Chapter 31
Dick gently closes Peter’s door behind himself, his mind wandering. He’s surprised to find Bruce speaking with Duke and Tim in the hallway.
“And don’t go on patrol alone. Not until we find out who’s behind the attack,” Bruce says, his tone firm and final.
“No need to tell me twice,” Duke replies. He glances at Peter’s door. “I’m going to stick around to help Peter settle in anyway. I know how overwhelming this place can be, and my arm is still a little whacked out.”
“That’s a good idea, Duke. It’s going to be a shock for him,” Dick says, walking over to the little group. “Just having a warm bed in a safe place will be a novelty for a little while.”
Bruce frowns. Tim looks mildly sick at that thought. Duke doesn’t seem surprised, but he doesn’t look happy, either.
“I kind of figured,” Duke says. He checks the time on his watch. “I’m going to grab some lunch with Cass. I’ll catch you guys later.”
“I’ll come with you,” Tim says. “I’m starving.”
“Yeah, that happens when you forget to eat breakfast,” Duke remarks dryly. He aims a friendly wave at Bruce and Dick, falling into step with Tim as they walk towards the stairs.
Dick watches them leave, hands in his pockets. He looks at Bruce from the corner of his eye. “How’s Damian?”
Bruce sighs, reaching up to pinch the bridge of his nose and Dick fights back a small smirk. “Alfred and I restricted him to bed rest. Whether he stays in bed or not remains to be seen.”
Dick’s smirk grows for a moment. “I’ll talk to him.”
“Please do. He’s--” Here, Bruce pauses, as if trying to find a way to express himself. That’s not necessarily uncommon with him; Dick knows how to wait it out while Bruce travels through the murky waters of his own emotions. It can be a lengthy process sometimes. “Anxious. Alert. He almost lost you and Alfred within days of each other.”
Ah. Dick hadn’t considered that angle. Damian is closest to Dick and Alfred in this weird, screwed up family; the assassination attempt and then the whole thing with Bane would him on high alert.
“I’ll go talk to him,” Dick says, running a hand through his hair. “After I make a very awkward phone call to Kori and explain how I kind of illegally adopted a teenager. I’ll have her join me on patrol tonight so we can talk it out.”
Peter likely isn’t going to wake up anytime soon. And he wants to check in on Jason, too. That meeting won’t go anywhere positive, but he has to try. He knows it'll end with Jason blaming him for Spider-Man's death and a fistfight as a bonus. Honestly, it might start that way. Jason doesn't have many friends (by his own choice), so the few he makes are often kept close and protected zealously. In some ways, Spider-Man had been a bridge between them. That bridge is gone and Jason’s made it clear he puts some of the blame on Dick.
Not that Dick necessarily disagrees with Jason.
"Report in to Oracle when you leave the manor," Bruce says after a moment.
"I plan on it," Dick says, walking towards the stairs.
Bruce joins him, and they walk side by side through the manor. Bruce is watching him closely, his gaze frank and piercing. It’s a look he’s often used on Dick when he was Robin and trying to brush off an injury or a lie. Dick has to fight back a wave of annoyance and frustration. He’s a grown man; Bruce should’ve retired that look years ago.
"How are you?" Bruce asks after a moment.
Dick clenches a fist. "Perfectly fine. If you think I'm not capable of field work--"
"That's not why I'm asking," Bruce says quietly.
Dick pauses, his anger dissipating as quickly as it appeared. Bruce isn't looking for a readiness report. He's genuinely asking. A rare thing indeed for Bruce, given how cold the man can be towards those he cares for. Dick appreciates the effort, no matter how clumsily it's done, and boggles at what it means. Is the old man learning how to express emotions?
"We lost one of our own because of me," Dick says finally, his tone bitter and guilty. "How do you think I feel?"
Bruce has no answer to that, but he does squeeze Dick's shoulder comfortingly. Another surprise. Maybe the old man is softening in his old age.
That's a terrifying thought.
"I know," he says simply. After a moment, he pulls back his hand and walks away. Maybe he’s hit his limit on emotions for the day or something.
A brief silence hangs between them before Dick speaks. "I thought you were headed out of town."
Bruce leaps onto the change of subject gratefully. "I am. I needed to check a few things here."
"Is Clark in that much trouble?" Dick asks, frowning. "You've been spending a lot of time in Metropolis lately."
Superman is like an uncle to him. Clark has always been a steady, comforting presence in Dick's life, as much a part of his family as Bruce and his brothers and sisters. He hasn’t had a chance to ask after him for awhile, and frankly didn't think to do so. Superman is Superman; what could possibly hurt him?
“I’ve been spending less time there than you think,” Bruce says. “I’m not sure if there’s any kind of help I can give him.”
“What’s wrong with him?” Dick asks.
“I’m not sure,” Bruce admits. “He complained of headaches, then denied ever having a headache in his life a few hours later. And his eyes seem different, though I can’t place how. Something’s happened to him.”
“Where has he been? It’s been, what, weeks or months since he disappeared?”
“He doesn’t remember. And he didn’t tell Lois he was going anywhere before he left. He only does that with a short mission he doesn’t think will take very long.”
Dick quirks a brow at that. Bruce mimics the gesture. Dick scoffs. “Clark has a mind like a steel trap.”
“Not at the moment he doesn’t,” Bruce replies, his tone stiff and cold, and a bit defensive. Dick can recognize the fear behind it, though most others wouldn’t. Whatever’s happened to Clark has Bruce shaken and determined. “Has Tim mentioned Conner lately?”
“The day Bane attacked, yes,” Dick says slowly. “Apparently Conner hasn’t been returning his calls.”
“I need to talk to him before I leave,” Bruce says after a moment.
“Why? What’s going on?”
“I believe someone is targeting the Justice League and Kryptonians in particular,” Bruce says. “Kara Danvers is overdue from her trip in space. The Kents haven’t seen Conner in weeks. His room was covered in dust and, oddly, ashes. I was hoping to find out something before speaking with Tim about it, but I don’t think I’ll get the chance.”
Dick is silent, walking beside Bruce towards one of the entrances to the batcave scattered around manor. He turns over this new information slowly, examining all sides of it. Tim is going to be upset, to say the least. Red Robin and Super Boy are usually inseparable when their schedules allow. If Conner is missing...
“He’s not going to handle the news well,” Dick says. Which is something of an understatement.
“I know,” Bruce replies, leading them down towards the computer that takes up a majority of one side of the cave.
The cave is cool, but not cold. Dick can hear bats shuffle in place on the rock ceiling above them, and smell the damp air. This place feels more like home than the manor above; he knows every shadow, every distant drip of water. The cave has changed over the past few years, but it still feels the same. It still feels like home.
“I’ll wait until he finishes with lunch and talk to him then,” Bruce says, sitting down in the well worn chair. He looks more comfortable here, more at ease. “If I bring him into the investigation from the start, I might be able to counter a few of his bad habits.”
Dick thinks that’s a lost cause, but he can see the logic in it. “Treat him as an equal, Bruce. It’s long past time.”
Bruce pauses, then gives the slightest nod. “I intend to.”
Maybe the old man has started to soften up. Dick considers that for a moment, desperately trying to find a tactful way to ask when and how Bruce gained emotional intelligence, when he spots a new addition to the row of suits carefully placed inside glass cases lined up in a row along one wall of the cave. Most of the suits there are simply old or retired suits from every member of the family: his original Robin suit, the original Nightwing design, Tim’s Red Robin suit, Duke’s Signal suit, Cass’s variations on the Black Bat suit, Steph’s Spoiler and Robin suit. Even a few of Jason’s older Red Hood helmets have a place. And Bruce’s old Batman suits that have since been retired. But there’s a new addition to the line up.
At the end of the row, a sleek black and red suit with large, pronounced white eyes stands inside a clear glass case. A black belt is slung across the hips and matte black gauntlet web shooters are clamped around the suit’s forearms. The chest is covered by a thin, sharp angled spider emblem against a blood red chest, the black legs meshing with the black fabric of the arms and hips. Dick stares at it for a long moment before walking over to stand in front of it. He isn’t sure how much time passes before he feels Bruce stand beside him, staring at the suit.
“I was going to ask you to give this to him when I got back from Metropolis,” Bruce says quietly. “It wasn’t quite finished before I left. I thought I would have more time.”
“No bat symbol?” Duke asks. He’s surprised by how strained and weak his voice is, and he takes a moment to clear his throat, fighting back a wave of grief.
“No,” Bruce says. “I was going to offer it to him, and a place here at the manor.”
“Too bad that didn’t work out,” Dick says weakly. “Can you imagine? We drag two more people into this family. Peter and Spider-Man.”
Bruce makes a quiet hn sound. He’s quiet for a long moment. “The city wants to throw a fundraising gala in Spider-Man’s honor for Crime Alley. They’re asking me to host it here at the manor.”
Dick whirls to face him. “They what? Bruce, that’s garish. He’s not even--no one’s bothered to bury him yet. There hasn’t even been a funeral.”
Bruce looks as unhappy as Dick feels. “I know. I stalled them for the moment, but a few of the requests are coming from Spider Alley itself. I can turn away the mayor and city council easily enough, but...”
But Bruce Wayne can’t be seen publicly turning away a call for help from the city’s poorest citizens, especially when it would cost him nothing, and when he’s done similar things in the past for Batman. It would cause nothing but trouble for Bruce and, by extension, the rest of the family, if he did turn them away. Increased media focus, this time with a negative slant to every question and every interview, the public opinion turned against them, which could have ripple effects on their night time work. Dick grits his teeth.
Bruce watches Dick for a long moment. He looks tired. “I’ll delay it as much as I can. With luck, most of the funds we raise can help fund a few restoration projects in the Alley.”
“Yeah. With luck,” Dick mutters. He brushes past Bruce, heading back for the stairs. “Excuse me. I have a phone call to make.”
He could really use Kori’s advice right now. And some fresh air.
* * *
When Thor returns to the conference room, he finds Constantine sitting alone, one hand gripping a mug of steaming tea, the other holding another cigarette. He looks worn down, and Thor wonders how much strength it took for the man to use his magic again so soon after traveling across the multiverse.
“If you take a picture, it’ll last longer,” Constantine mutters. He rolls his shoulders and cracks his neck with a sigh.
"Sorry, I didn't mean to seem rude," Thor says. The remains of the hammer hang from a leather sack on his belt.
"Ah, don't worry about it," Constantine says. Behind him, the Avengers begin to file back into the conference room, one by one. "I'm not the most pleasant person to deal with in the best of circumstances. Now that I'm stranded here for awhile, I might be a little more snippy than usual."
“I think you’ve earned the right to be mildly unpleasant,” Thor remarks, trading a nod with Steve and Natasha as they pass by.
It’s strange how quickly the Avengers change. What was once another tooth grindingly slow meeting has turned into something else. Now when Steve speaks with Natasha, there’s steel to his words. Natasha’s eyes have filled with a subtle glimmer of purpose. Clint checks over his gear with slow and calm precision. Rhodey stands apart from the others, but he stands straight and tall, looking over the various holo displays floating in the middle of the room. Okoye walks over to join him, keen eyes scanning the galactic maps.
“Remember you said that the next time I say something that pisses you off,” Constantine says.
Thor is about to reply when Rocket reappears, the hologram bursting to life with a scattershot of blue light that stutters in place before creating his image. He looks excited, and starts speaking the moment his image assembles itself.
“Big news, guys. Another one of those prison planets just got blown to hell, and one of my contacts got a picture this time,” Rocket says. His hands are flying across a keyboard that’s not visible in the call, and he’s moving with an excited sort of energy.
The holograms disperse, reforming to create an image of Carol Danvers smashing through a platoon of the Black Order’s soldiers, wreathed in golden light. Another figure stands nearby, wielding a sword and shield, though they’re obscured by Carol’s golden light.
“I guess we know who’s been breaking apart those prison planets,” Rhodey remarks dryly.
“My guess is she got picked up looking for the Benatar,” Rocket says. “It looks like she broke out.”
“That’s deep into enemy territory,” Steve remarks. “She’s cut off from all support and making a hell of a lot of noise.”
“Then we’ll change that,” Natasha says. “Rocket, how fast can you swing by Earth to pick us up?”
“Two hours, give or take. It’ll be a long ride out there,” he says. “We’ll have to avoid a lot of patrols.”
“We’ll be ready,” Natasha says. Rocket grunts, and ends the call, stepping away and letting his holographic image collapse. Natasha takes in a deep breath and looks at the Avengers. “Thanos isn’t going to let her get away with destroying his things like that. We have the choice of taking this fight to his doorstep or waiting for Carol to come back here. I think we all know the smart choice.”
The Avengers nod, or murmur their ascent. Steve rolls his shoulders, adjusting his shield on his back. Rhodey runs diagnostics on his suit. Okoye and Wong speak with one another quietly. Thor touches the leather bag on his belt and the hammer within it.
Natasha makes her way over to Constantine. “Are you staying here or coming with us?”
Constantine lets out a slow breath, squints, and shrugs. “I’ll come along. What the hell. The Doc said I’d be better off sticking with you lot, and he’s been right so far.”
Natasha smirks. “Smart choice. Welcome to the Avengers, Mr. Constantine.”