Chapter Text
“Recognized -- Nightwing, B-0-1 -- Robin, B-2-2 -- Unrecognized; override Nightwing, B-0-1 -- Unrecognized; override Nightwing, B-0-1.”
Conner watched, eyebrows drawn, as the zeta tubes leading into the basement of Mount Justice flashed bright white and four silhouetted figures began materializing inside. It was very unlike Nightwing to bring a non-member into the cave; in fact, Conner was pretty sure he’d never done it before. He was one of the most secretive people Conner knew, kept his ID better than any of them. So who was he busy doing the Bat-equivalent of spilling his guts to? And why was Barbara running towards the tubes, too?
Scattered fragments of conversations filtered in before the bodies had fully materialized, and Conner caught -- uh, some of it? Not enough to make sense, but he was also pretty sure that regardless of what he’d heard, he would’ve been equally confused.
“--swear this is ridiculous, Dick, there’s no reason to make this a--”
“--literally out of your mind if you think this isn’t a big deal--”
“--re actually sitting here bleeding out telling us this, do you reali--”
“--imbeciles, all of you; you wouldn’t recognize basic human self-preservation if it killed you--”
“--like you would, either, demon brat--”
“Boys!” Barbara shouted into the tube, with blatant annoyance in her voice that Conner never would’ve expected from her. “Shut up. Where’s Orphan?”
The figures finally solidified, and the reason that had taken so long instantly became clear: the four people who emerged were all grouped too closely together for the machine to parse them out easily, which was exactly why they had a rule about standing at least two feet away from another person when using the zeta tubes. The reason that rule had apparently been disregarded here, though, was also clear: Robin, whom Connor could now easily recognize, was balanced on another man’s back, head lolling but eyes clearly still clinging to that detective alertness as blood dripped behind the man holding him. The other two figures were helping support them, one with a hand in Robin’s hair and the other gripping a fistful of the first’s jacket. The sound of Robin’s -- of Tim’s -- blood dripping on the floor echoed throughout the cave, eerie and unsettling, and Conner felt a little sick at the smell of it that his enhanced nose could pick up. Blessings and curses, he supposed.
Conner quickly scanned the scene with his thermal vision, ignoring his confusion about the situation for the time being in favor of zeroing in on the lower left side of Robin’s chest, which was far warmer -- and therefore far bloodier, he reasoned -- than it should’ve been. He bit his lip and stopped scanning, stepping forward before he realized his feet were moving, but the man holding Robin on his back let out a strange, low snarl and raised his shoulders slightly, covering more of the kid’s face. Conner shook his head with wide eyes. What? Who was this person? Why was he wearing a red helmet? Why was there another, like, concerningly little kid wearing a completely different Robin suit? Why did Nightwing let them in?
Oh, shit, Nightwing.
Conner quickly shifted his focus to his old friend. “What happened? What is still happening?”
Nightwing had looked at the red-masked man before Conner had spoken, and they exchanged words briefly. Nightwing said something like "stand down, idiot, you’re more dramatic than B," to which the other replied by waggling his head mockingly like a true adult. He would’ve flipped him off if his hands weren’t occupied with Robin, but he settled for the next best thing.
“One second, Conner, sorry,” Barbara said, glancing at him. He nodded wearily, and she turned her attention back to the newcomers. By this point the cave had become occupied by a few of the young heroes who had come running when they heard the zeta tube call out unrecognized entrants: Impulse, Blue Beetle, Beast Boy, and La’gaan, standing off to one side near the bay door, confusion written all over their faces. Conner remained closer to the control console in the center, beside an equally confused Mal. “Hey! Earth to Bird Brains!” Barbara called, that same annoyance lacing her tone. Huh. This seemed almost… familiar to them. “Where the hell is Orphan?”
“On the way,” Nightwing replied, gesturing for his companions to follow him out of the tube. They did, with no small amount of bitching and moaning amongst themselves, lines like "who died and left him in charge?" from the red-masked one followed by "you did" from Robin, and a surprising snort from the first again. Nightwing ignored them, but there was a poorly-suppressed smile on his face. “She’s just finishing up ditching the last of Harvey’s goons; volunteered for distraction duty. I think she just wanted to punch something, though.”
Batgirl nodded, then looked past Nightwing as worry creased her brow. “And Red?”
He turned and took in the scene behind him, too: the other two were doing a good job keeping Tim awake and talking, but he was still fading pretty fast. Dick sighed. “Lucky hit, clean through and through, right between two kevlar plates in his suit -- on both sides. Harvey actually did it himself, from a catwalk twenty yards away.”
Barbara’s eyes widened. “What? When did Harvey turn crackshot?”
“He didn’t,” Dick replied. He shook his head, teeth clenched slightly in that 'this wasn’t anyone’s fault but I’m gonna blame myself anyway' look that Barbara knew so well. She also knew he was working on that, though, so other than a stern look that he acknowledged with a nod, she didn’t press him about it. “It really was just a lucky shot. Like, a really, really lucky shot. But the gun itself is the problem this time.”
“The gun itself?”
He nodded. “Hood got a good look at it; said it was a LeMat, a real one, original, but modified to have an automatic hammer.” He took an ugly, misshapen lump of blood-crusted metal out of his belt and dropped it in her gloved hand. “Still fires the original rounds, too. Like, from the 1870s. We don’t know how old or how gross that thing is. And with Red’s whole… uh… internal situation, I’m worried about a literal dirty bullet, especially coming from Harvey. I didn’t want to risk treating him in the cave; we’re too low on antibiotics and antiseptic.”
Barbara’s eyes filled with understanding and she nodded quickly. “I’ll prep the infirmary and comm you when it’s ready. Keep pressure on the wounds and keep him talking for as long as you can.” She turned and ran off down the hall. She knew Dick knew to do those things, obviously, and didn’t need to be told, but it was easier for her not to worry if she let the Bat in her take the wheel, give and follow orders just as she’d been trained. Tim would be fine; really, he would, from the actual gunshot wound, at least. It was the possibility of infection that she was worried about. Dick was right to bring him here, to bring all of them here, even with how little warning he gave her. They all knew the take-care-of-Tim drill like the collective back of their hand, and he was right that Mount Justice currently had a more updated medical facility; Dick had essentially combined the best place to take care of Tim with the best people to take care of Tim.
It was definitely the right call.
~
Back in the cave, Nightwing had gone back to Robin and the newcomers, and Conner had gone back to having no idea what was going on. Not that he ever left that state. His patience was wearing thin for it. On a common courtesy level, he knew it was rude to use his super-hearing on private conversations. On a right now level, he didn’t care; there were too many questions going unanswered and if he knew anything about Nightwing, it was that he wouldn’t leave an injured Bat if he could help it, and that included leaving to give him answers. So Conner didn’t feel too bad about focusing in and eavesdropping.
Nightwing was standing in front of the rest of them with his back to Conner, carding his fingers through Robin’s hair and speaking in hushed tones with the other two. “You guys didn’t get too banged up?”
The one who wasn’t holding Robin (the one who, for the record, looked like he was maybe twelve years old, tops) nodded confidently. “As you know, Grayson, I would never stoop so low as to allow myself to get injured. Particularly not in this fashion, I might add.” He rolled his eyes behind his domino -- Conner could tell from years of seeing Dick do it -- and untangled his fingers from their grip on the jacket to rest his hand on Tim’s right arm, which was hanging down limply over the big one’s shoulder. “Although I suppose it would be humiliating to the name of the Bat if we were to allow such a dishonorable attack on one of our own to go unpunished.”
Robin, head lolling more and more against the red one’s shoulder, snorted a light laugh. “L’ve you too, Dami.” The small one scowled and grumbled, but didn’t move his hand.
Nightwing sighed heavily, about to protest the suggested punishment, but the red-masked one nodded as well and cut him off. “We’re all good, Big Bird. It’s the little guy I’m worried about. Not you,” he said dismissively when the small one’s fiery eyes shot up to meet his and a growl brewed in his throat. The masked one hummed, shifting Robin’s weight. “But don’t worry; when Dami and I go after Harvey, we’ll make sure you’re asleep and don’t find out.”
“‘M g’nna be really mad if you kill s’meone over this…” Tim muttered, surprising Conner. The kid apparently had a gunshot wound, and had been bleeding for some time; how the hell was he still awake?
“You heard him,” Nightwing said simply, but Conner could hear the note of casual avoidance in his tone, like maybe he wouldn’t entirely be opposed to killing whoever this Harvey was after all.
The masked one snorted, sounding impossibly similar to Tim, and turned slightly to look at the boy resting his head on his shoulder. “You hangin’ in, kiddo?” Tim mumbled an mm-hmm, but his eyes had started fluttering open and closed on increasing intervals, and the masked one shot a look at Nightwing.
Conner couldn’t see his face, but Nightwing reacted like he could, responding with an urgent nod. He kneeled down to be at eye-level with the small one, reaching out a hand to set on his shoulder. “Damian, I need you to go find Babs and help her finish prepping the infirmary. It’s down the east hallway there; two lefts and a right. Go.” Damian (or so apparently named) nodded, but paused when he went to remove his hand from Tim’s arm. Nightwing noticed and smiled reassuringly. “Dami. Hey.” The kid looked back at him. “He’s gonna be fine. He’s a Robin, remember? We’re made of tough stuff.”
Damian scoffed and removed his hand. “I am, yes, but Drake is an incredibly inferior Robin. I am merely concerned with his negligence of his duties.” He scampered off down the hallway Dick had pointed out, and the man watched him go, shaking his head but with a smile on his face.
He stood back up and went back to stroking Tim’s hair. “What a little shit,” the masked one said flatly, as if stating a fact, and a laugh bubbled up from Robin. The masked one turned his attention there. “So, Replacement. Babybird. Timmers. Timbo.” Tim grunted and he took that as acknowledgement. “What’s the deal here, huh? You haven’t even redecorated since I’ve been gone! Plus, I heard that tube call you Robin. What’s the deal there, Red? Dami’s gonna be pissed when he realizes.”
Tim giggled, airy and high-pitched. “...Was too lazy… to ch’nge… my c’nfirmation codes…”
The masked one barked a surprised laugh. “What, that’s it? You didn’t wanna re-do your zeta info but you were totally down to just respond to the wrong name forever?”
“I know… you’da… done it too.”
“You’re… not wrong, yeah. Hey, I’m still listening, Babybird, so you’re still talking. What’s your favorite part of the mountain?”
“Mm… friends?” Robin muttered, and Conner couldn’t help but smile a bit at that. It was clear to him, though, that if he didn’t get in a few questions before Barbara had the infirmary ready, he wouldn’t be able to get them in for a while. He knew the younger members of the team were still standing on the edges, looking on, and he was honestly surprised at their ability to not rush in to check on their friend. Then again, Tim was one of Conner’s best friends, too, and the confusion of the moment alone was enough to stop him in his tracks, too.
He shook it off and walked over, despite the red mask turning to him the second he took a step in their direction. Nightwing held up a placating hand before meeting Conner’s eyes and nodding. “You got him, yeah?” He said to the newcomer, and walked to meet Conner three-quarters-way. He looked oddly sheepish. “Hey. I know this probably seems weird.”
“Yeah, it does,” Conner said, trying to keep anger from his voice. He wasn’t angry, really, just confused, but he knew he had a habit of letting confusion morph into anger when it took hold of his tone and body language, two things that Dick was an expert at reading. He tried to be subtle about looking over at the newcomer, but found him staring right back at him. “Who are they?” He asked quietly.
Dick sighed, also looking back at them, before he shook his head. “I guess you were all gonna find out at some point.”
“Find out what?” He folded his arms, knowing he had snapped a bit, and also knowing that Nightwing had been with him long enough to understand.
Dick sighed again, heavier this time. “They’re my brothers.”
Conner couldn’t stop himself from stumbling back a step, eyes blowing wide. “You… your what?”
“I know, I know, it’s weird. And we probably should've told you a while ago. But it’s true.”
“‘We?’” Connor repeated dumbly. His brain must’ve been running a few minutes behind or something, because this just did not compute at all.
Dick looked confused. “Yeah. Robin and I should’ve told you.”
More shock flitted through his veins, making him jumpy. It felt like adrenaline, for some reason, but without any reason to fight or flee. “You and Robin are brothers?!” It came out as a strained whisper-shout, which, honestly, was much better than what Dick had been expecting.
He winced. “Uh. Yeah.” He gave a nervous chuckle, fidgeting with his hands as he so often did, but never in this room. Never on a mission. Right now, he wasn’t Nightwing; this was Dick Grayson, through and through, and Conner knew it. “I-I mean, none of us are blood relatives, but like… legally, we’re related, I’ll put it that way.”
Conner sighed heavily. “Alright.” He knew better than to push at the guy’s personal life; that had always gotten him nowhere, fast. Dick would talk on his terms, and Conner had come to learn that that was okay, if sometimes annoying. But now his gaze flickered back to the masked one and hardened slightly. “Not to offend your family or anything, but that one doesn’t seem particularly safe. I’ve never heard a human make the sound he made when I walked over. And the tiny one looked ready to bite my head off.”
Dick smiled. “They can look scary, I know, but I promise they’re okay to be in here. You know I’d never bring anyone in here who I didn’t trust with my life, and these three top that list. Don’t worry, Kon. They’re just here to help.”
“About that. Robin is shot?”
“Yeah. I’m assuming you were listening the whole time, which is good, because now I don’t have to brief you.”
Conner flushed. “Sorry.”
“Don’t be,” Nightwing replied, shaking his head. “I was actually kind of counting on it. Saves us time that we’re gonna need.” He kept an eye on his brothers while he spoke, and Conner didn’t miss the way the tightness of his jaw and the crease of his brow increased with every delayed response from Tim. He didn’t look away as he spoke. “Listen, I need you to brief those four in the corner. Tell them that Robin was shot on a mission in Gotham and that the newbies are more of Batman’s proteges. That’s true, anyway. I need you not to tell them that we’re brothers, though, okay? I need to talk to everyone so that we can come up with a plan for protecting our and B’s identities. Obviously you know who he is, but they don’t, and it needs to stay that way until we talk to him. If Mal asks, tell him the same. I gotta go.” Conner nodded firmly and watched him walk quickly back to his brothers, where he immediately did an obvious mental triage of Tim. Conner turned to the others to follow what only kind of counted as their leader’s orders.