Chapter Text
The manor was silent; a rare situation in itself with how full and loud the occupants were. The moon was high and full, stars peeking through the thick blanket of smog that layered Gotham’s sky. The wind blew in random bursts, rustling the trees and scrapping leaves against the wide-pane windows.
Dick was silent as he walked across the floorboards, stepping with his toes to make no noise. He’d long since memorized which floorboards creaked and which whined and which stuck out unevenly. Muscles moving from memory, he snuck his way down the hallway. Damian’s bedroom door was closed and as Dick passed, his enhanced hearing could catch the soft snores of the child. Further down the hall, Tim and Jason talked quietly in Tim’s room, Stephanie and Cass slumbering away between the two.
Bruce’s own bedroom door was open and when Dick peeked in, he saw the man sitting up against his headboard with his lamp dimmed and a book in his lap. Bruce looked up at the faintest movement of shadows and set his book to the side when he met glowing blue.
“You should be sleeping,” Bruce said without any heat, shifting to give space for Dick to sit on the bed if he so desired. Dick stepped into the room at the open invitation and settled down at the foot of the bed. “Nightmares?”
“No.” Though that was a distinct concern of the family, Dick rarely had nightmares. Talking with Harley and Barbatos helped him come to terms with his past choices or lack thereof. He still found himself sleeping at the manor more often than at his own apartment, a deep-rooted paranoia of him leaving his Nest defenceless, keeping him unable to stay away long. He’d been considering moving out of his apartment or turning it into a storage for the cafe with how little time he spent there. But it was almost a home-away-from-home for his Owlets and Pups so he was still on the fence about it.
“Well?” Bruce rubbed at his face, fingers pushing at his forming wrinkles. Dick’s eyes traced the creased skin, cataloging the new strands of grey hair or imperfections that continued to pile up by the month. His stomach clenched and flipped before he cleared his throat, banishing the thoughts away to the corner of his mind.
“I couldn’t sleep,” Dick answered honestly, fiddling with a stray thread in Bruce’s top quilt, “so I thought I’d take a walk around the manor. Settle myself down.”
“Busy thoughts?” Bruce asked, tone and gaze open but not expectant. Dick nodded.
“Just been thinking.” Dick continued to pick at the thread, the string unravelling the more he tugged on it. Alfred would smack him in the morning when he saw, no doubt. “About everything.”
“Everything?” Bruce echoed, hoping for an elaboration.
“Everything.” Dick dropped the quilt and clasped his hands together. “Taking a trip down memory lane, as they say.”
Bruce nodded slowly and didn’t say anything. The two sat there for a moment, Bruce losing himself to his thoughts and Dick listening in on all the heartbeats sounding off like roll-calls throughout the building.
“I’ll let you sleep,” Dick said finally. He reached out and patted Bruce’s ankle. “I love you, dad.”
Bruce blinked, lips pressing firmly into a thin line as his eyes moistened. He nodded, smiled faintly, and softly whispered, “I love you too, son.”
Dick left the room and continued down the hall, skipping off the creaky second stair of the staircase. His body went up and over the banister and he landed in a soundless crouch on the first floor. Taking a moment to make sure everyone was still either asleep or in their bedrooms, Dick proceeded to the back door and silently slipped out.
The night air was cold. When he breathed, his air came out in tiny puffs. He marvelled at the little white clouds, lips tugging up into a smile even as his face chilled. He loved breathing. He loved being able to feel the cold and not have his body turn into sand against the dropped temperatures. He loved watching the blood rush to his fingers and ears and turn them a cherry-red that stung and burned the moment he hit the indoors.
Barefeet sunk into the dew-clung grass as he made his way through the backyard. Rocks and twigs stabbed at the bottom of his soles but he paid no mind, head tilted back as he blew out exaggerated breathes. He stopped at the big tree in their yard and plopped down, bringing his legs up to his knees. Closing his eyes, he rested his head against the cold bark and let his shoulders relax.
It was odd to think of where he’d been, what he’d been, and how he’d changed in the span of years. It was weird to think he used to be a murder machine - not human and unable to have the freedom to do what he wanted. All he used to know were Orders and stainless marble. All his world had consisted of were White Masks and red blood.
Batman, a man who claimed to be of the dark, drew him into the light. Dick wondered how his life would have been different if he’d never been sent to kill Batman. Would he still be with the Court? Nothing but a hollow husk for Barbatos to parade around in? What of his Owlets and Pups?
The choices that had been out of his control lined up perfectly to make this the one truly desired outcome for Richard Dick Grayson, Gray Son of Gotham and the Court’s Perfect Talon. He’d seen the life he could have lived if he’d never been Talon. Had heard stories from Barbatos of even more of those when he lived in the underbelly of the murderous city.
Dick opened his eyes and caught sight of a bat flying through the air. It disappeared past the manor.
This was the tree he’d met Tim at, wasn’t it? Dick patted at the dirt. He’d caught the curious child straight out of the air when the tiny boy had nearly tumbled to his death. Dick smiled as he recalled how small and innocent Tim had been, all wide eyes and big brain and bigger heart. Of how Jason had accepted the child without hesitation, Gotham was unable to beat a permanent distrust in people into the boy.
He thought of Jason, meeting him on that roof and feeling that foreign emotion. Even years later, he still couldn’t discern what exactly he’d felt during their brief first encounter with the masked child. Maybe pity? Sympathy? Seeing another child bound to a nightly-masked figure and forced to fall Orders. Or was it hesitancy, seeing a child and still fighting against taking such an innocent life despite it not being his first?
His mind jumped to Stephanie and how she’d become their younger sister in the span of a single night, Tim smitten for her the moment she spoke and Dick finding her feisty personality endearing immediately. Stephanie’s dry humor and quick-witted comments melded well with Jason’s own grim humor and she was able to keep up with Tim’s more sleep-deprived ideas and habits.
Cass, silent but loud in everything but voice, popped up next in his musings. The two shared a bond deeper than any of the family would admit to understanding. The two were on a similar wavelength of their Language, motions and movements that spoke louder than any syllable offered. The two were raised to see others as prey and had a mutual respect for each other as a result.
Barbara, snarky and smart and stronger than any woman Dick had ever met (that wasn’t metahuman) warmed his heart as he thought about her. He would never be able to forgive himself for allowing her to get hurt, injured by a Joker not yet redeemed by drugged caffeine and harsh love. But the guilt shrunk as he watched her age with happiness and love, the woman making a place for herself without being held back by her disabilities.
Duke, Bruce’s favorite child (not that he’d ever admit it aloud despite the entire family knowing it), was the sanest of the children, Dick pondered. He somehow had yet to fall victim to whatever tainted the air and caused everyone to lose a few brain cells. He was their voice of reason. Or he tried to be. Begrudgingly self-appointed after one too many nights of the boys trying to recreate vines while out on patrol. Though not as close as he was with the others, Dick cared deeply and loved Duke as much as his other Owlets.
Dick exhaled another sigh before letting his gaze drop to the back patio. Damian stood there, wrapped in a puffy comforter and back illuminated by the porch lights. Even in the darkness, Dick’s vision could make out the pre-teen’s narrowed eyes and pursed lips. He watched Damian mouth, “Come inside.”
Taking the hint, Dick pushed himself up and slowly began to make his way over to the child. He silently considered the boy in front of him, comparing how he’d been when he first arrived versus how he was now. Though he didn’t have to have a hard time comparing - Ibn was almost exactly Damian had been back during his first few months with them. Not emotionally available and open, not wanting to touch or be touched, finding any emotions or expressions of humanity to be a sign of weakness.
“It’s cold, Owlet,” Dick said and scooped Damian up, shushing the child when he made a fussy noise. Damian scowled and pressed his cold face into Dick’s neck, grumbling under his breath.
“You’re cold,” Damian childishly grunted out. Dick laughed softly and slipped into the manor, a full-body shudder racking through him as the heated air hit his frigid skin. “What were you doing outside?”
“Just thinking. You should be asleep,” Dick said as they made their way up the stairs.
“Tim and Jason started a pillow fight that woke up the girls,” Damian said as he yawned, forehead rubbing against Dick’s shoulder. “Woke me up when they broke a lamp.”
“Oof.” Dick hurried past Tim’s bedroom, catching a glimpse of Bruce and Alfred towering over the four vigilantes. Down the hall, he heard Duke and Thomas snickering while Richard shushed Ibn back to bed.
“Wanna sleep in my bed?” Dick asked as he skipped past the boy’s room, already knowing Damian would only settle down against the older man’s sheets. Damian gave a soft hum. Dick smiled and adjusted his hold on his little brother, chest unbearably warm.
For all he’d suffered and stolen and had taken for granted, Dick wouldn’t change it for the world.
It was a well known fact that Gotham housed some crazy, messed up villains. It was common knowledge that other Heroes steered clear out of respect for Batman’s rules as well as the guidelines for the Cafe.
Throughout the years, the villains had ranged from child-traffickers to underground assassination rings to homicidal maniacs. Nowadays most of the crime came in the form of property destruction, the occasional drug-deal gone wrong, kidnappings, Harley and Ivy freeing all the animals in the Gotham Central Zoo, and the ‘Villain-of-the-Week’ fiasco.
If you asked a local as to how and why Gotham’s unsavory reputation had changed for the positive, they’d point you in the direction of a cafe. It had been opened during the early winter season, small and unassuming. Due to the fact that businesses rarely lasted a few months in Crime Alley, most citizens didn’t hold their breaths for the cafe. Despite the unusual close-rate, the cafe stayed open for years.
Everyone knew. The cafe was off limits. The cafe was neutral. The cafe was a safe haven, a sanctuary that held no judgement as long as you followed the establishment rules. Do no fight. Do not steal. Do not harm another person or object. Be a person, not a predator. No Mr. Freeze allowed in the building. Slade Wilson, commonly known as Deathstroke, may only have two ten-shot espresso shots in one day (don’t lie or buy for him - the staff will know ).
How the cafe came to be and its secrets to neutrality and success used to be the talk of the town. If you asked anyone now, they’d laugh and tell you all about the Barista and the epic and whelming battle with the Court of Owls (or as some people liked to call it, the Battle For D[ick]). The owner, the Barista, being a metahuman (or former one) was known and accepted as being the reason for why no one dared to cause trouble. They’d seen the man smack Superman with a fly swatter - he had no fear.
The coffee was delicious, the food delectable, the cat cafe a huge hit and a popular tourist attraction, and it was all dirt-cheap. If you were looking for a good time without wanting to go broke, you could grab a muffin or sandwich and shyly ask if you could join a game of Uno with Black Skull’s men. Or help Poison Ivy make decorative little succulent plants to hand out to people. Or join Harley Quinn for a fierce game of Among Us. Or help Shazam make a gingerbread house (which everyone wanted to ask about but no one had the courage to even try).
It was a well known fact that Gotham housed some crazy, messed up villains. It was an even more common fact the citizens and heroes and vigilantes were just as crazy, just as protective, and just as dark as Gotham was. After all, Gotham housed a cafe run by a former undead-assassin who adopted a Nest of vigilantes and roasted coffee beans for a living.
As they said, “It’s Gotham”.