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“Green Arrow, your presence is requested in the Watchtower.”
Oliver pauses, raises an eyebrow, before he taps his communicator. “GA, here. Did something happen?”
“Something like that,” Wonder Woman’s voice is clipped with a hint of unease, despite the urgency in her voice. “I fear it is time pressing, please come up here as soon as possible. Wonder Woman, out.”
Oliver looks at the heroes around. The vague message doesn’t stop Dinah from directing injured civilians to the medic tent they’ve set up, but it does make Hal lowering himself so he’s levitating a couple inches off the ground instead of feet up with a smirk on his face. “Now, what did you do Arrow? Without me?”
“Shut up. I don’t even know what this is about.”
“You better hurry,” Dinah says. “It’s Wonder Woman we’re talking about, it must be important.”
“You got this handled?” Oliver motions the emergency tent a few feet away from them. Civilians huddle under one big yellow tent while the para medic runs all over the place treating anyone they can. The end of a fight is never pretty, especially now when fly-like aliens flew across New York’ sky. “Supes did say the threat was handled. I think Wonder Woman understands if I have to stay down here for a while.”
Dinah rolls her eyes. The smile tugging on her lips is meant to be reassuring. It hits the spot like always. “Yes, Ollie, we got this handled. I think we found the last of the injured already, the police and firefighters are helping us as well.”
“I’ll do another sweep.” Hal adds. “Just around the block, and maybe a bit more to the North. I’ll direct anyone I find to the nearest help.”
“Alright. Call me if anything happens, I doubt the Watchtower needs any help and if it does I doubt Wonder Woman will only be calling me.”
He gives the two a wave, slipping into an alley before taking a run to the nearest zeta tube two streets away. The dirty, unused phone booth they use as a disguise is still intact, surprisingly, despite the broken crates and the skid marks around it that indicated the Flash was thrown here sometime during the invasion before rejoining the fight.
Oliver slips inside. He closes the booth before he punches his code on the telephone then the Watchtower code.
Diana is waiting for him by the zeta tube, leaning on a wall, her arms crossed. She gives him a small smile as she pushes herself off the wall. Oliver follows her further into their space base.
“What’s the problem?”
“Nightwing refuses medical help.”
Oliver pauses. He stops on his tracks. “What?” He asks.
“He’s injured from the earlier fight. One of the parademons,” ohhh, so that’s what those aliens are called, “got a strike on him. Nearly slashed his face. He dodged enough to save his life, but there’s a gash on his face now. He needs immediate help, and he needs his mask off for that.”
“How does that have anything to do with me?”
The Gotham hero doesn’t even like him. He avoids missions with Oliver or Dinah, laughs obnoxiously when he gives inputs, scheming with that red, green, yellow brat he keeps with him.
“He says he will accept medical help if you are with us. And he needs it fast, Oliver.”
“Diana.” He pinches the bridge of his nose. He can feel the headache climbing up, his feet heavier when Diana gently pulls him so he starts walking. If he has to take a wild guess, they’re heading to wherever Nightwing is located. Perhaps the med bay, or the monitor room if Nightwing is as stubborn as Diana mentioned. “You saw every mission briefing and debriefing. Kid’s picking up a fight every time he sees me, and frankly, if it’s not for my respect for you and Clark, I’d respond to each one.”
“And we are thankful you feel that way,” Diana says. They’re passing the monitor room, J’onn taking control to coordinate with the Justice League members and other heroes who helped the fight. “But just like you said, Nightwing is a child. We might not know who he is, or how old he is, but we do know he used to be Robin, and it wasn’t long ago he took up the mantle Nightwing and gave his little brother his old one.”
That’s the thing, isn’t it? The reason why Diana and Clark extend their help towards Nightwing so easily despite his reluctance to work together with them at first. They barely know a thing about the guy, just the fact he’s been doing this since he was a kid, no known mentor, no known superpower. Just a couple of fists and an acrobatic skill that put everyone to shame.
That’s also what pisses Oliver even more. They’re the only non-superpowered members in the League, and the brat acts like he’s better than Oliver every time they meet.
“Perhaps, this also means he trusts you about his secret identity,” they take a turn, the med bay is just a few feet away. “If not for him, think of Roy. He might not be yours biologically, but you took him in. Imagine if Nightwing has a father out there who doesn’t know his son is a hero. The least we can do is return him safely in one piece.”
They’re standing in front of the med bay. Diana’s hand is just inches away from the metal door, her eyes pleading at Oliver to understand. He sighs. “Do whatever you want.”
“Thank you, my friend.”
Then she opens the door.
There are six beds in total, three on each side, all empty but the one on the left farthest from the door, nearest to the ceiling to floor window that overlooks the littering stars outside. Nightwing sits on it, holding what looks to be a towel to his face, the front of his suit is losing its usual color as blood keeps dripping down. Two Justice League sanctioned doctors hovering beside him, Melissa and Jose. Far enough to give the doctors space, but close enough to hear him, Clark stands with Robin.
“Nightwing, I had promise, sworn, and took an oath when I became a doctor, I refuse to let you walk out of this place still injured, so let me do my job and just—”
“I told you, Mel, not until GA gets here.”
“He’s busy down there!” Melissa yells.
“Then, I’ll wait for him.”
“You—”
“He’s here.”
It’s almost comical how quickly Melissa and Nightwing turn to look at him, the doctor with annoyance seen through her medical mask, while Nightwing lights up with a little wave.
“GA! My favorite.”
“No, I’m not.”
“You’re right, Superman is. But I need your help now. Robin and I discussed it already.”
The kid in question giggles at the side, covering his mouth.
“Whatever. I’m here now. Hurry up and get the treatment so I can get the hell away from here.”
“Sure,” Nightwing shrugs his shoulders. He pulls the towel away from his face, letting it fall to his lap.
Diana wasn’t kidding when she said Nightwing needs medical treatment. The gash goes from the bottom of his right eye, crossing the bridge of his nose, and finishes at the top of his left eye. The line is clear and cuts his domino mask into two, there’s no way Melissa and Jose can do their job while protecting his secret identity. Without the towel, the blood drips down his face again.
“You take off my mask.”
“What?”
Oliver doesn’t get a chance to press more explanation before Melissa groans. “Oh, please, Green Arrow. Do what he says so I can do my job like you did yours earlier.”
Nightwing and Robin share a look, the smile curling on their lips is a tell-tale sign of whatever plan they have in mind. Oliver ignores it as much as he can as he steps forward, Melissa and Jose preparing at the side to take over. They hand him a solvent dissolver.
“I know it looks bad, but I barely feel a thing, I promise.” While unseen, Nightwing closes his eyes. Oliver puts the solvent on a small casa, dabbing it slowly at the end of Nightwing’s domino mask. “Head wound is always exaggerated, I can take care of this, and would, if Superman over there didn’t find me sneaking out after the fight ended and brought me here.”
“Yeah, yeah, whatever, kid.” Oliver pulls away one part of the domino mask. He begins the same process with the other part.
“No, I mean it. I’m trained for this. I have a doctor in Gotham who takes care of me.” Nightwing winces when Oliver pulls the domino off. Whoops, looks like he should have put more of the solvent. “My dad trained me too.”
Slowly, Nightwing opens his eyes. A pair of cerulean blue eyes staring back at Oliver, the smile tugging on his lips is different, less mischief. Softer. Brighter. A genuine crinkle at the corner of his eyes that Oliver is pretty sure he’s seen somewhere. And he had, a lot, at least once a month, the latest two weeks ago on a party in Los Angeles. Confusion and dread fill him up like gasoline to a car. No, no, no, no, this can’t be. But then again Nightwing is from Gotham, and there’s only one person in Gotham who has cerulean blue eyes with black hair and an acrobatic skill that puts everyone to shame.
Diana was right. Nightwing does have a father to return to.
“Dick?”
“Excuse me?” Clark sputters, “Oliver that is not a nice thing to say.”
Robin cackles just as Melissa pushes Nightwing—Dick—down on the med bay, Jose does the same to him so they can crowd the hero and begin the treatment. They’re talking to one another about the status of the wound, cleaning the rest of the blood, and sighing in relief when they manage to confirm that the wound does look worse than it actually is. Oliver feels like a robot as he turns to Robin
The kid is still laughing, clutching his stomach, his shoulders shaking. Oliver is almost afraid to call him.
“Pipsquek?”
Robin straightens up, fanning his red-face. “Yes, old man?”
Trying again, Oliver calls out. “Jason?”
Robin tilts his head. The brave little warrior—Diana’s words, not his—that like to back talk disappears, standing in the middle of the Watchtower is the little nerd that spends every waking moment pouting in a gala because it means he’s losing his reading time. Though now Oliver wonders if it's really reading time or patrol time. “Yes, Uncle Ollie?”
“Oh, God,” Oliver groans. “I’m going to die.”
“So, you do know who they are.” Diana comments. A hand on his shoulder. “That’s not so bad, isn't it? Perhaps now you can find out why they held such animosity before.”
Oliver throws the used casa on a trash can, grabbing a bottle of solvent dissolver and another casa before handing it to Robin. “Take off your mask.”
The kid is most likely rolling his eyes under his mask, but does as told.
He ignores the small gasp Diana and Clark let out, perhaps a mixture of amusement, excitement, and horror. Jason is small compared to kids his age because of his time on the streets. Add it with the baby fat on his cheeks and just how clear his blue eyes are, it’s almost painful to know this is the kid they’ve been fighting crime with.
“He’s a baby.” Clark says in horror.
“He’s a baby!” Diana joins in delight.
Jason pouts, which doesn’t help his case. The red on his face is now due to embarrassment, not because he’s tormenting Oliver. “Notababy!”
“I’m really going to die.”
“You’re overreacting, Uncle Ollie.” Dick says from the med bay, giving him a thumbs up.
“You, shut up.” Oliver buries his face in his hands. “Ugh, how am I going to do this? How am I going to tell your father about this.”
“Don’t worry, B doesn’t know.”
“Okay, good, B doesn’t—Bruce doesn’t know?!” He shrieks. Whipping his head to look at Dick. “You’re telling me your father doesn’t know you’re hopping rooftops each night?”
“Please, as if you tell your father.”
“My father is dead, Dick.”
The brat—teen, darn it how Oliver has to refer to him in affection—winces. “Sorry. Not like your family knows.”
“Dinah is Black Canary.” Oliver points out. Roy is Arsenal, used to be Speedy. “My closest family knows who I am, Dick.”
Melissa and Jose step back, their work on Dick’s face done just in time for the hero to throw his hands up with a petulant whine. “You’ve met him, Uncle Ollie! Do you really think he’ll agree on this?”
“He’ll ground you.” Jason pipes in.
Dick sits up, leveling a glare at his little brother that doesn’t wipe the smirk off the younger’s face. There’s a bandage across his face now, where the gash sits. He doesn’t look uncomfortable. “I’m nineteen, he can’t ground me. You, on the other hand, will be grounded until you’re at least thirty.”
Jason gaps dramatically, but before he gets to retort, Diana steps in. “This is getting nowhere. Oliver seems to know Nightwing and Robin very well, even mentioning your father, may we have a proper introduction now?”
Dick smiles, all bright and innocent. “Dick Grayson, at your service.” At Clark, he adds. “You might know me better as Richard Grayson.”
Jason crosses his arms across his chest, trying to look tough when the redness on his cheeks betrays him. “Jason Todd-Wayne.”
Diana smiles at them. “Nice to formally meet you, Dick, Jason.”
Oliver watches in silence as Clark ponders at the names. His eyebrows furrow on why it seems so important for Dick to single him until the realization hits. It’s Melissa who reacts first, dropping the suturing kit to the floor.
“You’re Dr. Wayne’s sons.”
Right. Melissa is from Gotham. She works in Bruce's hospital.
“Oh, God, Dr. Wayne’s sons are Nightwing and Robin.” She looks at Dick, then at Jason, her face paling by each second under her mask. “He’s going to kill me.”
“Finally, someone who speaks my language!”
“I do not understand. What is with this Dr. Wayne person?”
“Their father, apparently.” Clark answers. “Remember Bruce Wayne?”
Diana raises an eyebrow. “Yes, formidable ally. He regularly donates to the Justice League, and gives wonderful inputs on how to improve ourselves.”
“He leaves a note on each donation, to keep a close eye on his sons when there’s no imminent threat.”
“Impressive.” Diana muses.
“No! Not impressive.” Oliver motions at the bandage on Dick’s face. “Bruce is overprotective as hell, how is Dick going to explain that wound—oh, you little shit, that’s why you need me here.”
Dick doesn’t even have the decency to look ashamed. He winks and gives finger guns at Oliver. “You got it! I have someone who can and will hack Bruce’ phone to make it look like me and Jay were safe the whole time, but I need someone with us to sell the picture.”
“Because both Diana Prince and Clark Kent shouldn’t be in New York, where the attack was happening.” He concludes.
“But Oliver Queen took his angelic nephews to see a broadway musical.” Jason adds. The kid’s brimming like Christmas comes early. Must be his idea. “Dickie was about to run away from Supes over there before I told him about this amazing plan. Dad’s been so busy he can't take me to see Hamilton, but now I’m guaranteed to have the best seat in the house.”
“Okay, now you’re killing your father.”
“Uh… Mr. Grayson?” Jose raises his hand, nervously flitting his eyes between Dick and the rest of the room. “If you’re so worried about your father finding out, what about the wound?”
“Oh, God,” Melissa groans. “I stitched Dr. Wayne’s son’s face.”
“How are you going to explain this?” Jose continues.
Dick waves his hand. “Bruce will minimize the scarring. I was about to find Melissa,” Melissa heaves, “or do the stitch myself. What I need is to keep Nightwing’s injury a secret until Dick Grayson can show up with an injury. It’s far easier getting treated as Dick Grayson than Nightwing. I’ve done this before.”
Jose hums. “Your father must think you’re the most reckless person alive. You okay, Mel?”
“Am I?” Melissa yells. “His father is my boss! He knows I’m a League sanctioned medic!”
“Yes, you’ve mentioned that. What’s with the guy anyway?”
“He’s scary as hell.” Melissa looks at Dick. “No offense, Mr. Grayson.”
“Please, Mr. Grayson is my father. Call me Dick. You too, Jose. Only when it’s just us here though.”
“I take it you’d prefer your identity still a secret to the rest of the League?” Clark asks. There’s a hopeful tint on his voice, wishing Dick to contradict.
“Yeah, sorry about that.” Dick gives an apologetic look. “I think J’onn and Dinah can know, for completely different reasons. But Bruce already put himself at risk by publicly supporting the Justice League, I don’t want my identity and Jason’ adding more into it.”
“Understandable.” Clark readily agrees, despite the hint of disappointment. “Your father has been a great help for the League, both financially and his strategic capabilities. I’m sure if it's not because of his busy schedule as a surgeon, he’d be invited as a proper, official member of the League.”
“I’ll handle the introduction with Dinah, we can swing by anytime. I saw J’onn on my way here, if you’re up to it.”
“That sounds great. I think it’d be unfair for J’onn to be here and be left out.”
“Then you come with us to face Dad.” Jason grins.
Oliver rolls his eyes. He pulls Jason closer by his shoulders, mussing his hair. “Then I face your dad.”
“Jason!”
Bruce is still on his surgical scrubs when Oliver stops his car in the driveway of Wayne Manor. Jason jumps out of the car before it completely stops, running towards the man at full speed before jumping into his arms. Bruce’s grip on the boy is tight, the tension easing from the man’s shoulder the longer the boy is settled on his arms.
Gotham might have been untouched by the attack, the parademons circling on top of New York until Superman managed to literally punch them back. Whatever relief Bruce might be feeling knowing his city wasn’t attacked probably went away the moment Dick’ hacker friend added the innocent albeit fake ‘I’m taking the kids to see Hamilton in NY!’ from Oliver. He can’t blame the guy.
“Oh, Jason, Jaylad, are you okay?” Bruce pulls away just enough to check Jason over. The boy grins and shakes his head. “Thank goodness, you’re okay, where’s your brother—Dick!?”
Dick steps out of the car with a sheepish grin. The location of his bandage makes it very hard not to notice.
“What happened?” Bruce quickly pulls the teen into his arms, much careful on his hug, his eyes carefully scanning for more injuries.
“He got hit by stray rubble.” Oliver responds, stepping out of the car. “Superman saw, and took us to see one of their medics.”
“What stitch did they use? Was it in a sanitary place or did they do it on the emergency tent?”
Well, Oliver can’t tell him they did it in space. “They did it in the best place they could in the middle of an alien invasion, Bruce.”
Bruce’s eyebrow furrow. His lips pursue in dissatisfaction. “I don’t want you taking them out ever again.”
“I told you I’m taking them out! Sent you a message!”
“I didn’t see it until it was too late!”
“Dad…” In Bruce’s arms, Jason whines. He wraps his arms around Bruce’s neck, burrows his face on the man’s neck. “I’m tired.”
In an instant, all fight leaves Bruce. His face turns into this soft, mushy look as he coos. “Of course, baby. Let’s get you inside, okay? I’m sorry you didn’t get to see Hamilton in the end.” He tightens his grip on Jason, opening his other arm towards Dick.
It’s a compromise they agreed on. Oliver takes the boys back to Gotham to sell their story, in exchange for one of them taking a bit of the heat off his back. They end up using Jason, because according to Dick no one in the manor has the power to say no to him.
“Come on, Dickie, let me check the stitches, chum, I’ll see what I can do to minimize any scaring.”
The three of them make their way inside the manor, Bruce has one arm around Dick’s shoulder, while his other arm holds Jason securely to his chest. The brat looks up from his neck, gives a thumbs up at Oliver with a smirk.
Oliver can’t believe it actually works.
“Excellent work, Mr. Queen.” Oliver refuses to admit that he jumps when Alfred seems to materialize beside him, watching the father-son trio walking away. “Would you like to come inside? It is quite rude of Master Bruce to not extend the invitation to you, after everything the boys had pulled.”
Oliver calms his heart down, looking between Alfred and the thumbs up Jason is giving to him. There’s no way Alfred misses that, and for a loyal butler who's been with the Waynes for generations, he shouldn’t be as calm as he is now to find Dick injured.
Unless…
“You know who they are.” Oliver accuses.
Alfred raises an eyebrow. “I have no idea what you are talking about, sir.”
The butler heads back towards the manor, leaving Oliver in the driveway alone.
Oliver groans into his hands, he can feel the headache coming back. Whatever. That’s Future-Oliver’s problem.
“Of course,” he steps inside, muttering under his breath, “of course Alfred knows.”