Chapter Text
Despite what other people in his life might argue, Dick had a pretty good sense of when people were getting annoyed with him.
Getting under bad guys’ skin was his job, after all. He had pioneered the technique as Robin and perfected it as Nightwing. And he loved doing it! Nothing was quite as satisfying as a spin-kick to the face of a rogue charging at him, stupid and furious. Bad guys thinking that he was a yammering menace? An essential part of his charm. 10/10 would quip again.
But Dick’s prowess in pissing people off didn’t develop just out of nowhere. It all came from his ability to read people. Dick was a Flying Grayson, and being a Flying Grayson meant being fluent in body language. Practically from birth, Dick had been taught how to read the bodies of his parents, how to look for the signs that they were ready to catch him. That was a lesson you never forgot. Dick may not be able to use body language to literally predict his opponent’s next moves like Cass could, but he could still read the signs.
And right now, the signs told him that his family was really, really annoyed with him.
He just didn’t know why.
Bad guys could think he was obnoxious all they wanted, but having his own family ready to throttle him? That was never part of his strategy.
If Dick had to guess, he would say that it all started a few weeks ago, at the Wayne Foundation’s Benefit Dinner. Dick never saw the fight coming. Usually these affairs were way more tolerable than the bigger galas. You’d spend a few hours schmoozing with the big spenders, eat some good food. Honestly, Dick didn’t even really need to be there; Bruce could charm them all by himself. But Bruce had invited him, and it wasn’t like Dick could say no. Besides, it would give him a reason to hang out with Damian and Alfred after. Dick had prepped himself for a night of chatting pleasantly with Gotham’s biggest philanthropic spenders, people he had known since he was a kid. He had long ago developed callouses to the ways they’d pissed him off.
But that night there had been a new face seated at his table. Jeff Warren, up-and-coming titan of industry. He had warehouses in all the major cities of the East Coast now, including Blüdhaven. He was union-busting scum. But, unfortunately, that wasn’t enough to bust him. Dick knew in his heart of hearts the guy was dirty; Nightwing just hadn’t been able to prove it yet. He was still nursing a bruised rib from his last run in with the guy’s security team.
Playing nice with a bad guy? Fine, Dick did it all the time. He smiled through Warren’s obnoxiously long stories about his wild yacht parties. But when the stories morphed into a drunken tirade on immigration policies, Dick had to excuse himself. His mom had never been a U.S. citizen, never wanted the papers, even though her marriage to his dad qualified her. Dick wished he could talk to her now, as an adult. Tell her he understood so clearly now. Why would she want to be citizen of a country that so clearly didn’t want them? It was all just too much. Dick dealt with microaggressions like this all the time from Bruce’s class of people. But tonight, it was just really getting to him.
Bruce cornered him in the bathroom. He looked worried, the frown lines on his face on full display. For a second, Dick thought he would get a reprieve. But, oh no. Bruce hadn’t come to ask him what was wrong or anything, that would be ridiculous. He just went straight into criticism, like always. The night ended with Dick storming out of the benefit dinner and hitching a taxi all the way back to Blüdhaven.
Looking back on it now, Dick could admit there were better ways to have handled the conversation. But Bruce’s reaction had been totally uncalled for and now it was a matter of pride for him to outstubborn Bruce in the game of who apologizes first. They weren’t quite fighting; it wasn’t that dramatic. But Bruce wasn’t gonna call him chum anytime soon. And Dick had been making himself scarce in Gotham ever since.
Tonight, though, he had no choice but to patrol the streets of Gotham with Batman.
It had taken a lot of begging on his part, but Babs (and Commissioner Gordon) were finally taking a much needed, much deserved vacation. A long weekend up in Maryland at a cute bed and breakfast. Red Robin was taking over most of Oracle’s duties for the time being, meaning Gotham needed extra manpower on the streets. Everyone in the family knew that if Babs (and Commissioner Gordon) returned to a Gotham even slightly worse for the wear, they’d never take another vacation again. And a Babs that was all work and no play was a very dull Babs indeed. Dick had a boyfriend duty to patrol Gotham this weekend, no matter how mad he was at Bruce.
So after a cursory patrol in Blüdhaven at dusk, Nightwing sped towards Gotham, prepared for a less than enthusiastic welcome.
What he got was frigid. Bruce, already suited up as Batman, didn’t say one word of greeting. Mind you, Dick’s standards for Batman communication were pretty low. A grunt and ‘Nightwing’ would have sufficed. All he got was Artic Circle levels of silence. It chaffed at him like rope burn, but it wasn’t unexpected. If B wanted to act like he was nine years old, Dick could act seven. There was a Batcave full of people and surely one of them would be a decent conversationalists.
There was absolutely not a Batcave full of conversationalists. Cass refused to greet him, too. No shoulder bump or teasing smile. Nothing. As soon as he walked in, she turned away from him, and pulled Damian into a pre-patrol warm-up spar. That hurt. Bruce, he could understand, but what he had done to Cass lately? Then again, she and Bruce were very close. Bruce wouldn’t stoop so low as to badmouth him to his siblings, would he? The thought nagged at him, pushed him to find a sibling willing to talk to him, so he could disprove the stupid, paranoid theory.
He failed. Steph evaded any of Dick’s attempts to engage her in small talk. Not even bringing up the newest book in Bad Habits, their favorite pulpy romance series was enough to entice her into conversation. Jason took one look at him Dick approaching and dropped his dumbbells to head over to the weapon range instead. On the opposite side of the Batcave from Dick. Even Tim, the sibling he could most reliably bet on being happy to see him, literally shoved Dick away when he went in for their customary greeting hug/noogie.
He had been expecting a cold welcome. But this. Whew. Even Mister Freeze would need a thermos.
Maybe he was just being oversensitive.
Donna had mentioned to him a few (well, more than a few times) that fighting with Bruce always impacted his other relationships. Which Dick took as code for ‘made him a big baby’.
So Dick retreated. Stepped back and did some warm-up stretches, trying to shrug it off. But he couldn’t help but observe. Everyone seemed on good terms with each other. It’s only when he spoke that their bodies tense. Even Alfred seemed more distant than usual.
Bruce he could understand. But he honestly had no clue know why his siblings also seemed ready to punt him across Gotham like a football.
It was a mystery that would have to wait to be solved. Finally, Batman called them over to give out their assignments. Red Hood would patrol Crime Alley, Spoiler would cover Red Robin’s patrol route, Orphan would tail Penguin (he’d been making some suspicious purchases of late). Nightwing was assigned to scope out some unusual energy signatures originating in the Industrial District. It was one of those missions that stood an equal chance of being alien invaders or raccoons.
An idea struck him. Dick hadn’t actually had a chance to catch-up with his littlest brother yet. Cass had kept Damian pretty busy. Not to mention at the benefit dinner, Dick had left town way earlier than planned. Usually after any sort of Wayne function, Dick would have spent the night in the Manor and wheedled Damian into watching some movies or playing video games. Anything to remind his baby brother that he was still a baby. Patrolling together was almost the exact opposite of that, but still, it would be good to catch up.
“Sounds like it might be good for me to have some back-up. What do you say Robin, care to assist me?”
Damian regarded him coldly. “Tt. Are you so incapable that you can’t go on a simple reconnaissance mission by yourself?”
Ouch. Now all Dick needed was for Duke to wake up, come down to the Batcave, and insult his outfit. Then it would officially be everyone.
“Robin is with me,” said Batman. ‘Said’ was being generous. It was definitely more of a growl.
“If you need something, Nightwing,” said Tim, tone condescending, just a hair away from sarcastic. “Ask me.”
Dick got the message. He shoved his hurt down inside himself. Then, he shoved his irritation with patrolling a city that didn’t even want him here even deeper down. Focus on the mission. After that was done, Dick could figure out exactly what he’d done to piss in everyone’s cheerios. He could make it right.
The drive to the Industrial District was a smooth one. At least it was a beautiful night in Gotham, breezy and cool. He would start by scouting out the Gotham City Power Plant. If what was disturbing Bruce’s energy readings was like an electricity-eating meta or something, that’s usually where they’d start.
Dick hid his bike in an empty alley, engaging the security measures. He scaled the building up to rooftop. This was a recon mission after all. No better way to get a lay of the land than from up high. Dick scanned the horizon. Gotham was beautiful, in its own way. Even here, where everything was a mess of generators and sparking wires.
A flash of white light blasted up from between two buildings, due east. Alarms started to sound and then were silenced. Firefly? No, the color of the explosion hadn’t been quite right. It also didn’t look like there had been enough damage to be a bomb, but Dick needed to get in closer to be sure.
Normally, Dick would have reported something like this back to the Batcave before he made a move. But with the bad mood his family was in, he really did not want to endure whatever digs they would throw at him if it turned out the flash had just been a raccoon chewing through a telephone wire or something. Better to investigate this himself first, then phone for troops if needed.
He shot his grapple and flew. First genuine smile he had cracked all night.
Dick landed on a fire escape looking over the dark alley.
It was no raccoon.
In the middle of alley, laying in a heap of garbage cans, was a woman. She was dressed like a Renaissance faire reject: long purple gown, complete with a white corset. She even had small purple flowers woven into her hair.
Her hair. A vivid red, just this side of orange. Wait a minute. Those freckles. That small little pixie nose. Dick knew that face.
He dropped down to the ground, uncharacteristically graceless.
The words came out before he could stop himself. “Babs?”
Instinct should have had Dick running towards her, but it was instinct that kept him rooted in place. In his line of work, friends appearing in places they shouldn’t be usually spelled trouble. Because it couldn’t be Barbara. This was definitely not a five-star rated bed and breakfast. And where was her chair? Or her glasses, for that matter? She never wore contacts.
The Barbara-shaped woman turned her gaze towards him. It knocked the breath out of him. God, she was beautiful. But in a new way. In a way that was two small steps from uncanny. Dick’s eyes collected as much information as they could. Gone was that small forehead wrinkle or the subtle scar above her right eyebrow. Looking at her was like looking at a photoshopped picture of Babs, except the picture moved. It blinked and breathed and stared him dead in the eyes.
Slowly, not-Barbara lifted herself to her feet. And yeah, something was really desperately wrong here, because since when did Barbara stand?
She took a step towards him. Dick instantly took a defensive position. More from training than any fear. While she was obviously not his Barbara Gordon, the more Dick looked at her, the more she did still seem to be Babs. Enemy shapeshifters usually went for dead-on accuracy. This woman in front of him was Babs, just shifted a little left, into Tolkien elf territory. She had to be from an alternate Earth. They had protocols for this – friendly and unfriendly alternate Earths alike. Dick was betting she was from a friendly one, but he also wasn’t foolish enough to act on that without more proof.
They watched each other.
Her expression was reserved as her eyes roamed over him, analyzing. Not an unfamiliar expression, but not quite familiar either, in a way that was really hard for Dick to name. Barbara must have seen something she liked because her expression softened. She smiled. God, her smile. Dick felt nearly bowled over by her beauty. She looked like a wood nymph. Someone needed to write epic poems about her.
She ran towards him. Dick didn’t hesitate in sheathing his escrima sticks and picking her up by the waist. He spun her. Barbara laughed delightedly. It was the sounds of bells. Dick hadn’t heard her laugh this unabashedly since they were kids.
Dick placed her gently on the ground, still holding her waist tight. Up close, he could count her freckles. There wasn’t a single one missing. Beaming up at him, she dragged her long fingernails through his hair. It felt nice. His Babs never kept her fingernails that long. Made typing way too hard.
“My little songbird,” she cooed. “Look at you.”
Dick blushed. “Ah, that’s a new one my little...pumpkin pie?”
Babs laughed again. “Because of my – ?”
“Because of the hair, yeah.” Another small giggle.
“You make a very beautiful human,” she said, still stroking his hair. “The first beautiful thing I’ve seen in this world.”
Definitely not from one of the more directly divergent alternative Earths then. That was probably a good sign! In Dick’s experience, the closer the Earths lined up, the more likely it was that his loved ones’ alternate selves were pure evil. Dick was going to chalk this information as a point in the Friendly Earth category.
“Thanks? I take it I’m not a human in the universe you come from.” By the look of her, Dick guessed she wasn’t a human either. He smiled at her, soft and kind, the one he used when questioning non-hostile civilians. “Can I ask where that is?”
“I herald from the Realm of the Evergreen Glades. And no, you are not a human there. Humans are a very recent invention; I hardly see them.”
Dick packed that information away. “How’d you end up here?” What is your agenda went unspoken.
“Visiting. In order to perform a healing, there’s a certain energy I need to bring back to my realm. It is scarce and difficult to secure in my realm, but plentiful here.”
Dick felt himself tightened up. His intuition told him that this Babs could be trusted, even if she wasn’t his Babs. But his logic told him he couldn’t know that for sure until he knew what she was after. Energy was really vague. It could mean two double A batteries or soul-sucking for all Dick knew.
“What’s the energy? Maybe I can help.”
“Here, I believe it is called a generator.”
Oh thank god, it actually was mundane.
Babs must have noticed his relief, because she attempted to reassure him. “I’m sure it won’t take long to find it,” she said. “But I was told to ‘enjoy the sights’. Apparently, I could use a vacation.”
Dick almost laughed. What are the odds.
“Need a tour guide?” Dick offered her his arm, the very picture of a chivalrous gentleman.
Babs always had a few inches on him, but this Babs was even taller. She had to be approaching seven feet at least. She took his arm, an indulgent look on her face, as if he were her precious pet performing a trick. It should have made Dick feel condescended to, but for whatever reason, it didn’t.
They never got the chance to take that tour.
Dick heard the all too familiar crack of a bullet in the air. He grabbed Babs by the shoulders and pushed her behind a dumpster, covering her with his body. For all Dick knew, her realm didn’t even have bullets. She could be completely defenseless against them. Or worst, completely over-powered. Next time she got shot at, she could accidently blow up the city defending herself. Then Dick would have a really bad situation. Time for him to deal with this on his own.
“Stay down,” he told her.
If he was going to fight guns, he needed to get in closer. Dick rolled out from behind the dumpster. He aimed low, kicking the assailant in the knees. The guy was good. He recovered quickly, but not before Dick disarmed him. And saw his face. Well, helmet.
“Hood?”
Holy Friendly Fire, Batman. He knew Jason had been annoyed with him earlier, but not murderous. This was a little much.
Jason glared at him. Or, at least, Dick he assumed he glared. The red helmet did just always look that.
“Nightwing. Good,” he said, in a startling calm voice for someone trying to commit fratricide, “You can still recognize me. Stand down.”
Dick looked down at his ecrima sticks. They weren’t even charged.
“From what?” he asked, incredulous. “You shot at me.”
“Wrong. I shot the siren you’re protecting. And next time I’m not missing.”
Dick knew what Jason was going to do before he did it. His escrima stick hit Jason directly in the hand reaching for his thigh holster.
“Hood, you’re the one who needs to stand down. You have the wrong idea.”
Babs emerged from behind the dumpster. And shit, Dick knew that look, she was pissed.
“I am not a Siren.” The energy around her crackled. “Do not demean me.”
The sheer power in her voice had the hairs on the back of Dick’s neck standing straight up.
“Siren, Witch, whatever. I got a million other names I could call you, sweetheart, but they’re not for polite company. Now step away from Nightwing.”
Barbara stepped closer to him. Oh boy. This was going to escalate fast if Dick didn’t sort this out.
“Hood, it’s alright, I talked to her. It’s just Babs from a different universe. She’s friendly.”
Dick looked over at her, wordlessly encouraging her to tell Jason she was friendly. Nothing. She said no words in her defense. She merely wrapped her arm around his, returning to the position they’d been in before.
“Oh yeah, you two look real cozy. Can’t wait to watch you explain this to the real O later.”
Dick tensed, flustered. He would never cheat on Barbara. Even with Barbara.
“She’s an ally, Hood,” said Dick. “She’s just visiting.”
“Right,” said Jason. And even though Dick couldn’t technically see his eyes, he knew Jason was rolling them. “Let me ask you this, boy blunder. How do you know she’s friendly? What exactly did you do to vet her, oh great detective?”
Dick grit his teeth. “I asked.” Since when did his word stop being worth anything to his family?
Jason reached for his comms. “Hear that, Red? ‘Wing asked politely.”
“Nightwing,” said Red Robin in his ear, “has been compromised. All available vigilantes, I’m redirecting you.”
“What?” hissed Dick. An entire night of small digs finally reached a crescendo within him. Dick was furious. He had been vigilante since he was eight. He had more experience under his belt than any of them, except Batman, and only by one year. All that and he couldn’t even get his own brothers to trust him?
“Acknowledged,” said Batman.
“I have not been compromised!”
Above, Dick felt more than saw the shadows move. Orphan. Great. That’s exactly the gasoline he needed on this, almost literal, dumpster fire of a situation.
“Songbird,” said Barbara, sensing the danger, “get behind me.”
“You really picked the wrong pretty boy to get attached to, sweetheart. He’s not going anywhere.”
“Look,” said Dick, slipping into his best hostage negotiation tone. “You have more questions. Fine, that’s okay, but there’s no reason to be hostile. Let’s take her back somewhere safe to sort everything out.”
He turned to alternate Babs. “Are you okay with that?”
She looked discerning, biting her lip in the same way his Babs did when debating a decision. Dick couldn’t blame her. They weren’t doing a great job of selling themselves as friendly to her.
“You will stay with me?” she asked.
Dick nodded. “Of course,” he said, just as Jason said, “I think the fuck not.”
Barbara’s eyes turned to Jason, calculating. “You’re ill again. Let me help you.”
Dick inwardly cringed. God, that sounded ominous. He didn’t think Babs meant anything by it, based on her earlier statements, she was obviously some kind of witchy healer type in her world, but Jason was not going to take that well.
Jason did not take that well.
At least he had the sense to give up on guns for this situation. Instead, Dick’s fucking tank of a younger brother lunged himself right at Barbara. Jason went in with a left hook, easy enough for Dick to block, but after that it was an all-out of scuffle. Dick wasn’t actually trying to hurt to Jason, and Jason wasn’t really trying to fight Dick, too busy trying to get at Barbara. The result was a very messy and undignified fight. It was mostly just Dick and Jason rolling on the ground. Dick, using his legs, finally got him in a hold.
Spoiler descended into the alley, landing perfectly balanced on top of the dumpster. Dick had never been so grateful for Steph’s love of making grand entrance.
“Spoiler,” Dick’s voice slipped into his old Batman voice without noticing. “Red Hood has bad intel. I’m not compromised.”
“Oh, my! Look at your outfit!” said Barbara, voice brimming with excitement. It was a sound Dick had only ever heard from his Babs when she was doting on Haley. She looked down at Dick. “Are you all humans here?”
“It depends on who you mean,” said Dick, struggling to keep Jason still, “but yeah, probably.”
“That’s very adorable.”
Her smile distracted Dick for just one second, but that was all time needed for Jason to headbutt his way out of the hold.
“Boneless bastard,” he spat, putting distance between himself and Dick. “Spoiler, don’t listen to him! Nightwing has been whammied hard by knock-off Galadriel here.”
Spoiler’s face revealed nothing. Then she said, “Nightwing, I gotta side with Hood on this. She is saying some supremely creepy things.”
Dick wanted to slam his face with a dumpster lid. But there was no time for dramatics; he had to focus on talking Jason and Steph down. Dick was on a countdown. If he had any hope of de-escalating this, he needed to do it before Batman and Robin got here.
Beside him, Barbara had tensed. She looked sad.
“I can see it in all of you. So much hurt,” she said, eyes intense. The air closer to her felt warmer, as if someone had just turned on a space heater. “Who is your guardian in this world? They are a failure.”
Dick had no idea what she meant by guardian, if there even was an equivalent to the position on his Earth. Context clues made him guess his Barbara or Bruce. Which, yeah, he didn’t take too kindly to either of them being criticized by an outsider.
“We do okay for ourselves,” he told Barbara, “we’re just a little weary around strangers.”
“I am not a stranger.”
“I know,” Dick said with a smile. “We just gotta convince them now too.”
“Oh, you are so mind-controlled,” said Spoiler.
Dick resisted the urge to say Am not! He had a duty to be the adult here.
“I am not mind-controlled.” He annunciated slowly and patiently, a far cry from the yell he wanted to give. “But if you are all really so concerned, why don’t you take us both back to the Batcave and we can go through protocol?”
“No one’s going anywhere until Batman gets here with the meta-collar.”
“Restraints?” said Barbara. There was an anger in her voice Dick recognized. She pulled Dick tight to her side. By his waist, which had him blushing uncomfortably. In reaction, Jason and Steph both took offensive positions. This could not get worse.
A batarang sailed passed his head, nearly hitting Barbara in the arm.
Batman and Robin landed in the center of the alley. Twin crouches and twin scowls.
Okay, it got worse.
“B,” said Dick, speaking directly to Bruce for the first time in weeks. No matter how much it hurt Dick’s ego, it was clear that only Bruce had the power to call things off now. “You don’t have all the information.”
Batman looked right through him.
“Red Hood, Spoiler, report.”
“She’s got Nightwing love-spelled. He won’t let us bring her in,” said Jason, the dirty liar. Steph nodded along with him, the traitor.
“That is not what happened,” said Dick and in another context he might have been embarrassed at how childish his voice sounded. “She’s already agreed to questioning, she just hasn’t agreed to being attacked!”
“Shut up, N,” said Jason, “you don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Up above, Cass had made herself visible. Orphan was crouched on the edge of the fire escape, ready to pounce at any moment. They were all moving in formation now. Behind him, Steph was very unsubtly trying to block off his right. Red Hood already blocked his left. Batman and Robin marched towards them, quite literally putting Dick and Barbara’s backs to the walls. Dick could feel, literally feel, the heat of Barbara’s agitation. For the first time all night, real genuine fear gripped at Dick’s chest.
“Guys, please just listen to me.” He was begging now, earnestly.
No one responded.
“Subdue Nightwing first,” Bruce ordered. Dick stumbled back. The words hit him like a kick to his solar plexus.
“How dare you!”
Barbara roared and the sky roared with her. She threw her hands up in the air, crackling with white energy, and then she spread them like wings.
“Until you can learn to speak to him properly, you will do without!”
And then Dick saw nothing.
Bruce despised magic.
It opposed everything he believed in as an empiricist. Metas, metas he was coming to understand. There was a logic to them. The meta-gene could be studied. There were plenty of metas on the Justice League that he respected and (mostly) trusted. And, of course, he loved Duke very much. Meta-humans had their place in this world. There were of this world.
But magic. Magic never spelled anything but destruction.
And that was what Bruce looked on now. Destruction.
When the sorceress had attacked, Bruce had been quick enough to shield himself and Robin with his cape, but even that hadn’t stopped the light from blinding him. When his vision returned to him, he almost wished it hadn’t.
Nightwing’s suit laid crumbled in the dirt, limp and lifeless. No body, no blood, no signs of any trauma. Just an empty uniform where his son used to be.
Bruce had entered the situation with far less information than was acceptable. But with Nightwing potentially compromised, there had been no time to regroup and plan. Only time to act.
And now looked what he had accomplished.
It had to be a trick. An illusion designed demoralize them. Or a kidnapping via a type of teleportation magic that couldn’t carry Kevlar. A thousand different scenarios raced through Bruce’s mind; a thousand different ways Nightwing could have survived the blast. Because he must have. Bruce had not just watched his son disintegrate in front of him. It wasn’t possible. Bruce refused to accept any reality in which Dick Grayson was – was –
His children grouped around him. No one dared speak.
And then, a sound. Sharp and musical. Not connected to the situation, Bruce assumed, until the sounds became more insistent. Panicked, even. Harsh squawks filled the air, echoing starkly in the empty alley.
Robin was the first to make a move. He rushed to the ground and tore at the empty uniform (his son’s uniform, oh god) searching for the source of the sound.
A bird poked its head out of Nightwing’s sleeve.
A bird. Somewhere between the size of a small robin and a parakeet. It looked like no bird Bruce had ever seen on Earth, nor any bird from the handful of extraterrestrial planets he’d visited. It was very round, covered in jet-black feathers most everywhere. The exception to its coloring was its wings, which were stripped a very familiar blue, and its breast, which had a patch of blue feathers shaped in a v stretched over its breast. Its eyes were an exceptionally bright ocean blue. Just like Dick’s.
Red Hood took off his helmet. His expression was nothing less than slack jawed.
“She called him ‘Songbird’...” he said, trailing off.
Bruce fell to his knees. He dared not reach for the bird, afraid of so many things.
“Dick?” he asked in a hoarse whisper.
The bird chirped, flapping its wings wildly.
Robin, very slowly, approached the bird. He offered up his hands. The bird happily jumped onto them, chirping all the while. Then, very gingerly, Robin closed his other hand over the bird, forming a makeshift cage.
They all stared. Eventually, Bruce found his voice.
“Return to base.”
Red Hood took off on his bike. Spoiler and Orphan piled into backseat of the car. Bruce turned on the engine. The auto-pilot function refused to engage. His cowl’s comms were not responding. Whatever the sorceress had done, it must have impacted their communication. There would be no forewarning Red Robin and Agent A of their return. No way to prepare them.
For what exactly, Bruce didn’t have an answer.
Everyone, even Stephanie, remained too stunned to chat. The ride back to the Cave was silent.
Or it would have been, if they hadn’t had an extra passenger hellbent on singing. The bird tried many tunes. Some fast paced and excited, filled with a joy that made Bruce certain that this was no normal bird. The songs seemed to grow sadder with time, until the melody was low and tender, almost hauntingly beautiful.
Robin still held the bird cupped in his hands, guarding it like it were something precious. He lifted the top of his hand ever-so-slightly.
“What is it?” said Robin, his voice in that gentle pitch he used only for animals. “What’s wrong?”
What’s wrong. Bruce could give a frighteningly accurate Joker impression right about now.
Orphan leaned up towards the front seat, peering down at Robin’s cupped hands. Some part of Bruce desperately hoped that Cassandra’s skills in reading body language would somehow translate into...deciphering whatever was exactly happening here. But she remained silent, only watching.
“Maybe he just likes chirping?” said Spoiler. “Chirping is how birds talk, right? So, I mean, it’s Dick. Dick loves talking. Maybe he’s sad none of us are chirping back.”
“We don’t know that.”
“Uh, anyone who has spent three minutes alone in a room with that guy knows that.”
Bruce’s gripped tightened on the steering wheel. “We don’t know that bird is Dick.”
“Puh-lease.” Spoiler blew a raspberry. Teenagers. “I’m positive the Nightwing emblem doesn’t occur naturally in the wild.” She leaned up against Orphan, moving to presuming poke the bird in his blue chest. The bird flapped his wings in a gesture that almost looked eager.
Bruce counted to ten, internally. He would not start prescribing human attributes to magical birds.
Robin brought his right hand over the top his left hand, blocking the bird from Spoiler.
“Don’t prod him, Brown!” Robin all but hissed. Spoiler recoiled, obviously offended by the accusation. Robin paid her no heed. He turned away from her, speaking only to his closed hands. His voice was soft again.
“He may be injured.”
Robin was right. If that bird truly was Dick, how could they determine how traumatic the transformation process had been? None of them were experts in bird biology. A massive oversight on his part, Bruce was realizing. Where were they going to find a trustworthy veterinarian on such short notice? Selina. He was going to have to call Selina. Selina would help them no question if it really was...if it was for Dick.
The bird tried to wiggle between the small gaps in Robin’s hands, chirping all the while. The enthusiasm was back in its voice. Bruce breathed a small sigh of relief. At least it wasn’t acting injured.
They pulled into the Cave with a speed that would leave marks. Red Robin was already running toward them before the engines turned off, bo staff at the ready.
“What is going on?” he shouted, “You weren’t answering comms! If GPS hadn’t shown you enroute back here I was about to go after you.”
Cassandra put a hand on Tim’s shoulder. She had already taken off her cowl.
Tim paled. “It’s that bad?”
Bruce looked away, unable to find the words. Instead, his gaze found a bleary-eyed Duke Thomas, half-way suited up as Signal.
“Duke,” he said, slipping into his paternal voice unthinkingly. “You should be asleep.”
“Tim woke me up,” said Duke, rubbing his eyes. “Said there was some kind of emergency. Is Dick okay?”
“He’s a bird,” said Stephanie.
Duke blinked at her. “Is that like...a codeword?”
“Nope,” said Stephanie, popping the ‘p’. “We fought some Oracle cosplayer from a different dimension, and she turned him into a bird.”
“What.”
Then, Tim said, “Show me.”
Fresh fear rushed through Bruce’s veins. A horrible vision flooded his mind’s eye. Images of the small songbird – that may or not be his son – flying through the cave system, lost forever in the endless dark.
“Robin,” said Bruce. The urgency in his voice froze everyone in place. “Do not let it out of your hands.”
Robin scoffed. “I am not an imbecile, Father.”
The sound of Red Hood’s engine roaring alerted them all to his safe return. In the distance, a familiar figure came closer to the group of vigilantes.
“Alfred,” said Bruce. The amount of relief Bruce felt at seeing the man was intense. A part of Bruce, the child in him, presumably, would always trust in Alfred’s abilities to solve most anything. “Tell me we have a birdcage on the property.”
Alfred, unflappable as ever, merely said, “I will fetch one immediately, sir.”
“Spoiler, Orphan, Red Hood, start your reports immediately. Spare no detail.”
Stephanie looked ready to argue, but Cassandra guided her away. Even Jason obeyed, merely muttering ‘Fucking Gotham’ under his breath. It was clear that all of his children were still very shaken up. Nightwing had been a vigilante for nearly two decades. More than that, he was their older brother. Something happening to him was unthinkable.
Robin kept a firm hold over the bird; his expression intense with a determination that looked out of place on such a small child. Bruce began to go over a list of all the heroes he trusted that dealt with magic and/or could talk to animals. He planned to handle this in-Gotham first, but he had to prepare for everything.
Alfred returned quickly with a bird cage about the size of his torso. It was an ornate thing; its metal bars were either pure gold or very well coated in it. It had one lone perch, otherwise it was mostly empty. Clearly, it had been designed for decoration, not an actual animal.
Robin, hesitantly, released the bird inside. It fluttered to the perch, happy to stretch its wings.
“What now, Father?”
Bruce hated how small Damian sounded, how afraid.
“Protocol,” said Bruce. “Alfred, Tim, please set up the conference room.”
Alfred nodded. Tim followed him, but not before he shot one anxious look back at the bird.
Bruce put a, what he hoped to be comforting, hand on Damian’s shoulder. “We have to write our reports, son.”
Damian nodded and followed Bruce to the computer.
Once all the reports had been completed, Bruce called everyone to the conference room. It was a small meeting room, in one of the Cave’s atriums, mostly used for complex mission debriefings. It housed very little technically, just a single long conference table and one large screen, which suited their uses perfectly. Tim had already brought in the stack of cards and arranged them on the table. Twenty-six cards each displayed an individual letter of the alphabet, and the other thirty cards had the most used words in the English language. It was standard protocol in the event any of them lost the ability to speak, sign, or write.
Tim had already taken his seat at the conference table. Alfred had sat the bird cage in Dick’s usual seat. The bird was still singing. A sweet, subtle tune this time, easy to filter out, like elevator music. Bruce’s other children filed in, each taking their usual seats, except for Jason, who preferred to stand.
Bruce shut the door behind him. It touched the ground. Another reason to choose this room, it was air tight. Here, Bruce could be relatively certain of the safety of letting the bird fly free.
Bruce walked towards Dick's seat. He raised up the cage above his head, so that he was eye-level with the bird. Up close, Bruce could make out more details. Its beak was a dark gray, nearly black. Its eyes were completely round, still that familiar blue that left Bruce bereft.
“I am going to open this cage,” he told the bird. “If you can understand us, please reply by landing on the appropriate card.”
The bird cocked its head to the left, the dark feathers of its neck ruffling.
Bruce continued on, undeterred. “Are you Dick Grayson?”
He opened the cage. Right away, the bird spread out its strong wings and took off.
It landed directly on Damian’s head.
“Are you Dick Grayson?” Bruce repeated.
The bird sat down and nested in Damian’s hair. Except for the lines of blue, it was almost completely camouflaged.
“Grayson, be serious,” Damian demanded. But he didn’t brush the bird off.
Bruce was reminded of all the times he had seen Dick dangle his arms off of Damian’s shoulders and rock the boy. It was completely illogical – utterly unwarranted – but he couldn’t help but read the same motion into it.
But that wasn’t evidence. And, given the situation, Bruce couldn’t trust his own mind not to read what he wanted to see into things.
“Bruce,” said Tim. Sensing his irritation, he placed a gentle hand on Bruce’s arm. “Sometimes the simplest solutions are the right ones. It is Dick. But he’s a bird. And birds can’t read.”
Bruce pursued his lips. That was no excuse. He had trained Dick to memorize the placement of the cards just in case.
“What do we do next?” asked Duke.
Jason snarled. “Go back out and capture the hag who did this to him, obviously.”
Jason had barely finished his sentence before a bright light consumed the room. The air around them crackled, like a whip being struck, over and over again. The experience was intense, but far less so than his earlier encounter with this magic.
When the lights faded, Bruce knew who to expect.
The sorceress smiled. She sat at the head of the conference table, legs crossed at the ankles. She shared Barbara’s preference for sitting posture, from the time before her disability. Her hair was longer than the real Barbara’s had even been. It fell nearly to the floor.
“You need only ask for me,” she said, “and I will appear.”
“Stay calm,” order Bruce, mostly directed to Duke and Jason, who were already scrambling, albeit for different reasons.
It incensed Bruce that she had both means and the nerve to attack them here, on his turf. Although all of them, including Bruce, were maskless, they were still suited up. It was far from the ideal circumstances for a rematch, but they would make do.
But first, Bruce needed answers.
“What have you done with Nightwing?” he demanded.
The sorceress unfurled her arm. The bird flew from Damian’s head and landed onto the sorceress outstretched palm.
“He is with me.” The sorceress placed the bird on her shoulder.
“Return him this instant!” said Damian.
“I shall,” said the sorceress, sounding like a beleaguered teacher, “once you all have learned how to speak to him properly. Things are pitiful here. You all must learn how to treat your relationship to him with more respect, more care.”
“Who the hell are you to tell us – !” Cassandra slapped a hand over Jason’s mouth. Bruce had never been so grateful for her.
“You all,” said Bruce, narrowing his eyes. “You’ve said that before. What do you mean by it?”
“You all,” she made a sweeping motion with hand, gesturing to the room. “His flock. His family.”
“Be specific.”
Something knowing twinkled in her eyes. “All the humans in this room,” she said.
“And,” said Bruce, “specifically, what is it you need us to learn?” The words tasted like poison in his mouth. They came out like gravel.
“Now that is different for each of you. Some of you have hurts that you’ve kept hidden from him. Unacknowledged and untreated, they’ve begun to fester, poisoning your relationship to him. Still others of you have hidden away your joys; you refuse to nourish him as he nourishes you. But all of you have something you must confess to him. I will not give him back until you do so.”
She had ensnared them into a situation akin to truth serum. In some ways it was worse because it was their responsibility to deduce what the correct confession was, rather than just waiting to be questioned.
“But you will give him back?” asked Tim.
The sorceress nodded. “As long as you all follow my instructions faithfully, yes.” From her gown’s open sleeve, she pulled out a clear crystal, dangling from a strand of twine. She placed it on the conference table. “This will help you keep track of your progress. You have three days.”
Bruce’s fists trembled in fury. “Until what,” he hissed.
She reached over her shoulder. Very calmly, she stroked two fingers down the birds back; it couldn’t have seemed more delighted. Its happy chirps filled the room, music completely dissonant to the general atmosphere.
“Traitor,” hissed Jason. Cassandra smacked him across the chest. She was a good girl.
“Until I take him back home with me,” the sorceress finally said. She stopped her petting and pushed the bird away. It flew back to Damian’s head. The boy unclenched slightly, relieved.
“Wayne family,” said the sorceress, standing. “Heed this wisdom: learn your lessons quickly.”
And then, just as she came, she vanished in a blitz of light. Like a witch from a fairy tale, all she had left them with was a crystal and impossibly high stakes.
And a bird.
The Wayne family looked blankly at that bird, who was happily nesting on Damian’s head again, oblivious to everything that had just unfolded on its behalf.
All of them were at a loss of what to do next, even Bruce.
Especially Bruce.
Involving others into this situation had suddenly become too risky. Her motives were focused on family. If Bruce reached out to any other allies, Bruce didn’t doubt she would hold that against them. Bruce had no desired to submit to her rules without a fight. There had to be a third option. He just hadn’t found it yet.
“I can go first,” volunteered Duke.
Everyone, Bruce included, looked towards Duke in surprise.
He rubbed his neck sheepishly. “I’ve known him the shortest amount of time. Might be easier for me to figure out what I got to say to him than any of you guys, since we have less baggage.” He caught sight of Bruce’s grim face. “No offense.”
Duke picked up the crystal from the table. A light flashed, not nearly as bright as the other displays of the sorceress power. In Duke’s hand, the crystal turned a bright yellow – Signal’s yellow.
“So we’re really gonna do this?” said Jason, crossing his arms. “Let some random witch make us play truth or dare on hard-mode with a bird?”
“We’ll multitask,” said Bruce. “Duke will work on breaking the curse as we’ve been instructed. I’ll work on other means.”
“I’ll help,” said Tim.
“As will I,” declared Damian.
Tim’s help could certainly be useful, but Damian, being a literal child, had no real patience for the long night of research Bruce had ahead of him.
“You will certainly not,” said Alfred. “You children are going off to bed. This has been more than enough activity for one night.”
“Good plan,” said Cassandra. Bruce had to agree. The more he had time to reflect, the more he realized he wanted the rest of the children as far away from this as possible. One child incapacitated was enough.
“But she only gave us three days!” protested Tim. But Cassandra was already dragging him and Damian both by their capes and out of the room. Stephanie followed them willing, rubbing at her eyes. Alfred scooped the bird off from the Damian’s head as he passed by. He placed the bird back in its cage.
Jason stayed behind.
“You just couldn’t stay out of it, could you?” Jason said to the bird, who merely cocked its feathery head to the left. He flicked his fingers towards it, not hitting the animal who was protected by the cage, but spooking it. It flew to the far side of the cage, puffed out its chest, and started shrieking.
Jason shrieked back. “You know when I call you Dickiebird, it was just a nickname, not a challenge, dumbass!”
Bruce brought a hand to his forehead. “Go to bed, Jason.”
Jason glared at him, but did retreat once he caught sight of Alfred’s face, grumbling all the while.
Duke leaned down, nervously eying the now agitated bird.
“Should I just take him?” he asked.
“I believe he will be much happier upstairs, yes,” said Alfred. “Songbirds are social creatures. Do try to get some sleep as well, Master Duke.”
“Okay, thanks Alfred.”
Duke picked up the birdcage, holding it to his chest like a teddy bear. He looked like he wanted to say something to Bruce, then seemed to think better of it. Preferrable. Bruce was certain he had nothing valuable to say at the moment.
“Shall I send some chamomile tea to your chambers, Master Bruce?”
“No. I’ll be staying down here. I have work to do,” he said.
“Very well,” said Alfred. He was clearly troubled but also wise enough to know that this was not a battle he could win. Not tonight.
Nothing short of Darkseid himself would make Bruce leave the Cave until he had found a way to save his son.