Chapter Text
Dick doesn't know what wakes him. Patrol was rough. Most patrols have been rough since Nightwing made his grand reappearance a few months ago. Bruce insists that he sticks to Gotham with his route; Jason and Tim have been splitting Bludhaven duties and Dick dreads to think what he'll find in his city if his family ever allow him out of their sight again.
Most nights, he passes out the moment his head hits the too-soft pillow, and sleeps until a nightmare wakes him. But he hasn't woken with the tell-tale clammy skin and broken breathing. Just a sudden sharp alertness borne from years of vigilante instincts.
Something is wrong.
He pushes himself out of bed, doing a quick rundown of the Manor's occupants. Alfred is away. A rare vacation. The long months of caring for Dick had been challenging for the aging man and the thought that he has driven him away from home - but enough. Alfred is away and the Manor is the worse for it, but hardly empty. His siblings have stayed in the Manor in the eleven months since his rescue. Cass has recently left - he's doing well now, she's happy that he's no longer lying when he says he's not in pain, and she has commitments she's been neglecting - and Damian is visiting the Kent farm with Jon for a needed break. That leaves Tim, Jason and Bruce.
Dick groans as he grabs a sweater to throw over his t-shirt. If there's going to be trouble, Tim and Jason are bound to be the source. Having all of his siblings in one place for so long has been both a blessing and a curse: a blessing, because he loves them dearly; a curse because they can't go a single day without fighting.
The Manor is eerily silent. Dick resists the urge to turn the lights on as he walks down the corridor. Before - everything, he was comfortable in darkness. Six weeks where the only darkness was when he closed his eyes, and even now so many months later he struggles with the shadows that were once his home.
Jason's room first. No sign of his brother, bed perfectly made. He hasn't slept yet then. Dick glances at his watch and frowns. It's five in the morning, patrol ended hours ago, and Jason is usually the first of them collapsing into bed.
He's moves to Tim's room. Laptop open on the desk but no sign of Tim. He has been spending more time in the Cave recently, so Dick tries to ignore the creeping sense of alarm.
He resists the urge to go back to his room and call Oliver. Mainly because the Green Arrow is a grown-ass vigilante, not a comfort blanket, and Dick is Nightwing. He's not frightened of an empty house.
His heart pounds as he opens the final door. No sign of Bruce. He wasn't expecting there to be.
"Okay," he says softly, instantly comforted by the sound of his own voice in the silence. "Cave then."
They've been leaving him out of cases recently. All of them. They treat him like he's fragile, like he may break at any moment, and he tries to ignore the way it makes him want to scream because he knows it comes from a place of love. If none of them came to bed, the most reasonable explanation would be that they've been pulling a late one trying to figure out a case. It wouldn't be the first time.
The hairs on the back of his neck stand on end as he reaches the grandfather clock leading to the Cave. He doesn't know why he's so on edge. There has been nothing so far to suggest anything is wrong. Nothing but the creeping sensation, the unpleasant urge to run.
He takes the steps slowly, shivering as the temperature drops. He can't hear anything. No voices, no clicking keys. No suggestion that his family are there.
A fist flies out to meet him.
Dick dodges instinctively, rolling out of the way of the assailant and flipping onto his feet further into the Cave.
His escrima sticks are still where he left them. A sure sign Alfred isn't around; he wouldn't dare leave them out and face Alfred's wrath. He grabs them, swerving to face the intruder.
A familiar broad frame.
His legs tremble. He feels his grip on the escrima loosen. Forces himself to tighten his fingers.
"You can't be here," he says, and he hates how his voice comes out weak. Hoarse. Like he's back in that cell after weeks of torture, like he never got out.
Mike smiles coldly, and lunges forward.
But it's not like last time. Last time they took him by surprise and he was unconscious and imprisoned before he even knew he was under attack. And this time the attack might be a surprise, but he's conscious and he's got his weapons and he's fucking Nightwing.
He dodges the attack. Flips out of the way of a large fist. Jolts forward with electricity sparking. Mike grunts when an escrima stick slams into his side; swerves to try and grab the weapon. Dick flips back out of the way. No quips. No questions. Just silent, deadly precision.
He can't let Mike land a hit. The man is a meta. Dick suspects his strength would rival Superman; they certainly treated it as such in Belle Reve. And if he escaped from that, he may be even stronger than they knew.
If Mike lands a hit, Dick is as good as dead.
So he doesn't let him. He pulls out every move Nightwing knows. Every skill Bruce has taught him for fighting larger opponents. Use their strength against them; he ducks at the last second, pushing Mike off balance. Use the environment; he uses the furniture of the Batcave as obstacles, leading Mike further into the vast cavern, towards the trophies. It took months of intense physical rehabilitation but Nightwing is back, if not at full strength then at least close.
He ups the power in his escrima sticks.
Mike comes at him again.
He slides under the larger man, rights himself on the other side - and jabs both escrimas into the back of Mike's neck.
There's a horrific sizzling noise and Mike's head jerks back. Mouth open in a silent scream. Dick follows the movement, face grim, arching backwards to reach up and keep the sticks pushed against the giant.
"Let him go, Mr Grayson."
The sticks drop to the ground.
Mike follows, hitting with a thump.
Dick barely processes it. He's too busy turning to face the source of that voice, the voice that's haunted his dreams.
The Doctor is standing off to the side of the cave. Towards the containment cells. He looks ragged, hair unkempt, wild look in his eyes. But the same polite smile is fixed on his face.
He's holding an unconscious Tim by his upper arm. A Batarang casually resting against the teenager's throat.
The Doctor doesn't say anything else. Just waits expectantly, one eyebrow raised.
Slowly, decisively, Dick drops to his knees, and lowers his eyes.
* * * *
Hal skids to a stop with a gasp. He's still surrounded, too many enemies to count. His ring is a solid, reassuring presence. He squares his shoulders, cracks his neck with a grin. They'll be easy enough to count when there's none left.
A baseball bat appears in his hand. He knocks the head off the first robot to get too close, and the others hesitate. He knows they've been programmed to learn. To grow. To provide, as Batman once put it, a challenge.
Hal grins as the next three rush him at once.
A challenge is just what he needs.
Five minutes later, Barry tosses him a towel as he leaves the training simulator.
"C'mon," Hal says, wiping the sweat off his brow. "That's gotta be some sort of record."
Barry glances at a screen and shakes his head. "Sorry."
"Seriously? Who beat me? And if you tell me it's Spooky I'm gonna -"
"It was Captain Marvel. Two minutes seven seconds to take down one hundred robots."
Hal whistles, low and impressed. "Remind me to stay on the Cap's good side."
"I don't think he has a bad side."
Hal goes to grab his drink from next to Barry, keeping his movements slow and clear as he nears the speedster. It's a habit he quickly got into after their escape from the Doctor; he doesn't really think about it anymore. There are certain allowances the four of them make for each other instinctively. No sudden movements around Barry's legs. No approaching Oliver from the left side without warning. No touching Dick during a nightmare. No calling any of them by their last names. The list goes on, and whilst time is helping there's something nice in being in the company of people who understand.
He grabs the chair next to Barry and tilts the screen towards him. He is fourth on the leaderboard for this particular simulation. Above him: Captain Marvel, Superman and Red Robin.
He frowns. "Red Robin? Seriously?"
"He did something to the simulation," Barry laughs. "All the robots turned on each other. Took three minutes for them to rip reach other apart."
"Where are you on this?"
"Nowhere."
"What, scared you won't place?"
Barry shoots him a smile. "When Batman can build a simulation fast enough to keep up with me, I'll give it a try."
"Fuck off Clark!"
Hal tenses. Feels Barry do the same next to him. Oliver. And Oliver is loud-mouthed and opinionated but he's not normally up here at six thirty in the morning and he doesn't usually shout so that the whole Watchtower can hear him. Especially not at Superman.
"Should we...?"
Barry nods. "On it."
And the speedster's gone.
Hal sighs, getting up with an undeniable creak. Probably should have done a cooldown after his fight. He takes his time stretching out. Assumes that whatever it is that's pissed Oliver off Barry will have sorted it before he can even get there.
Then he hears an alarmed, "Barry!"
Stretching forgotten, he skids out of the training room and out into the corridor. A couple of people are staring towards the source of the cry. Hal ignores them, pushing past. He doesn't even know who most of the people on the Watchtower are these days, and he doesn't really care. There are a limited number of people he gives a damn about and hearing one of them yell like that brings back all sorts of memories he'd rather forget.
He finds them in a small breakout room off the side of one of the larger common areas. Barry is sitting down, head resting in his hands. Oliver is crouched in front of him, coaching him through some breathing exercises, whilst Clark lingers uncomfortably in the background. Trying to make himself as small as someone in a bright red and blue costume can be.
Hal's stomach drops. Because there's a very limited number of things that can make Oliver shout like that and push Barry into the grip of a panic attack.
He meets Clark's sheepish gaze.
"How?"
His voice is hard, cold. He barely recognises it.
Clark shakes his head. "We don't know. I've only just got word that he's out. Looks like it was something to do with the brother. There was a breakout at Belle Reve three days ago and -"
"And no one thought to give us a heads up?"
"You know what Waller's like."
"Has anyone spoken to Dick?"
Hal's chest tightens at Oliver's question. He's grasping Barry's hands to his chest, but looking up at Clark, voice unusually soft.
"Dick is at the Manor," Clark says firmly. "He's safe. The message I received was also sent to the Batcave. Bruce will be working on a way to find him as we speak."
"But you haven't heard from him?" Hal presses.
"We go weeks at a time without hearing from Bruce," Clark says, and Hal hates how calming and rational he's making his voice. "But if I haven't had an update by the end of today, I'll swing by the Manor myself."
"I'll drop the kid a message," Oliver says. He grips Barry's hand tighter and the speedster nods as though in agreement, but keeps his gaze firmly down. "And we'll keep close. Until he's caught."
"Yeah," Hal says dryly. "Because that helped us so much before."
* * * *
Bruce wakes with a blinding headache, and the feeling that he's not where he's supposed to be. Judging by the bone-deep exhaustion and aches, he should be in his bed; the cold floor against his cheek suggests he's nowhere near it.
He allows himself to regain consciousness steadily. Reminds himself of the rules. Keep your heartrate even. Don't give away that you're awake.
He can hear voices. There is a familiar echo to the tone. It's like the Cave, he thinks. They're in a cavern of some kind, the stone causing the distant quality to the voices. But the cold floor he's lying on feels more like tile.
There's a low groan from somewhere much closer than the voices, and a whispered, "What the fuck?"
Okay. So Jason's with him. This is all good information, even if his heartbeat does speed up a little because someone has incapacitated him and that someone apparently has his son.
Then Jason nudges him lightly with his foot and says, "You can give up the act, old man. We're in the Cave. Must've been toxin exposure."
Bruce opens his eyes. He sees a rock ceiling overhead, sloping down into the familiar back wall of the containment cell. His second oldest is sprawled out next to him, leaning on one of the two metal walls and looking out through the glass window and door.
Bruce raises a hand to his head, frowning. He designed these containment cells with Tim after one-too-many nasty toxin experiences. There are two, both Bat-proof, both controlled from the outside. They are each designed to hold one Bat who is a danger to themselves or others. A single futon mattress on the floor, a bolted down metal toilet with sink in the corner, a glass wall that can turn matte from the outside if needed to give the occupant privacy. Everything you need for short term containment.
He doesn't know why they're in here.
"What do you remember?"
"We were in the Cave. Just got back from patrol. I grabbed a shower then..."
Jason trails off. He's wearing the old battered hoodie that he prefers after patrol, one that they both resolutely refuse to mention used to be Bruce's. He's noticed the same thing Bruce has.
"We were in the Cave," Bruce repeats. That's the last thing he remembers too.
"Then what the fuck hit us?"
The voices from further in the cave quiet for a moment. Bruce pushes himself upright, moving silently to the glass to try and see out into the depths of the Cave. The containment cells are a last resort; they're shunted to the side, not a part of the Cave proper. He can't see the computer or the vast cavern in front of it, but he can see shadows shifting as people within move.
"Hn." He frowns, shaking his head a little to try and clear it. Usually, if there's an unknown toxin worth using the cells, someone would be here. Watching over them. Keeping notes. Usually, they would be separated, in case of potential violent side effects. It's why they designed multiple cells.
And then, adding to his disorientation, he hears his own voice from the depths of the Cave.
"Batman to Watchtower."
His eyes widen. Behind him, Jason mutters, "What the fuck?" again. Because it's a near perfect imitation. The right cadence. Right tone. Even the same slightly clipped way he talks on comms.
There's an answering click. Someone has connected the comms to the Batcomputer so that everyone can hear the response.
"Batman?" Clark's voice, Bruce thinks, and whilst there's a question in his tone there's no suspicion. He doesn't realise he's speaking to an imposter. "You heard? How are things down there?"
"Bad," the fake-Bruce grunts. "Arkham issues. Gotham and the Cave are going dark until I have the Rogue situation back under control. There's a risk of the comms being breached."
"But..." Clark trails off. Tries again. "With the Doctor out... would Dick maybe be happier up here?"
The Doctor out. The words echo in Bruce's head and a sickening feeling that he knows who is in his Cave sets in his stomach.
"No." The answering word is hard and cold. But then Bruce hears his own voice crack ever so slightly, as fake-Bruce confides, "I can't - I'm not letting him out of my sight. Not until he's caught."
And it sounds so like him when he's trying to hide his emotion. There's no way Clark - or anyone - would consider it could be anyone but him.
Jason gives him a questioning look. The meaning obvious. Should we say something? Call out to Clark? Bruce shakes his head. There's only one person in the world who can get his voice down to that level of perfection and if Dick is doing this there must be a reason.
The call signs off with Clark assuring Dick he'll message the Cave the moment the Doctor is caught. Dick grunts in response. The call disconnects. For a moment, there is silence, and Bruce waits, tension in every muscle.
"Well done, Mr Grayson. Your brother thanks you."
"Son of a bitch," Jason hisses.
The Doctor. Bruce knows his voice from the recordings. The videos of him torturing his friends. His son. And now he's here, in his Cave, and Bruce is locked in a containment cell. Taken by surprise. Stupid. He knows better than to let his guard down anywhere and now his family is going to pay for it.
There's a heavy hand on his shoulder. He glances at Jason.
"Stop spiralling. We need the master strategist, not the self-loathing brooder."
Bruce shakes his head. He fully intends to argue that he's not self-loathing when they hear footsteps coming towards them. Heavy, driving into the hard floor of the Cave. There are still voices coming from out of sight, but quieter now, gentle.
Michael Samson strides into view. Younger brother of George, the Doctor. A meta with unknown strength and unknown healing capabilities.
But Bruce barely glances at him. His eyes are entirely focused on the bundle in his arms.
"Tim," he breathes.
Jason is less subtle.
He slams his palms against the glass. "Hey! Get the fuck off of him!"
Mike glances in their direction, and then turns to open the opposite containment cell with no further interest in the two vigilantes. The conversation in the main cavern has faded away. As Mike drops Tim onto the ground in the second cell, Dick appears around the corner - followed by the Doctor.
Dick doesn't look at them. Doesn't speak. He walks past Mike and into the cell in uncharacteristic silence, and doesn't make a move to check Tim until the door has shut behind him. The moment it does, Dick rolls Tim over and begins a full-body check with the quick, practiced movements of someone who has had to do this far too many times.
Bruce meets the Doctor's eyes. The Doctor smiles.
"Mr Wayne, it is a pleasure and a privilege."
"I wish I could say the same, Mr Samson."
The Doctor's eyes flash, but he doesn't comment on the name. "You'll have to excuse me. I look forward to meeting you properly but right now..." He rubs his hands together, glancing back into the main part of the Cave. "I have an empire to rebuild."
He walks away, ignoring Jason's shout demanding he come back. Mike lumbers after him. And Bruce is left locked in his own Cave in cells that he designed to be inescapable, with three of his children and the horrible realisation that he doesn't know what to do.