Chapter Text
The front door unlocked with a click. “I’m home.” Danny mumbled to the empty house, tossing his things on the dining table, with no one to tell him off for it. Jazz’s semester at Harvard was well underway, and she wouldn’t be back to Amity until Thanksgiving. His parents, by the look of it, hadn’t bothered coming home, busy with their next big thing at their sparkling positions as co-heads of Dalv Co’s ecto-technology sector.
Not bothering with the light, Danny turned on the TV and let it play to drown out the echoing silence of his house. He plopped on the couch in front of it with yesterday’s attempt at Alfredo. Danny missed Jazz and would call her when he had the time between school, work, and training. He was grateful for his parents being gone more than they were home. After the Chicago Incident, it was suffocating to be in the same room as them. He kept the events of it to himself; there was no reason for everyone else to have to carry his burdens more than they already did.
If Dan, Fright Knight, and Firebolt hadn’t shown up when they had, he would be more dead than he already was. The memory made his throat dry and his core throb in pain. As far as anyone else needed to know, Ellie was enjoying her time exploring the Infinite Realms, and the six months Danny spent there was to make sure she stayed out of trouble. It was an easy sell when Danny had spent plenty of time inside the Realms when the GIW had gone haywire and put the whole city under lockdown with Mayor Masters’s blessing. That had been how Danny had met Firebolt.
Another advantage of never having his parents home was that Danny got to do anything and everything he wanted with the devices left in the basement lab. He didn’t have much time with everything else, but it was a fun pastime when he could.
The slow-paced documentary on the TV came to a sudden stop, and the bright red, flashing ‘Breaking News’ flew on the screen. It slid away for a professionally dressed woman with a mic to begin speaking in front of what looked like a crime scene. “I’m Jenifer Blair with Z News.” The reporter spoke urgently over the loud sounds of police and ambulance sirens in the background. “The date is Friday, September 5, and the time is 8:37 PM in Gotham City. Behind me, we have the scene where Dr. Collin Kilye, renowned geneticist and lead researcher at West Gotham General Hospital, has shot himself and has just been declared dead by the paramedics.
“There is evidence proving Dr. Kilye is responsible for purposefully switching newborns of families under his care. It is estimated that over 500 babies have been swapped in the last 20 years of his employment here. Based on the information provided to the Gotham PD by Nightwing and Batman, the vigilantes investigating the crime, we have been told that Nightwing has been investigating this case after an anonymous tip-off about Dr. Kilye’s suspicious activities. After a reported month and a half of investigating, Nightwing had reason to suspect Dr. Kilye of malpractice and came to his office to investigate, where—”
Danny’s phone vibrating against the table took his attention away from the shocking revelation. “Hey, Tuck,” Danny answered, lowering the volume of the TV.
“Danny! Dude! Have you seen the news story of Batman and Nightwing’s recent bust?” Tucker asked, his voice radiating fanboy excitement.
“Wasn’t it mostly just Nightwing?” Danny raised an eyebrow at his friend even though he couldn’t see it. “Batman showed up later.”
“Yeah, well, Batman and Nightwing—”
“ Nightwing and Batman.”
“Okay, whatever—but isn’t this totally insane? It’s like ‘Parent Trap,’ but illegal.”
“That’s not what happens in Parent Trap.” Danny pointed out for the sole purpose of being annoying.
Tucker groaned, and Danny could practically hear him rolling his eyes. “We’re still on for Doom tonight, right?”
“Wouldn’t miss it for the world. Are the others online yet?” Danny put his plate in the sink.
“I’m adding them to the call.”
On the third ring, “‘Sup Fenton ‘n Foley. Ready to get your nonexistent butts handed to you?” Val goaded, already hyped for their game.
“Hey! I’ll have you know, I have a very nice butt. And Danny’s isn’t anything to scoff at either.” Tucker snapped, only to be cut off by Danny.
“Okay! Thanks for the defense, Tuck.” Danny stepped in quickly before the conversation took a turn he did not want to witness.
September 6, 2024 - Friday - 9:48 PM
It was one of the rare moments when the Bat Cave was empty, and Dick couldn’t even enjoy it since he still had to deal with the most headache-inducing part of his case. Sure, he could hand the files over as-is to the CIA to deal with since it was a matter of national security, but he owed it to the victims and their families to see it through as much as he could. Thanks to Dr. Kilye’s prestige, people from all over the country had come to see him, making the issue much more widespread than just Gotham.
Sorting through each of the files to match the family with their biological children was relatively easy thanks to all the details in the files and the semi-automated matching program in the Bat Computer. There were a total of 592 files, and Dick was just now cracking the 50% mark. Awarding himself with a quick shoulder stretch, Dick went through the now-mindless motion of clicking the ‘View Next ’ button.
Dick had been in this line of work for over fifteen years now, and he’d like to think he’d learned a thing or two. One of those things, something Bruce had drilled into him during his Robin days, was to always prepare for every scenario and have a backup plan for his backup plan. It looked different for different missions, and Dick knew how to prepare for almost every kind now. Never assume anything, only think about the facts, and keep your emotions away from the field. The file open in front of him was a chilling reminder that it was easier said than done.
File Number: 6678
Date of Birth: 12 February 2008
Name: Thomas Wayne Jr
Assigned Mother: Clarissa King (unknown)
Assigned Father: Bruce Wayne (alive)
Biological Mother: Madeline Fenton (alive)
Biological Father: Jackson Fenton (alive)
Medical Conditions:
- Malformations of the heart and lungs
- Unidentified chemicals present in blood test
Updates and Notes :
- Deceased on 23 February (11 days old)
16 years had passed since the event, but the memory was always fresh in Dick’s mind. He’d been eleven at the time, four years after the death of his parents, four years into living with Bruce, and four years into being Robin. And three years into Bruce and Talia’s quick marriage. The months before Talia became pregnant were practically out of a movie. They were like a real family. Then Talia told them that she was pregnant, and Dick’s dreams of being an older brother were put into motion.
The pregnancy had gone smoothly, as far as Dick was ever allowed to know. Until it wasn’t. One day Talia came down feeling more unwell than all the other mornings, and Bruce rushed with her to the hospital. Alfred stayed with Dick, and they followed after. When Alfred told Dick the baby was coming early, it was like hearing Christmas had moved to today; he’d been bouncing with excitement. Dick had sat right across from the room, waiting for Bruce to let him meet his brother, and watched the way endless doctors and nurses rushed into the room. It had reminded him of the clowns in their cars from the circus.
At the time, Dick hadn’t been aware of what was going on, but in the years since, he’d looked into the medical records of Talia and the baby. Premature births are not abnormal, but in Talia’s case, she had what was recorded as a placenta previa, which complicated the birth. Placenta previa causes risk to both the baby and the mother during birth. According to the records, Talia had been sent to an emergency C-section that had gone as expected. But the concerns did not stop there. The baby had been rushed away to be monitored in a sterile environment until its condition stabilized.
Alfred took Dick home when the clock turned late and promised they’d come back tomorrow to check on the baby. The next day, when Dick came straight after school, he could only look at his baby brother from outside the glass room full of machines.
From the records, Dick knew that the baby had suffered from chemical poisoning, the cause of which was unknown. Its bloodstream had been contaminated and caused malformation of many of its respiratory organs, and there were signs of nerve damage. Dick had come to rationalize that even if the baby had somehow survived, its quality of life was irreparably diminished.
He remembered he would look into the room and watch the baby, waiting for it to open its eyes so he could finally know if his brother would have blue eyes like him and Bruce or green like Talia. He’d watched the baby from outside the window for ten long days, and on the eleventh, he wasn’t in there anymore. Alfred took Dick back to the manor earlier than usual that day, and when Dick demanded a reason, he was taken to a patch of loose dirt in their backyard with a marked rock.
Dick had seen that type of rock with his parent’s name on it before. It meant that he was gone, and Dick would never get to see him again. Dick never found out what color the baby’s eyes were.
Forcing himself back to the present, Dick was glad the cave was empty. The associated file loaded up next to the first one.
File Number: 77563
Date of Birth: 12 February 2008
Name: Daniel Fenton
Assigned Mother: Madeline Fenton (alive)
Assigned Father: Jackson Fenton (alive)
Biological Mother: Clarissa King (unknown)
Biological Father: Bruce Wayne (alive)
Medical Conditions:
- Age 12: Electrocuted
- Hospitalized for 24 hours.
- Developed Acute Bradycardia
- No follow-up medical procedures
Updates and Notes:
- Prefers “Danny”
The files were open next to each other in perfect clear view, but Dick could hardly swallow the fact. His baby brother was alive? He had been this whole time? His brother had been stolen from him by some science-fanatic lunatic, and Dick had been forced to think he was dead. Dick had been forced to witness the family he’d just gained be ripped apart at the seams over the grief of it, and the entire time—the entire goddamn time—they’d been lied to. What shock had hollowed out, anger was quick to fill. If the bastard hadn’t killed himself already, Dick would be hot on his tail to do it for him.
When the initial rush of emotions finally settled on Dick, so did the weight of the information. His brother was alive. He was out there somewhere. He’d grown up away from them, and he wouldn’t be a baby anymore; he’d been sixteen years old, just like Tim.
The next realization was that he needed to tell everyone else about this. Or he could tell Bruce, and Bruce could tell everyone else. Richard Grayson was nothing if not tactful. He pulled out his phone from his pocket, snapped a picture of the files on the screen, and clicked send. Bruce was supposed to be having dinner with some important business people or whatnot, so Dick decided he should flee the scene before the Big Bad Bat found him, not wanting to know what wrath was in store. Heaven forbid, Bruce might even talk about emotions.
He closed all the files, stored them on a flash drive, and wiped them from the computer. This was his case, and he’d be the one to see it through. Dick’s escape was clean until the elevator when the doors opened to reveal Tim. “You’re done?” He asked, raising a curious brow.
“I have a flight to catch,” Dick said.
“Is it for the case?” Tim asked. “I thought you had everything.”
“Yeah. Be the bestest brother ever and cover for me?” Dick pleaded, flashing his signature smile.
“Why should I?” He huffed, already a few feet away from where Dick stood.
With a smirk, “‘Cause you don’t want Bruce to know what taking the plane out for a ‘joyride’ was really for.” Dick smirked.
He turned around, alarmed. “Fine, I’ll cover. You better not tell.” Tim hissed at him.
“Scout’s honor.” Dick winked before catching the elevator.
“You weren’t even a scout.” He heard Tim complain before the doors fully shut.
September 7 - Saturday - 1:09 AM
Dick landed in Chicago, Illinois, and hailed a cab to take him the rest of the one-and-a-half-hour drive to Amity Park. Where Danny lived because he was alive. Dick hadn’t exactly planned this whole excursion, though; it wasn’t very trained-by-Batman of him, but Dick knew how to do things by ear when he needed to.
He had used the time in the plane to finish the rest of the files, which he completed quickly with his ultimatum in mind. Dick purposely ignored every notification dinging on his phone screen. He sat through the ride not daring to unlock it in case the notifications became readable because then he would have to respond. Dick stared out the window until they pulled up to the first inn that popped up when he’d searched the town. He paid his fares and took his bag inside with his phone in his pocket. It wasn’t vibrating with notifications anymore, but that only made him more nervous.
He got his room key and headed up. He set his things down, and wow, golly, he was so sweaty from traveling. Dick should shower. Unfortunately, the shower eventually ended with pruned fingers. Dinner? Yes. He was quite hungry. Room service would be nice. Dick took his time looking through the offered menu and chatted up the receptionist to burn seconds. He waited for the food to arrive because how could he possibly talk on an empty stomach? He hadn’t eaten since the in-flight meal. Everyone knows those suck. He needed proper food. His food was delivered. Dick ate it at a very normal pace. Unfortunately, the food finished eventually as well. TV? All the channels were discussing his case, and frankly, he’d heard enough about it. Well, he could always, uh…
Dick sighed. No more delaying the inevitable. 56 messages and 9 missed calls. Most of them were from the group chat, nothing pressing. Tim had texted him, and all the calls were from Bruce.
Timbers: dude
Timbers: what did you do?????
Timbers: when you said cover I thought you meant for patrol or smt
Timbers: not whatever beef bruce apparently has with you??
Timbers : u so owe me
Timbers: [1 video]
The video was 90 seconds of security camera feed from right above the elevator. At first, it just showed the calm sight of Tim doing research on the computer for some cases, and Steph would come into view every so often while she did her warm-ups and training. The elevator light lit, signaling that someone had arrived, and the doors had only half opened before a disheveled-looking Bruce stormed in. His tie was pulled free, and his collar was undone. Dick could see exactly where the absent cape would have fluttered menacingly as Bruce stormed to the computer, spinning an unassuming Tim around to face him. The boy, not expecting the motion, nearly fell off the chair. Steph stopped just in view in the background, curious and attentive.
‘Where’s Dick?’ The camera was far, but still picked up Bruce’s echoing voice. To Dick’s surprise, and seemingly Tim’s as well, Bruce didn’t seem mad. Disgruntled, alarmed, slipping from sanity? Yes. Genuinely angry? Not quite.
‘I don’t know.’ Tim said, holding the sides of the chair for preemptive security.
Bruce rolled the chair to gain access to the computer. Steph and Tim shared a look but watched Bruce shuffle through the computer’s storage to find the files that only Dick and his CIA contact had. Bruce soon realized this himself and huffed in annoyance and walked off, taking his tie off the rest of the way. The video ended with half the motion.
Dick didn’t give Tim an explanation, just a string of cheeky emojis. No doubt Bruce would ask for an explanation. An explanation he still has yet to come up with. Dick eyed the mini fridge on the other side of the bed. Maybe some liquid courage? If Bruce somehow figured out Dick drank before the call, he would assume the worst. Maybe as compensation for after, then. Dick braced himself as he clicked on Bruce’s number.
Bruce answered immediately. “Richard.” Richard? Dick was screwed.
“Brucie!” Dick said with exaggerated cheer. Maybe if he pretended nothing serious and life-altering had just been discovered hard enough, it wouldn’t feel so daunting. Bruce said nothing. “I sent you a compiled copy of all the files to Agent Johnson about an hour ago to deal it to the public. Domestic security, and all.” Dick offered. “He should have it out within the week.”
“And the originals?” Bruce prodded. This is a textbook example of what Dick liked to call a ‘Batman ’Conversation’—minimal responses, maximum silence, and waiting for the other guy to spill. Fortunately for Batman, it was a tried-and-true strategy to get information from criminals and other nefarious doers. Unfortunately for Bruce, it didn't work on Dick.
“I worked the case. I get to decide what happens to the files.” Dick paused; he knew how to play the game. “Your rules. I’m drafting the report; Babs will have it on file once I send it over.”
“You want me to find out with everyone else.” Bruce concluded matter-of-factly.
“Listen, we both know you have tendencies to… over-analyze things. I didn’t want you to jump the gun and freak the kid out. There’s no way he knows about anything that happened other than what was on the news.” Dick explained.
“And what exactly is your plan?”
That was a good question. And one Dick wasn’t going to answer honestly. Activate skill: reroute and deflect. “Johnson said he’d have it ready before the end of the week at the latest. I already organized the files myself and matched everything up, so I’d be surprised if they need more than the weekend. I’m sure all the lawyers will jump at the chance of being the one to tell Bruce Wayne. You’ll be one of the first to know.” Dick let the silence stretch for a bit, then sighed, “Just get your head wrapped around this, Bruce. I know that the kid not making it screwed all of us up. We finally have a chance to get some of what we lost back. I just want you to be all there when we do.”
There was a long pause where neither spoke. When Bruce finally responded, his voice was low and delicate. Not delicate like Batman’s was when he was comforting child victims, but like the way Bruce’s was when he felt like he was losing control of things around him. “Keep me updated.”
“Will do, B,” Dick responded softly. “Take care of yourself.” And hung up.
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