atmosphere shifted perceptibly. Tim's posture was rigid, his expression one of palpable anger and distrust. The air grew thick with unease as the two locked eyes, the weight of past encounters casting a shadow over the present moment.
Dick, sensing the mounting tension, stepped in, his voice tinged with confusion and concern. "What's wrong? This is Jason, your Robin, and the author you admire so much. Why the hostility?"
Tim's scoff was laced with bitterness as he shot a glare in Jason's direction. "He's the Red Ghoul. The same vigilante who ambushed me and my friends, and then had the audacity to label us as child soldiers. And let's not forget, he targeted Batman as well!"
Jason's eyebrow arched in disbelief, his voice carrying a note of defensiveness. "I acted in self-defense. Both times, I was the one who was attacked first. I didn't provoke those confrontations."
The cave's solemn silence was deafening, the unresolved tensions hanging in the air like a dark cloud. The reunion that had promised joy and relief was now overshadowed by the ghosts of past conflicts and misunderstandings.
"You want me to stop being a vigilante while you continue to put yourself in danger. What hypocrisy!" Tim's voice echoed through the Batcave, the culmination of pain and anger erupting in a fierce confrontation with Jason.
Jason, unfazed by the outburst, continued his tone was measured as he posed a question, attempting to cut through the escalating tension. "Answer this question, Tim. Does a child have to have a job? Earn income? Run a household?"
Tim, still seething, responded through gritted teeth, "No, but sometimes they do."
Jason seized on the opening to drive home his point. "But it's not healthy for them to take on these responsibilities, right? They should have had a childhood. There are things children shouldn't do," Jason continued, his voice carrying a weight of experience and conviction. "Not because they're not capable, mature, or interested, but because they're still children. It's the adults' job to take care of them. We both grew up under circumstances that demanded different things from us. We basically raised ourselves, and it sucks. But now that I know better, I'll teach you better. You're an experienced warrior with the desire to take action and stop acts that hurt others. Great. But you can't cook or do laundry, so practice those skills and let the elderly make the world safer now."
The bitter exchange reached a crescendo as Tim, overwhelmed with frustration, declared, "I hate this, and I hate you!"
Jason's response was unyielding. "Good. Feel the hatred overwhelm you."
"Fuck you!" Tim spat out, the expletive laced with a mixture of anger, confusion, and a profound sense of discontent.
The cavernous silence that followed hung heavy, the words exchanged echoing in the Batcave like a somber refrain.