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It started like most city-wide incidents with them did. With a brag.
“There,” Dick smiled proudly, placing the framed photograph showing Gotham’s skyline on the desk in the batcave. It was taken from the top of the Wayne building, as high as he could climb on the radio mast without it bending under the weight of the Batman armour. God damn Bruce for going off world and leaving him to wear it again; he hated that thing with a passion. The weight of being Batman was even more literal than it was metaphorical, and he was eating twice as much just to compensate for having to carry the armour around. “Best view of the city. Nobody else gets that.”
It was true: nobody but those who spent the night on the city’s roof tiles got to see the city the way they did. He supposed that was why in his mind, Gotham was always beautiful. Why he defended it when his friends talked about how dark it was compared to their cities or joked about Batman’s home reflecting his personality. Why, in his heart, Gotham was home. On street level, there were grim alleys and litter torn streets and the grime the city slowly drowned in, the flood only held back by their attempts at heroics, but up there – up there, Gotham shone.
Lights in every building created their own constellations and patterns, bright and burning. Even on his worst days, when it felt like all they did was get beat up and barely sleep and then do the same again with no visible change in the city, that view was enough to give Dick Grayson hope.
Behind him, he heard Damian snort. “Whatever, Grayson. Next thing you’ll be making public speeches on ‘Why I love my city’ and running for mayor.”
“Please, I’d never be a politician.”
At his mentors laugh, Damian hid the small smile which twitched his lips by returning to his own training, striking a high tech dummy with a sword. Without turning around, he added, “And the view from the top is even better, by the way. What? Couldn’t you get up there? Tt, Grayson. Even Fatgirl could have done it.”
The smile grew on his face at Dick’s spluttering in response.
Two days later, a different picture had been placed over Dick’s in the frame, this time taken by Damian, who’s smaller size and weight meant he could crawl to the very top of the aerial mast and get an even better view of the city. Dick’s loud curse and then even louder laugh when he noticed could be heard from in the manor from all the way down in the cave.
*
Steph was the first one to get instagram. Her first post was a video of Batman trying to climb an aerial mast on top of Wayne Enterprises, the metal structure swaying dangerously under his weight. In the video, he struggled to shimmy up it, the batsuit obviously clunky and hard to move in, shown in the times he fell from his perch. Eventually, he gave up, kicking it a moment later before jumping on one foot in pain.
Batgirl gained a hundred thousand followers in a week.
*
Inevitably, Steph passed the idea to get an instagram account to Cass. It was the day Batgirl’s video made the front pages of every paper and internet news website in the world, going viral. Batman’s attempts to climb the mast were analysed on tv, FOX news having a debate on how this proved the vigilante problem in America was fundamentally linked to people spending too much time on the internet and getting crazy ideas, which the two girl’s laughed themselves silly at, sitting in the booth of their favourite crappy diner.
“What was he doing?” Cass asked when Steph showed her the damage, dark eyes still laughing even when her face composed itself. She had a stack of pancakes the size of her head before her, taking a bite as she waited for her friend’s response.
Steph replied with a wave of her hand, “Oh, I don’t know. Damian said something about him not being able to appreciate the view.”
When Cassandra raised a questioning eyebrow, the blonde slurped her coffee with a dismissing shrug.
“You know them,” Steph said. “They can’t be together for five minutes without it turning into a competition. We’re lucky it was just the two of them, really – if Tim would have been there too, someone would have definitely ended up falling from someplace stupid.”
“Boys,” Cass snorted.
“Exactly. Who needs them?”
“You do.”
“Well, yeah. But not those idiots.” Steph laughed, sharing a conspiratorial look with her friend. “I mean, I’ve been there, done that – not again. No thank you. The trouble gained to pleasure ratio was too off kilter, I’m staying 5,000 feet away from the Wayne boys from now on.”
“You realise you’re talking about my brother, right?” Cass asked, but there was a laugh hidden in her words, stifled by more pancakes. Steph blushed red, and Black Bat chose to save her friend by changing the subject. “So now you’re hiding from Dick?”
“I’m not hiding!” Steph protested, eyes wide. “I mean, not much. It’s funny, right? Dick will laugh.”
Raising a disbelieving eyebrow, Cass nodded in fake agreement. “Right. Of course he will. And I’m sure he’ll explain it to Batman for you when Bruce gets back.”
“Damn it,” the blonde sighed dramatically. “I’m so getting fired. Again.”
*
Black Bat’s posts consist mostly of selfies of her and Batgirl around Gotham, sometimes just pictures of Batgirl alone sitting with her legs dangling across rooftops, or the food they ate while on patrol. She used the sides of a mirrored building to take a selfie as she swung past once, and it became her most liked pictured within hours.
Her most popular post was, however, a video. It was a minute long, taken from a patrol with Red Robin. As he knelt in front of her and hacked a computer, Cass hummed the Mission Impossible theme tune until the electronic lock flashed green and opened.
The video ended with her whispering, “We’re in.”
*
Dick saw himself in the paper through Damian, who was actually laughing at breakfast as he read the article, child-like joy lighting up his face in a way Dick had never seen. He was practically giggling, and that was enough for the older man to walk forward with interest – stopping in his tracks as he saw the headline.
Snatching the paper, Dick paced, speed reading the front page with his lips set into a thin line.
“Grayson, that was mine,” Damian complained, but there was still a hint of humour in his voice. “Give it back.”
Dick just shook his head. “She didn’t.”
“She did, evidentially.”
“She didn’t.”
“She very obviously did,” Damian rolled his eyes. “I can see why my father was the detective out of the two of you.”
Dick turned back to his Robin, head shaking slightly as his hand balled into the paper. “I’m going to kill her.”
“I don’t think father would appreciate you breaking his first rule.”
“He’d make an exception.”
“Grayson,” Damian said, smirking a little again. “Lighten up. What is it you’re always saying about Batman having to change with the times? Looks to me like people are talking about him now more than ever.”
To prove his point, he pulled out his phone, searching on twitter to find the hashtag #BatmanBlunder and handing his phone over to Dick. The older man took the phone with a pout, but his lips quickly tugged upwards as he read the messages below. Some of them we’re jokes and jibes, but a majority of the tweets seemed to be laughing with him, Gothamites defending their hero against other cities, uplifting messages about even heroes failing sometimes but always trying again leaving him with tears in his eyes.
Batman was many things, but so rarely did they see the love the city had for their hero.
Damian saw him and rolled his eyes again, “Although if you really want to kill Fatgirl, it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world.”
*
The first time Batman and Batgirl ran into each other after the video went viral, it was Tim who somehow had a phone in his hand. He had been hanging out with Steph and Cass, roped somehow into taking a picture of the two of them doing handstands on the roof of the GCPD when Batman landed silently.
Tim hit the red button to begin recording almost without thinking about it.
“We need to talk about the video.”
Not having seen Batman’s approach, too focused on trying to stay balanced on her hands longer than Cass and slightly red in the face, Steph reacted violently to the words. With a sound that could only be described as a squawk, she tumbled from her hands – off the roof.
The sound of her screaming as she fell towards the pavement was cut off suddenly, Tim running to the edge of the roof with a shaky video capturing all of this in time to see her reappear, holding on to Robin, who had caught her before she could hit the ground.
The video of Batgirl detaching herself from a four foot Robin after her fall, embarrassment visible even through the cowl as Black Bat howled with laughter and even Batman looked to be suppressing a smile was their most popular video to date.
*
“I’m starting to feel left out,” Jason said, and Dick jumped a mile. He had been eating a burger, cross legged on an empty crane, listening for any trouble above the city but enjoying his break. Turning, he saw the Red Hood sauntering towards him through the inner workings of the crane, plonking down beside him a moment later, legs sticking out between the metal frame. The Hood was placed between them a second later, as Jason swiped a fry.
“Hey!” Dick snapped out of his surprise, holding his meal more protectively. “Those are mine, Jay.”
“You can afford more.”
Shaking his head, Dick regarded his brother carefully. Things were better than they were between them, and the closeness which had been slowly building only increased sevenfold while Bruce wasn’t in the picture. Jason was even patrolling with Tim, last he had heard. A lot of skeletons had been put to rest, for good this time, but Dick treated his brother a little like quicksand – always cautious of where he stood.
Ignoring the fry theft, he asked instead. “What do you mean ‘left out’?”
“I didn’t realise we were all becoming celebrities now,” Jason replied breezily. He had been looking out over Gotham, but turned with a smile, more genuine than any Dick has seen in years, “Nice going, B-man. I think that mast is a fitting arch nemesis.”
“Shut up,” Dick laughed, shaking his head and knocking his brother’s shoulder with his own. Truth be told, he thought he had heard every variation of a joke about the video in the three weeks since its release, but laughed fresh that time. It was good to joke with his brother again.
Jason went on, “No, really. Excellent performance.”
“No one was supposed to see,” Dick stage whispered dramatically, earning a snort of laughter from the other man. He turned just in time to see Jay laughing, eyes scrunched up and head thrown back, the sound so light and free and like he used to be, back when he wore the green panties and they were brothers. Sort of. Now they were sort-of brothers again, and that was enough for Dick.
“Does this mean I get to make one too?” Jason asked, “I mean if Batgirl, Black Bat and Robin do, surely it’s only fair-”
“Wait, wait, wait,” Dick backtracked, using his hands for emphasis. “Damian has one too now! That’s it.” With a huff, he pulled out his phone, sending off a quick text. He sighed, turning back to Jason. “I’m the one left out, now. I can’t exactly make Batman an Instagram, I like living too much and Bruce is already going to flip when he gets back.”
At his brother’s pouting face, Jason shrugged. “So? You have more than one suit, you know.”
“What do you mean?”
“I know he’s away doing I-don’t-want-to-know what and asked you to take up the mantle, but that doesn’t mean Nightwing can’t still have some fun, does it?”
Jason’s grin was infectious, and Dick found himself smiling deviously back, the world opening at his feet.
*
Red Hood’s first video was ten seconds long, and the first one directly calling another one of the Batfam out in the caption, which simply read: ‘Putting the other Robin in his place #ThatsForStealingMyColor’.
It showed him landing on a rooftop and sneaking up on Red Robin who stood at it’s edge, yelling “THINK FAST!” before pushing the other vigilante off the roof.
As he falls, Red Robin’s words can be made out on the video as Jason put the phone over the ledge to track his movement, floundering just in frame. “Fuuuuuck! Hood!”
Red Robin had grappled out of his fall and swung back towards the attacker he named, the video cutting out to Jason’s manic laughter as he began to run away, back across the rooftops.
*
Nightwing’s Instagram was the straw that broke the camel’s back.
It was harmless enough, consisting mostly of selfies – at least five a night, by anyone’s count. Then came the trend of posing with villain’s after he had defeated them. It started with Mr. Freeze. After a fight which left Gotham First Bank in a thick layer of ice, he posted a picture of himself with the villain being lead off my police in the background.
He posted it with the caption: ‘Just dealt with this cool customer. Luckily the boys in blue are here to put him on Ice! #Freeze #ItsThePolice #IceIceBaby’.
Second came the Riddler, who’s cane Nightwing spun in his hands as the outraged villain could be seen raging in a trap of the villains own creation behind the vigilante, obviously outraged at it. ‘This word can mean a boy in blue, but equally a metal too. What am I? #RiddleMeThat #TheAnswerIsGonnaBeHereInFive #SeeYouNextBreakout’
After that was Ivy, who was out of frame for the picture, but the devastation she had left in her wake evident behind Nightwing. Even he bore the affects of the fight on his face, a deep cut below his lip and green streak across his face from a spore she had created. This time, the caption said: ‘I was going to ask her for a selfie for my Instagram, but I think she’s more of a Vine person #ShameThat’
Penguin was the latest, and most atrocious, victim of his Instagram puns. The Iceberg Lounge shone as Nightwing took a selfie, the villain unconscious and tied to a beam beside him. The caption was his worst by far: ‘Waddle I do now you’re out of my hair? I’d worry about you flying the coop, but, well . . . #BirdsOfAFeather #JustChillin #HappyFeet’
Sitting at her computers on a rare quiet night, Barbara was laughing at his posts, reading through them with only a hint of secondhand embarrassment. She shook her head and winced at the last one, sucking air between her teeth.
“Hunk Wonder, that is bad.”
“Not you too,” Tim’s voice sighed; she turned to see him sliding down her roof hatch, landing deftly and looking slightly exasperated. He walked over, nodding to her screen. “They’ve all gone insane. This is madness.”
At his mild hysteria, Barbara just nodded towards the coffee pot he had been eyeing up on arrival, giving him a minute to grab a mug and a chair before she spoke. “Come on, they’re not hurting anybody. It’s kinda funny.”
“I’ve been pushed off four buildings this week.”
Barbara was barely able to disguise her burst of laughter as a cough, unsneakily averting her eyes back to the screen and scrolling through a few more of Dick’s posts. In the selfies, he mostly smiled, face lit up like a Christmas tree as he beamed at the camera. It warmed her heart, just a little.
“That’s because Jason’s an asshole,” Barbara replied, to which he grunted.
“And Damian. And Steph. And-”
“They’re all assholes,” Barbara amended, but he smiled back at her with the concession. “But I mean,” she nodded towards the pictures on the screen. “How often do we get to be proud of what we do? I know it’s for a cause and noble and all – but we give a lot to this city. We sweat and bleed and hurt doing what we do, and how often do we get to smile at winning?”
Besides himself, Tim found himself begrudgingly nodding back. She was right, her enthusiasm for what they do consistent, but her appreciation of the moments in between more refined than any of theirs. He knew she missed it. Even for the few short months when he had quit being Robin it was almost unbearable, the itching at the back of his mind always telling him to be out there doing something.
Barbara looked at him curiously, “You’re the only one not on the web now. How come? You’re in some of their videos anyway.”
“Plausible deniability,” he answered. “When Batman comes back and sees all this, I’ll be the only one not grounded until I’m forty.”
Oracle inclined her head in his direction. “Point.”
“Well,” he said, standing. He shook the empty cup in her direction and received another nod in response to his silent thanks; he liked to hang out in the clocktower when everything and everyone else got too loud, and they could talk without needing words more often than not these days. “I’d better get going. I want to check nothing else has been set on fire shooting those stupid videos.”
“See you next Tuesday!” Barbara called over her shoulder as he left, eyes returning to her computer screen. He left as quietly as he sat as her eyes returned to scanning the pictures – only for her eyebrows to hit the roof as she came across a picture of a shirtless Nightwing wearing only his mask, hashtags about working out and thousands of likes and comments from pretty girls lasting for miles beneath the post.
If she knew it meant anything, she would be jealous, but Barbara just chuckled. None of the others would dare to go that far, but he was used to taking risks without a net.
“Only you, Dick. Only you.”
*
Robin’s most popular video, before it got taken down, was of him driving the Batmobile through a fast food drive through. In the passenger seat, a giggling Batgirl captured both the tiny driver ordering their food in a gritty impersonation of the Bat, and the drive-thru workers stunned expression as they pulled up.
She barely kept it together during the filming, the slight shake of the camera attributed to the pressure of trying to laugh silently, not shoddy film-making, thank you very much.
Robin, for his part, kept a straight face throughout. Coolly pulling in, he ignored the face of the worker, looking dead ahead with his hands on the wheel as he began to order. “I’ll have two double burgers, fries, lemonade and an orange juice.”
It was then he turned to the employee, who still hadn’t mustered up the will to even talk, hand frozen over the till. Robin looked the girl dead in the eyes.
“And make it quick.”
Suffice to say, their food arrived in less than a minute, the girl not even wishing them a nice day in her scared stupor as they zoomed off, Robin loudly slurping his soda as the video ended.
*
When the Justice League returned to Earth from their mission, it was almost four in the morning. Batman went home without checking the news, falling into a dreamless sleep well into the next afternoon.
He woke to a silent house, walking down the hall and finding his kid’s rooms suspiciously empty – which was strange considering for the first time in years, there should be four of them under the same roof. The thought was oddly comforting, and he had wanted to spend some time with Dick, Damian, Tim and Cass before they inevitably went their separate ways again, forced apart by missions or teams or life outside of the mask – some days, it felt like all any of them did was leave.
Even Alfred was absent, which in itself struck as fundamentally wrong. Bruce’s steps grew quicker and more frantic as he closed in on the kitchen, wanting to check for any signs of life before he got worried and went to the cave to call them all in.
In the kitchen, he found a note from Alfred saying the butler was out shopping – not on his usual day, which meant something, Bruce wasn’t sure what yet. Next to the note was a cup of coffee, a plate of toast, and a newspaper facing down to the table.
With caution, Bruce sat, feeling something was wrong in his stomach. It was centred on the newspaper, he was sure; slowly, trying to settle himself, he calmly drank the coffee and ate the toast, waiting for the explosion he knew was coming.
Bruce turned over the paper and read the headline.
His back stiffened instantly, every muscle in his body screamingly tense in a heartbeat, but aside from that and the way the whites of his eyes became more visible, there was no outward signs of rage. Almost with a forced calmness, he read the article slowly, the paper underneath his hands getting more and more screwed up as his fists closed in anger, tearing by the time he finished it.
Bruce stood, turned, and shouted at the top of his lungs. “DICK!”
Unknown to him, one of his children were watching this moment from their hiding space in a ceiling vent, videoing his reaction. From her space, silently crouched, Cassandra concealed her laughter at Bruce’s outburst, but ended the recording as Batman stormed out of the room, tearing towards the cave.
Nightwing was no longer the golden child, of that she was sure.
Cass didn’t post the video to her Instagram, knowing it would be too telling – and besides, it was never really about the public anyway. None of this was. No, she sent the video to her brothers and sisters, knowing Bruce’s reaction was something they would want to see and understanding finally that all this showboating and pranks gone wild were not to gain popularity in Gotham, or embarrass one another, or even just for the hell of it, as Jason claimed his to be.
It was about them. It was for one another, sharing memories and laughter and carving into the Gotham skyline that they were there, and they were proud of themselves, and they were, finally, happy with that.