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Gotham is a beautiful city.
Well, that might be presumptuous. A word which here means assuming the rest of the city looks like the Bristol area. From what Reese has heard about Gotham, that seems unlikely. All of his father’s anecdotes about Gotham are riddled with corruption, crime, and easy money. The estates here are large and intricate, unnecessary details in every inch.
Wayne Manor itself isn’t exempt from this pattern. It’s huge and has pillars with carvings like crawling ivy near the front door. Reese almost feels bad about getting snow on the entryway carpet. He would feel worse if not for how his father and Bruce Wayne are glaring at each other.
Maybe it’s petty when Reese stomps his boots on the carpet, but neither adult looks at him when he does.
“Wayne,” His father greets. If that can be called a greeting. It’s certainly not friendly.
“Wilson.” Wayne’s own greeting isn’t friendly either. The two maintain their staring contest, and Reese knows that if either were in uniform it would look more intimidating. Right now it just looks silly.
It had taken a few months of stilted conversations and reluctant compromises from all four of them, but they agreed on Reese visiting Damian at Wayne Manor for three days of his winter break. He’ll accompany Robin on patrol, but he’ll have to use a different mask. Deathstroke has to leave Gotham alone for the entirety of the stay.
The tension in the grand entryway is broken by Damian coming down the stairs. The two adults stop their staring to look at Damian, who glares at Slade. Damian goes down the rest of the way and stands near Wayne, mirroring Reese and his father’s positions across from them.
Damian crosses his arms and addresses Slade, “You can go now.”
Father’s eye narrows as he looks down his nose at Damian, but he relents. He turns to Reese instead, “You’ll be picked up from here on Friday.”
Reese nods at him. His father nods back, then leaves after shooting another glare at Wayne. Reese wants to hug him, but knows better. This is third year since leaving the League, and he still hasn’t gotten a proper hug from him. Reese won’t pretend it doesn’t hurt, but it helps that his siblings are so used to it, and accept his want for physical affection even if their father won’t.
Reese adjusts his duffel bag on his shoulder and looks to Damian for what to do next. He’s not sure where his brother lands on hugging, so he doesn’t go for one, but he does stick close to his side when Damian leads him down the halls. Wayne doesn’t make any move to follow them, instead watching Father leave through the main entrance windows.
The inside of Wayne Manor is just as (if not more) opulent than the outside. The portraits and expensive looking art pieces get less frequent the deeper they go, and by the time Damian’s led him to the family room, the only thing on the walls are candid pictures without any lifeless statues of old people.
The family portrait in the main hall was a professional painting of six people, all looking stuffy in formal wear and pressed together with serene, serious faces. The group picture closest to Damian’s room has the same six people, along with four other people. They’re all out in the snow and in various degrees covered in it. Damian in the photo is scowling at the camera while an older man, presumably one of his brothers, tries to do bunny ears behind him.
“When is this from?” Reese asks Damian, pointing to the photo.
Damian glances at the photo. “A year or so ago. You’ll meet some of them at dinner and on patrol.”
He moves past the photo without a second glance, and it has Reese second guessing himself. Is it okay to ask about pictures? He’s never been to someone else’s house before. There’s rules to this, he’s sure, but it’s not like there’s a guidebook for staying over at your half-brother’s mansion who you’ve only met this past summer. Maybe there should be.
Damian passes by his room and another before stopping at another door and opening it for Reese. “You’ll be staying in this guest room.”
The room is much larger than Reese’s room at home. The bed in the center of the room is king sized, and yet there’s also a couch in the corner and a desk in the other. A door to a bathroom is beside the bed and on the other side is a huge wardrobe that Reese is sure he could fit into.
Damian watches him put down his duffel bag before directing him back out the door and towards his own room. Damian strides in and crosses the room. It’s larger than the guest room, which is an incredible feat. A window is on the far side of the room, light streaming in to light up an easel with a fancy looking cart of art supplies next to it. Reese hovers in the doorway, unsure whether or not to follow Damian, who’s looking around his room.
Damian lifts his blanket covers, kneels to look under his dresser and bed, goes into and out of the bathroom, opens then closes his wardrobe, and finally opens his already half open closet. He makes a pleased hum, kneels again and shuffles around some fabric. When he turns back around, he’s holding a black and white cat that blinks like it was just woken up.
Damian presses the cat close and secure to his chest and waves Reese over. The cat takes a swipe at him when he tries to pet it. Damian tuts and instructs him to let the cat smell his hand first. The cat allows Reese to pet the soft fur between his ears after he does.
“Is this the first time you’ve even pet a cat?” Damian asks it sarcastically and with some bite, but when Reese thinks back, he realizes it is.
“Yes.” His fur is soft, and colored in a way that makes it look like he’s wearing white socks. He thinks one of his classmates mentioned having a cat named socks. Or maybe it was a dog? It’s a popular pet name, for sure. “I’ve met our neighbor’s dogs, but no cats. What’s his name?”
Damian frowns like he wants to say something else, but answers, “Alfred. I named him after my late… grandfather.”
Reese doesn’t know how to respond to that, so he doesn't. He keeps petting Alfred the cat. It’s a nice name for a cat. Better than Socks. Alfred wriggles around until Damian kneels down to let him jump out of his arms. He immediately jumps onto Damian’s bed and curls up around himself.
“I also have a dog. Do you want to look for him?” Reese nods and Damian leads him out of his room.
They go through long hallways with many doors lining them. Pictures are as frequent as windows in the wings held for family use. There’s not this many photos at home. Reese’s gotten Danny to print out some of the photos he’s taken, but those all go on Reese’s walls. There’s no official painted portraits like the one depicting Damian’s grandparents, but that’s not something Reese finds he wants. The giant painting is more of a daunting memorial than a memory, nothing like the one picture of Grant Joey gave him for his wall.
The dog is giant and sprawled in front of a lit fireplace in one of the many cozy rooms. This one has three worn couches and several gaming consoles. Throw blankets are tossed haphazardly throughout the room and tangled together. Damian whistles and the dog’s pointy ears perk up, then he pads over. He sits when Damian tells him to sit and shakes his hand with his paw when Damian holds it out.
“Cool,” Reese praises, holding out his own hand for the dog to shake. “Nice to meet you,” he adds, as he’s supposed to do during a handshake.
“His name is Titus,” Damian says. Reese pets the coarse brown hair of the dog’s back. It’s not as soft as the cat, but still has a nice texture. Damian scratches behind Titus’ ears. “He’s a great dane.”
Reese scratches the other ear. Titus leans into their hands. “Our neighbor has two huskies. They get into our yard sometimes.”
It’s actually quite the feat when they do, considering the mile between them and the neighbor’s house, but the huskies are young and a new addition. Father always complains when they do, but lets Reese go with Danny to return them. They’re excitable but their owner is an old man that can’t always follow them when they run off.
“Your yard. So you’re living in a house?”
Reese squints at him. “I’m not allowed to tell you anything about where I live.”
“Under your father’s orders?” Damian raises an eyebrow. Reese leans closer to Titus. Damian’s gaze is unwavering.
“Yes. He said you or your family would use it against us.”
Damian clicks his tongue, but doesn’t push the issue further.
–
Three of Damian’s siblings are waiting in the dining room when they arrive. The oldest is the one in the picture giving Damian bunny ears, and Reese also recognises the other two from the various wall photos. The younger asian girl was in the portrait, while the youngest black teen was in the less official looking pictures.
Father had offered to share his files on the Waynes before the trip, but Reese had turned it down, wanting to have a more natural introduction. However, staring three unknowns down in an otherwise comfy looking dining room is daunting.
Luckily, Damian takes the lead, stepping further into the room and taking his seat at the dining table, next to the oldest Wayne. When Reese hesitates at the doorway, Damian pointedly nudges the chair beside him. He sits down, still feeling eyes on him. The girl sitting across from him is blatantly staring, assessing, while her face remains mostly blank. It’s an unnerving expression, so Reese looks away.
This dining room cannot be the only one, since it’s not as opulent as the rooms near the front of the house, but the table is still longer than seems necessary. There’s room enough for at least ten people, but there are only five of them here, all crowding near one empty head of the table. A chandelier rests above the table, but it’s not as bright as it could be, several bulbs not lit up. From behind a door to the side Reese can hear the sounds of pots being moved around.
The girl in front of him breaks the silence by jutting out her hand to Reese. “Cass,” she introduces.
“Reese.” He shakes her hand. “Nice to meet you.”
That seems to break the tension, as the other two chime in with their own names–Dick being the older one, and Duke the younger. Reese waves at them in lieu of a handshake.
Duke is leaning heavily on the table and hunched over a mug of coffee, sitting on Cass’ left. Dick shifts to be on his elbows to see Reese around Damian. His eyes flutter over Reese’s face like he’s looking for something. Reese doesn’t shrink back, despite the urge to.
“You know, you don’t look that much like your dad,” Dick says.
“Don’t say that like it’s a compliment,” Reese immediately retorts, rolling his eyes.
Dick raises his hands in surrender and laughs. “Sorry, sorry, just an observation. You definitely have his glare.”
Reese smiles despite himself. He doesn’t share that many characteristics with his father, mainly the hair and the shape of his face. Having something to remind him of his dad and not his other DNA donor brings a pleasant warmth. “Thank you.”
Damian scoffs. “I don’t think that was a compliment either."
“I’m taking it as one,” Reese decides, turning a challenging smile to his brother.
The door to the kitchen swings open, and Dick jumps up from his chair to help Bruce carry in a large pot. Together they set out the pot of soup, a bowl of shredded chicken, and bowls and spoons for everyone at the table. They eat together silently for a few minutes, and Reese politely ignores the looks Dick and Bruce are sending at each other, trying to get a conversation going.
Reese takes mercy on them and starts the conversation himself, “So, what do you guys… do?”
Bruce frowns. “No shop talk at the table.”
It takes a few seconds to realize he means vigilante talk, and not actually owning a shop. “No, I meant your day jobs. You do have jobs, don’t you?”
It’s not a joke, but Duke snorts a laugh anyway. He does confirm, “I’m still in high school, but next year I’ll be going to Gotham U.”
Reese nods at him, accepting the answer. Being a student isn’t really a job, but Reese has learned that that’s one of the answers that are expected for the job question. He is nailing this small talk thing.
“Ballerina,” Cass states, gesturing to herself with her spoon.
“That sounds fun,” Reese says.
“It is.”
The quiet drags on for a second too long, but Cass has a small smile on her lips. She’s good at small talk too.
“I’ve been teaching gymnastics back in Blüd,” Dick chimes in, his smile a little forced.
Reese takes another sip of his soup. It’s good, if a little salty. Beside him, Damian seems to be ignoring the conversation in favor of feeding Titus under the table. Reese does not point this out.
“Blüd as in Blüdhaven?” Dick nods in confirmation. They passed the city on the way in, but not through it. It was very bright, even in the middle of the day. Oh, if Dick was from Blüdhaven, that probably means he’s Nightwing. Father’s said that there are a lot of vigilantes in Gotham, but Blüdhaven only has the one. It must be smaller than it looked. “You trained my sister.”
Rose talked about Nightwing whenever she joined Reese’s training. Usually to compare his technique to Father’s. He always seemed very annoyed whenever she did, despite him being the one to ask Nightwing to train her, apparently. It all seems like what Danny has named ‘Cape Drama’, and Reese isn’t very invested.
“I did!” Dick says, latching onto the topic like a fish to a worm. “How is she, anyway? And Joey? Honestly, it’s been so long since I’ve seen any of your siblings, what are they up to?”
“Wait, why do you know both of Deathstroke’s kids?” Duke asks, looking marginally more awake now.
“Well, like Reese said, I trained Rose for a bit. Joey was actually with the Titans for a while, until,” He grimaces and cuts himself off, finishing with, “until some things. Happened. I think he’s still active.”
“You know you can say he died,” Reese states, nonplussed and a little judgemental. “It’s not a curse, or something.”
Damian scoffs, joining in to stare at Dick, “And you would know if Jericho was active if you checked the Batcomputer files.”
Dick backs away from Reese and Damian dramatically, with a strained smile. He mumbles a “Double Al Ghul glare,” that he probably thinks Reese can’t hear. Reese ignores him to frown at Damian.
“You have files on my family?” Reese asks, incredulous.
“Yes.” Damian rolls his eyes. “Don’t act like your father doesn’t have documentation on us.”
Reese opens his mouth to refute, but finds he really can’t on that point. So he shrugs and resumes eating his soup. For some reason, his backing down seems to disturb Dick, as he stares at him like he’s said something incredibly off topic.
Bruce clears his throat, bringing attention to him. “So, what are your siblings up to?” He brings them back to the original question.
“Right,” Reese sets his spoon carefully to balance on his bowl so that the handle doesn’t fall in. “I don’t actually see Rose and Joey much. They visit occasionally, but Joey’s mostly in L.A. doing CEO stuff, and I’m not sure where Rose is at any time, but I’m pretty sure she’s still doing freelance security work.” Bruce makes a disapproving hum at that, but Reese carries on. “Danny’s still at home. Recently he’s been trying to fix one of Father’s trucks.”
All spoon sounds stop. Damian and Dick are looking at him with varying levels of confusion, while Cass and Bruce’s faces are carefully blank. Duke is unaffected however, as he takes a look at his family, rolls his eyes, then politely asks Reese who Danny is.
“My brother,” Reese answers. It’s silent for a little longer, and Damian joins his father and sister in having blank faces. Clearly they didn’t know about him. Figures. Danny doesn’t get out much. Reese again takes pity, and explains, “Danny was the one who got me out of the League. He stayed when we found Father. I take it you don’t have a file on him?”
“No, we don’t,” Damian says. Spoon sounds start up again, if a little slower. “We’ll have to make one when we go to the cave.”
Reese wrinkles his nose. “Do we have to?”
“If he knows our identities, then he needs to be logged.”
Reese heaves a long sigh, letting Damian know exactly what he thinks of that. “I’m not convinced he knows about anyone other than you.”
“That’s still a security risk.”
Reese scowls, but doesn’t argue, conceding the point. Reese’s father never had these concerns. Probably because him being Deathstroke is an open secret that a fifteen year old could figure out, but still. Secret identities seem so tiring.
“So, uh,” Dick starts, floundering for a second on what to say next. “How’s… School going? Slade did put you in school, right?”
“Of course,” Reese replies. “It’s going well, recently we started learning how to play instruments, and I’m on the violin. It’s fun.”
He gets to tell them about the violin and his classmates, then they take turns sharing anecdotes: Dick’s younger students being silly, Duke’s teachers getting into a fight, or Damian’s small comments about Titus’ shenanigans on walks. Cass doesn’t add much verbally, but nods along to the conversation. Bruce doesn’t say anything at all, but has a soft smile on his face the whole time.
–
The mask Damian chose for him is barely anything at all. Both Robin and Nightwing already have their domino masks on, but Reese just holds the one offered to him, already suited up except for the mask. Cass and Bruce have already left for patrol. Duke had gone to bed, apparently being the only day shift Gotham hero.
“Damian. I have bright white hair. This won’t do anything,” Reese points out, trying to hand the mask back over. Damian ignores him, still working on the Batcomputer’s file for Danny.
“That’s a good point, actually,” Dick chimes in, coming over from the weapons area, two escrima sticks sheathed on his back. His uniform looks more like a costume than anything protective. “Do we have anything else?”
Damian clicks his tongue and tells him to check the costume storage. Dick pouts, then smiles. He tells Reese to wait while he grabs a selection. The mischievous grin on his face says more than the resigned sigh Damian heaves.
“Come help me with this,” Damian calls. Reese steps over to the Batcomputer setup. It’s several large monitors taking up a good amount of wall space, with two normal sized keyboards on the desk below them. An assortment of tools, notebooks, and writing utensils is strewn across it. Reese adds his useless domino mask to the assortment.
“What do you need?”
“Demographic info.” Damian moves over to let Reese access the keyboard. On the middle and widest screen, Danny’s file is pulled up. Reese fills in the blanks and doesn’t correct his last name. Let him be a Wilson only for now, if Damian wants something more accurate, he’ll have to ask Danny himself. Politely.
Damian looks over the entries and nods to himself. He brings them over to the known associates section and fills out the rest of Reese’s family. Reese doesn’t offer to add anything, even if Clockwork might count. Again, something for Damian to figure out. The Bats are supposed to be detectives, right?
“Do you do this for everyone you meet?” Reese asks.
“Only if they’re relevant. Do you have a picture?”
Reese pulls out his phone and goes into the gallery to find one, ignoring the heart beat sneaking up behind him. Dick’s feet are silent as he takes a weird route to avoid Reese’s peripheral vision. He’s only marginally surprised when something heavy drops over his head, obscuring his vision in red.
“We had a few things!” Dick cheers, leaning his elbow on Reese’s shoulder. He reaches over and pushes the heavy thing on his head down so he can barely see through the eye holes. “Like an old Red Hood helmet.”
Reese says, “I can’t see in this,” the same time Damian asks, “Weren’t there explosives in that?”
“What?” Dick yelps, pulls the helmet off of Reese, and in one smooth motion throws it across the cave. It doesn’t explode, but it rolls across the floor and into one of the many chasms on the edges of the cave. “Oh, whoops.”
Really, the chasms are a safety concern. Reese wonders if anyone’s fallen down before, or dropped something important. The Batcave itself is a marvel, all high spiky ceilings and natural tunnels made into functional areas of operations. To the side are uniform cases, behind the computer is a docking area for an assortment of vehicles, to the other side and behind a curtain is what looks like a medical area, and past that must be a large costume storage area, because Dick’s arms are full of different hats and masks.
And don’t even get Reese started on the array of trophies strewn around the cave. The giant coin and playing card are impressive, but the dinosaur is the real masterpiece. He’s not even sure how they got that down here.
Dick shrugs off the fallen helmet and moves onto his next thing: a black cowl that too goes over Reese’s eyes. Reese huffs and pulls this one off himself.
“Don’t you have anything that won’t blind me?” He snarks.
Dick distracts himself with going through his pile long enough for Reese to find a picture of Danny to give to Damian. Damian takes the phone and through a series of clicking buttons and popups that Reese doesn’t quite understand, gets the picture onto the screen.
It’s a picture of Danny squatting next to his grave, smiling at the camera and throwing up a peace sign. It’s the only picture Reese had with only Danny in it, all the others having some assortment of their siblings, father, and Wintergreen.
Dick discards a purple spiky mask, a rainbow cowl, a cowl with what looks like cat ears and goggles, and several more domino masks before settling on what looks like just blackish-blueish fabric with eyeholes cut out. He hands it to Reese, and sees the picture. His smile falters.
“Uh, whose grave is that?” Dick frowns down at Reese, but still gives him the fabric hood.
“His own,” Reese supplies. He pulls the hood on and adjusts until he can see out of the eye holes, then ties the excess fabric behind his head. “Rose said the pose was a meme. I don’t get it, but Danny laughed.”
“Why does he have a grave?” Damian asks, without looking away from the screen. He crops it so that it’s just Danny’s face in the file picture.
“He died, why else would he have a grave?” Reese rolls his eyes, then realizes that they can’t see it very well through the eye holes. Other than that, the hood works fine. “He didn’t get a grave at the time, so we made one in the backyard.”
Dick makes a pained noise and looks a little like he’s going to throw up. He doesn’t say anything, though, just shares a look with Damian through their poorly chosen domino masks. Damian breaks their staring contest first, closing Danny’s file and turning off the computer.
Damian steps away from the desk, over to the docking area and the waiting bikes without looking back.
“Well? What are we waiting for?” He throws over his shoulder.
–
Reese finds he does not like the motorcycle. He rides behind Robin because he doesn’t know how to drive, and while Robin is definitely a better driver than Danny, he still takes really tight turns. It’s a gift when they finally stash the bike and grapple up to the roofs.
Nightwing sticks with them even after regrouping with Batgirl and Batman, despite Robin’s not so subtle nudging to leave them be. Their current objective is only casual patrol through the Upper East Side through the Upper West side, keeping an eye out for any Scarecrow-like activity.
Grappling from roof to roof is a workout done in near silence. Reese follows after Damian, watching him effortlessly know where to snag and when to retract his line. Reese’s own practice with a grappling gun has only been in the vaulted ceilings at the house’s gym. It’s clear Damian knows the city, and Dick more so, with how often he ditches the grapple altogether to flip across the gaps.
Any communication that needs to be done is with either short phrases or hand signals. It’s a masterpiece of efficiency, and leaves Reese several steps behind. Both of them have years of experience not only in these streets, but as vigilantes, as heroes. Reese’s only experience was the Lazaurus tournament, and that still had safeguards on it.
Reese wraps the chain of his kusarigama around a thug’s foot and slams him into the ground. The three of them jumped to intervene in a drug exchange, which resulted in a large battle around the overturned truck in the quickly vacated street.
“Careful with the head injuries, Respawn,” Nightwing chides lightly, kicking his own opponent in the chest hard enough to knock the wind out of them.
“I know,” Reese mutters back at him. It’s been like this the entire night: if Robin and Nightwing aren’t taking care of their opponents before Reese can get to them, then they’re politely yet repeatedly reminding him of how flimsy base humans can be. Like they don’t think Reese is skilled enough to hurt without lethality.
The thugs are taken care of in short time: knocked out, zip tied, or injured enough to not fight back. Respawn and Robin grapple up to the top of an overlooking building while Nightwing calls then talks to the police. They observe in silence, red and blue lights lighting up their uniforms.
Once the police take the criminals and evidence away, Nightwing rejoins them on the rooftop. Before they can go back to swinging, Reese speaks up.
“You don’t need to keep watching me like I’m going to mistakenly severely hurt someone.”
Robin’s eyes narrow behind his red mask. He crosses his arms in front of his chest, defensive. “I’m more concerned you’ll do it on purpose.”
“Excuse me?” Reese snaps, taking a determined step forward to argue. He doesn’t unsheath his weapon, but he does clench his fists.
“Woah, hey,” Dick interrupts, putting himself between Reese and Damian.
Reese pauses. He takes a step back. His initial outburst was because of the insinuation he’s not smart enough to know how hard and where to hit. However, Dick stepped in between them like he was concerned Reese would hurt Damian. Like Reese is a person who defaults to violence.
“Oh, I see what the problem is,” Reese says, also crossing his arms. “I’m not going to kill anyone. I might be trained to be lethal, but I’m not going to do that unless it’s an emergency.”
Damian uncrosses his arms and his brow furrows. “But your father does.”
“And? I’m not my father,” Reese says and shrugs. “Besides, it’s technically Danny’s rule.”
“Names,” Robin says, but there’s not much heat in the reprimand.
“He doesn’t have a code name, what else am I supposed to call him?”
That’s not entirely true, but he doubts Danny’d appreciate him calling him Phantom or Inviso-Bill in front of strangers.
“Oh, we can make one up!” Dick suggests, smiling. He’s standing closer to Reese now, less wary. “Maybe he can have another ‘R’ name.”
Damian clicks his tongue. “No, there are too many already.”
Dick laughs it off and leads the way to the next rooftop. The rest of patrol is spent with more quiet chatter than it started with. They don’t come up with a code name for Danny, but Reese does learn there are two other Gotham vigilantes with ‘R’ names.
–
The one full day Reese gets in the manor is exceedingly mundane. He eats breakfast with the same people he ate dinner with the night before, as apparently they’re the ones that live there. Except Dick, who leaves back to Blüdhaven after breakfast.
Damian takes Reese on Titus’ morning walk and lets him throw a ball for him. It’s fun, despite the cold weather outside. Titus is a big dog, but is very quick. He wonders if Father would let him get a dog. Reese plays fetch with him for a while before Damian says they should go back inside.
They retreat to the library (one of them! Because there’s more than just one giant room in this giant house filled with books!) some time after lunch and Titus follows after them. Damian sets up an easel and paints, documenting the dog’s position curled up in front of the fireplace. Reese scans the bookshelves, smiling when he realizes most are mystery novels.
He curls up on one of the couches with Agatha Christie’s Murder on the Orient Express . Reese and Damian occupy the room together in companionable silence for about an hour when Alfred the cat finds them. He trots over to Damian, then when he finds his hands occupied goes to Reese. Reese holds the book away and reaches down to pet the cat. Alfred butts his head against Reese’s hand, then jumps up onto the couch with him.
Reese watches in awe as Alfred steps onto his stomach (ow), and kneads his paws against him. Reese reaches out to pet his back. Alfred butts against his hand again and slumps forward, laying his head down just in front of Reese’s collarbone. Reese turns his head to Damian to tell him to look, but Damian’s already watching, smiling. Reese smiles back and resumes his book, petting Alfred with the hand not holding it.
Alfred stays for a while, and only moves when someone new walks into the library. Reese watches Alfred leave with a frown, but the cat brushes against the new person’s boots.
The new guy doesn’t pet Alfred, stopping in the doorway of the library and staring at Reese with a frown. He’s tall, probably a little taller than Bruce and more muscular. There’s a white streak of hair down the front of his black curls. The discoloration reminds Reese of Danny’s white streak when they first met, but he doubts this is another case of suppressing ghostliness.
“Who the fuck’re you?” He asks, voice rough like he smokes.
“Reese,” Reese answers.
Damian clicks his tongue, cutting in and looking past his easel. “Todd, this is my mother’s and Slade Wilson’s clone. He’s visiting. You would know that if you actually checked your messages.”
Oh, another of Damian’s brothers. Makes sense.
Todd looks over at Reese with a more critical eye, frowning. “Does Talia know?”
“As far as I’m aware,” Reese says before Damian can, “she doesn’t know I exist.”
Damian’s eyes snap towards him. “What?”
Reese meets his gaze and shrugs. “Your grandfather made me without her knowledge, and I left before she could find me after the tournament.”
Todd’s taken their distraction to step over the bookshelves, scanning the titles. It’s clear he’s still listening to them, but not with much interest.
Damian purses his lips, his eyes narrowing. “We’ll have to invite her next time you visit,” Damian decides. He goes back to his painting like his word is the final say. Reese frowns and turns around fully on the couch to face his half-brother.
“I wouldn’t mind visiting again, but I don’t want to meet Talia.”
“She’s your mother,” Damian insists.
“I’m her clone,” Reese repeats Damian’s own words. “Father might’ve accepted me as his son, but I have no assumption Talia would do the same. What if she tries to send me back to the League?”
Reese resolutely ignores how his voice breaks in the middle of the question. But the prospect of going back to that mountain, back to the table and the scalpels and the pain and not being able to do anything against it builds a lump in his throat no amount of bravado can help him swallow.
“She wouldn’t,” Damian declares, glaring now.
“I don’t know that,” Reese insists. He barely knows a thing about her.
Damian scowls, ready to argue further, but Todd chimes in, “Kid’s got a point.” Damian turns his glare on him, and Todd shrugs, one hand holding a thin book. “Not about sending him back, she wouldn’t, but it’d be hard to get any actual intentions outta her. Especially with,” Todd waves his unoccupied hand to indicate Reese’s situation.
Damian somehow scowls harder. “Be quiet, Todd. Why are you even here?”
“I wanted my copy of The Great Gatsby ,” Todd answers, holding up the book and flipping through to show them some of the pages. “It’s annotated.”
Reese can’t help the look of disgust on his face, completely dropping his and Damian’s argument. “You write in your books?”
Todd rolls his eyes. “It’s called having a conversation with the text. Try it sometime.” He waves and turns back to the door. “Later, nerds.”
Damian rolls his own eyes at Todd’s in a funnily similar way to his brother, then looks back to Reese. He purses his lips again, but turns back to his painting.
He addresses Reese without looking at him, “I won’t force you to meet Mother, but I would like you to think about it.”
Reese picks his book up again. “We’ll see.”
–
This night’s patrol is slower and quieter than last night’s. The quiet is mostly due to Nightwing being back in Blüdhaven, but the slowness is because Respawn and Robin have been relegated to stakeout duty for a good portion of the night. They’re on a roof overlooking a warehouse with convenient skylights, looking through binoculars at the people below. The workers inside are stacking boxes, lounging around, or playing cards. It’d be nothing out of a dock worker’s schedule if not for the heavily armed guards patrolling around the outside of the warehouse.
“Do you do this a lot?” Reese asks, motioning with his binoculars. It’s cold up here, more noticeable now that they aren’t moving.
“Yes,” Damian says, not tearing his eyes from the scene below. “A lot of detective work is watching and waiting.”
Reese hums in acknowledgment. It’s rather boring. Sure, keeping track of the people is a little entertaining–Reese has been making up names for them and working on increasingly ludicrous backstories–but that’s all there is to look at. He can’t imagine doing this every night.
“Are you always going to be a detective?” Reese asks. He shifts to lean on the roof ledge more, cheek against cold stone through the thin fabric of his mask. Damian flicks his eyes back at him and raises an eyebrow in question. “I guess I mean if you’re going to be one as a job. Or are you just going to be Robin forever?”
“...There is a tradition of dropping the Robin mantle eventually, moving onto a new one.”
“Is that the only option? Are you not allowed to just stop being a vigilante?”
Damian abandons his binoculars to squint at Reese. “What are you getting at?”
“Nothing.” Reese shrugs. “Just doesn’t seem very interesting.”
“It doesn’t have to be interesting,” Damian dismisses, going back to actually watching the warehouse. “It’s for the good of the city and its people.”
“Okay.” He hasn’t seen much of Gotham, but it must be pretty great if Damian cares so much. Or just really crime-ridden. “What about your actual job?”
“Are you seriously asking what I want to be when I grow up?”
“Yeah, I guess. Why? Is that bad?” Reese looks back through his binoculars. The guard he’s nicknamed Dennis is having a smoke break with a worker he’s named Barney. Riveting.
“It’s cliche.”
“Oh. Sorry?”
Neither talk for a few minutes, watching the activity below them. None of the boxes have been opened, and no one new has come.
“...I’ve been thinking about pursuing medical school,” Damian breaks the silence once Dennis and Barney are back working.
“That’s cool. Seems like a lot of work.”
Damian clicks his tongue. “Compared to League training, I doubt it will be much of a trial.”
“Fair enough.” Reese’s own training feels like a trial at times. It’s better now that he got Danny to join, and even more so when Rose can also stop by.
“...What about you?” Damian asks after a few more minutes of warehouse watching, “What do you want to be when you grow up?”
“I don’t know.” Reese smiles. He’s only been out for like three years. He has the whole world ahead of him.
–
The next stakeout shift comes to bail them out around two in the morning. That being Batgirl and another vigilante who introduces herself as Spoiler. Her costume has more color than Robin or Batgirl’s, even if the only color is purple. Damian’s red accents don’t hold a candle to her eggplant purple cape, boots, gloves, belt, mouth mask, and side accents. Her blue eyes are fully visible, as are her blonde bangs, unlike Batgirl’s black full face mask.
Spoiler does a visible double take at Reese, staring at his face. “Is that my old mask?”
“Yes,” Damian answers for him, “He needed a new one and Nightwing found that in storage.”
Batgirl steps forward silently, her heartbeat the only indicator of her location. She looms slightly over Reese for a moment, looking down at him with stitched blank eyes. In the next moment she’s sweeping Respawn up by the armpits and holding him up to the light.
“Cute mask,” She declares. Spoiler snickers.
“I will cut you,” Reese threatens without really meaning it. His feet are dangling. Batgirl isn’t that much taller than him, but she’s holding him up enough for his toes to scrape the roof.
“Lying!” Batgirl sing-songs, swaying him slightly back and forth. She finally sets him down, then points at him. “New brother.”
She says it as an explanation to Spoiler, but Reese replies before she can, “I’m not your brother.”
“No?” She tilts her head to the side and slightly down. It’s a normal gesture, but on her it looks calculated and eerie.
“No, I’m his brother,” Reese gestures to Robin, who’s just staring at the interaction, looking slightly amused. “that doesn’t make me yours.”
Batgirl gasps dramatically and clutches her suit over her heart. “Betrayal!”
“Oh!” Spoiler cheers, stepping into Reese’s space. “Another for the Gotham-vigilante-but-not-B’s-kid club!”
She holds her hand out for a high five, but Reese leaves her hanging. Instead he steps away from her and back over to Robin. It’s obvious she’s pouting under the mask, so Batgirl high fives her instead.
“I’m not a Gotham vigilante.”
“Then why’re you out, on patrol, in Gotham?” Spoiler asks, crossing her arms like she’s just made a good point.
“We’re bonding,” Reese states, crossing his own arms.
“What?” Damian asks, whipping his head over to Reese. He frowns and furrows his eyebrows, visible only a little over the domino. “Is that why you wanted to patrol?”
“Yes?” Reese uncrosses his arms, but can’t figure out what to do with them so crosses them again. “Why else? I don’t particularly care about Gotham or its crime.”
Damian gapes at him. For a second Reese thinks he insulted him, but he looks more confused than anything.
“But… we’ve barely talked on patrol?”
“And? We’re still hanging out. That’s what I do with my siblings; we occupy the same space.” Reese shrugs. It just seems like the most beneficial way. Being in the same room as Joey while he’s working on his laptop, passing Danny tools in the garage, or napping near Rose while she’s watching a movie. Even with his dad, it’s easier to just be there than force a conversation.
“Awww,” Spoiler coos from the side, leaning against Batgirl, who pretends to wipe a tear.
Damian scowls at both of them and stomps towards the other side of the roof, pulling Reese by the wrist to drag him along. Reese could break out of his hold, but he goes willingly.
“We still have ground to cover before you leave. Come on, Repawn.”
Reese smiles at his brother’s back, then salutes in a goodbye to Spoiler and Batgirl.
–
.
.
.
–
Danny has never had more respect for his parents than when he was trying to fix a truck. The G.A.V. was really a work of art, he should have appreciated it more. Sure, there were some wires that dangled from the ceiling, and the weapons that targeted him a lot, but at least it could be driven by other people. The Fenton Truck can’t. Danny’s the only one who calls it that, but it’ll catch on eventually, no matter how many times Slade rolls his eye or Reese makes fun of it. Danny has a brand to uphold now.
But anyway, the Fenton Truck (™ pending) refuses to start when it’s not Danny behind the wheel. No matter what he’s tried, no one else can get it to work. Well, neither Reese nor Slade can, since those were the only two that tried to start it. So the current theory is that Danny’s somehow affecting it with ghost stuff, making it work for him and no one else.
Whatever the reason, the Fenton Truck has been working flawlessly the entire time Danny’s been driving to Gotham. The only reason he’s stopping at a gas station now is because he wants a snack.
He parks the car without hitting the curbstop and doesn’t bother locking it. Really, the only thing of value in there would be some of Reese’s books and a gun Slade left stashed under the seat. The black pickup truck still has a few dents and scrapes here and there, but despite it all, Danny’s proud to say he raised it up from the condition Slade gave up on it in. Even if it took the better part of seven months.
Danny steps through the gas station doors, wrinkling his nose at the sudden onslaught combination of sweetness leaking from the slushee machine and the acidic cleaning chemicals wafting from the floor. The floor sticks against his shoes as he makes a beeline to the candy aisle. Ah, gas stations: the same from Frankfort to Newark.
Danny scans the snacks, landing on a bag of mini oreos, then the golden version for Reese on the way back. Someone walks into the aisle with him, but he only looks over when they drop a pop bottle.
When he does look over, all he can do is stare.
“Danny?” She asks, voice wavering like she’s not completely sure she’s seeing him for real.
It’s Valerie. Her hair is shorter, in the almost buzzcut she had in the future but without the aged Red Huntress uniform. She’s wearing a furlined leather jacket, orange shirt, and her jeans are tucked into red boots. She looks good. The dropped pepsi bottle rolls down the aisle.
Danny mutely picks it up, then hands it to her. She takes it, equally quiet. Neither dare to breathe for a moment. How long has it been?
“Uh, hey, Val,” Danny finally ventures. Still, she stares, her eyes raking up and down his form. Danny shuffles on his feet, suddenly conscious of how much he must still look like the version of him she remembers. “Geez, you look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
He can’t help the smile, but Valerie frowns at him. She places a hand on her hip and rolls her eyes. “Some people at school said you were dead, you know.”
“Yeah?” He did not know that, actually.
“Yeah.” She shrugs, acting casual despite the way she barely lets her eyes wander, like he’ll disappear if she looks away too long. “Dunno who started it, but you weren’t around to dispute it, so…”
Danny laughs. “Figures.”
Valerie smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes. It’s silent for another moment or two, other than the gas station humming and the bell chimes for people coming in.
“We should talk,” Valerie says. Shrugs. “Catch up.”
“Yeah, okay.”
He’s not on a strict timetable, anyway.
–
They end up outside, wiping a light dusting of snow off the tables in the open space between the gas station and the larger semi-truck parking area. They sit across from each other, and if Danny moves his leg at all he might accidentally bump into Valerie’s. It’s cold, but not enough to outweigh the privacy the spot gives.
“So,” She starts, leaning forward. “What the hell happened to you after the accident?”
Danny sighs, and resigns himself to giving her a condensed version of events: “Well, first I went to live with my godfather, but long story short that didn’t work out and I left. I eventually ended up with a family in Kentucky.”
“Huh.” Valerie crosses her arms over her chest. “Then what are you doing in New Jersey?”
“Picking up my younger brother from Gotham. You?”
“Brother? Geez, you really have moved on,” She says, and Danny knows she’s not really rebuking him, but he still has to stomp down a bit of anger. There’s no real moving on from losing his first family. Danny only shrugs instead of answering. Valerie continues, “I just came from Gotham, actually. College tour.”
“Oh! That’s cool, how was it?”
“Good. Kinda spooky, but that’s the whole city.” She smiles and snorts, “Not Amity spooky, I didn’t see a single ghost.”
“Are there still ghosts in Amity?” Danny asks, knowing his face is twisting with worry. He’d thought that the problem would be dealt with after the lab exploded.
Valerie smiles vindictively. “No real ones. Hasn’t been a single one since, uh, your house…” She stumbles over the last few words, realizing that it might strike a nerve and trips into a different topic. “We still have the haunted town award, but now it’s mostly ‘cause of the tourist trap stuff.”
Can he take that as a reason not to go back? That there’s no real reason to, no ghosts left to put back, no family left to visit, no loose ends. Valerie twists her hands around the pop bottle, and Danny catches a glance of the many red bracelets decorating her wrist. Well, there’s one loose end he can tie up without going anywhere.
“Hey, so,” Danny hedges, starting without really having a plan. “You were the Red Huntress, right?
“Who?” Valerie asks, her face scrunching in confusion.
“Oh, uh,” Ancients, he can feel the blush on his cheeks. “Well, that was the name Sam, Tuck, and I used. The red suited ghost hunter, the one on the hoverboard? That was you.”
Valerie laughs, and it’s the same laugh that she had last time he’d seen her. It’s almost insulting how the little things haven’t changed while everything else has. “You made a name for me?”
Danny waits for her laughter to die down. He takes the opportunity to glance around the area. It’s not populated as far as he can see, the bench too far away from the main gas station area for foot traffic.
Valerie’s laughs peter off, and she makes a show of wiping a fake tear from her eye. “Yeah, that was me, the Red Huntress.” She’s smiling still. “Not anymore, though. No ghosts to hunt. Why’d you ask?”
“I wanted to apologize.” Okay, here goes, full truth. Valerie deserves to know. “I’m sorry for outing you to your dad.”
Valerie frowns, confused, then her expression dawns with realization, going back over their whole rivalry, probably. “You–”
Danny transforms. It doesn’t feel like as big a deal as it used to. When he got back into using ghost form (mostly during training sessions with Slade and Reese), the cold overpowered him for a minute or two, frost covering him before he got it under control. Now, though, all that cold condenses only into a fog coming out of his mouth, and sticking to the stars marring his skin.
Danny had tried to make them go away. It didn’t work.
Danny watches Valerie gawk for a minute before transforming back. That, too, has gotten easier. The cold slips from the surface back to his core, biding its time to deep freeze him again. Danny shivers and pulls his jacket tighter, looking down at the table to avoid Valerie’s eyes.
He looks up when she pushes up and away from the picnic table. Valerie stomps over to his side, pulls him up with one hand on the front of his shirt, and punches him in the face with her other hand. The pain is dull, and she drops him into the light smattering of snow below.
“Ow.”
“You asshole! Do you know how long I was grounded? The arguments me and my dad had? I bet you didn’t even tell your parents about–” She cuts herself off mid-rant, pointed finger wavering in front of his face. “Uh, what are you?”
Danny shrugs. “Dead. Well, half-ghost, technically, but y’know. Dead.”
The snow is seeping into his pants, but he doesn’t move from the ground. Valerie’s face goes through a few different expressions: worried, regret, insulted, before landing on frowning sadly down at him. She holds out a hand and pulls him up from the cold.
“Sorry,” Valerie says, crossing her arms defensively. “Not about punching you. Just, sorry for your loss.”
Danny snorts. “Thanks.” His eye stings a little, bruise definitely forming, but it’s not a big deal. He heals fast.
A rush of wind blows through the picnic area and Valerie shivers, looking up at the cloudy sky. She sighs, holding her jacket closer to herself. “Look, I gotta get going before the weather gets bad. But,” she hesitates for a second before pulling out her phone. “Can I get your number? Or a handle for something? I don’t… I don’t wanna lose contact again. I know we weren’t that close, but…”
“Sure,” Danny agrees easily, pulling out his phone too. “We’re the only ghost hunters left, right? Ghostbusters gotta stick together.”
Valerie smiles, despite the stupid joke. They trade numbers and walk back to the parking lot together, before splitting ways. Valerie back to Amity Park and Danny to Gotham.
His eye itches the entire drive.
–
Wayne Manor is big, old, and intimidating. Danny would not be surprised to see a ghost peeking out of one of the upper windows. None appear as he hops up the stone steps to the giant doorway, but he keeps an eye out. Danny uses the door knocker three times, and a minute or two later the doors open to a man younger than Slade, but not by much.
He’s tall, again, not as tall as Slade, but that’s a hard thing to attain without enhancements. His black hair is tinted with grays at the edges and styled back away from his face. Despite being past typical working hours, he’s wearing a business suit that does nothing to hide how muscular he is. Something itches in the back of Danny’s mind.
“Hi,” Greets Danny, waving at the man, “Mr. Wayne, right? I’m here for Reese.”
Wayne blinks, his blue eyes scanning over Danny briefly before softening and nodding. “Right, he said you were on the way. Danny?”
“Yup.”
Wayne lets him into the entrance hall, but doesn’t lead him further into the house. That’s fine, Danny isn’t interested in getting lost in a mansion. Wayne’s still stealing glances at him, looking for something. The itching gets a little worse, closer to him. Like a thought saying Danny should recognise him from somewhere, maybe know him? No, that’s not exactly right…
Something scuffles to the left, footsteps coming down the stairs. It’s Reese and–judging from the similar skin color, nose, and glare–his half-brother. Damian. Reese has his duffel bag hanging off of one shoulder, and he and Damian are talking about a library as they come down the stairs into the entranceway.
Reese smiles when he sees Danny and races forward, crushing him into a hug. Danny of course hugs him back and patiently takes the bag when he’s asked.
“Damian said I could borrow some books. They have two libraries, Danny! Two!” Reese exclaims, almost bouncing in place. Damian walks over at a much more sedate pace, his own once-over of Danny eerily similar to the older Wayne’s.
“Sounds good, Re.” Danny smiles down at his brother, shifting the duffel to his own shoulder.
Having Damian and Wayne closer makes the itching click with recognition. He doesn’t know them from anything, they’re just touched by death. Death seems to have marked them similar to Joey; they’ve probably both died before. Damian he might understand, being Robin, but Wayne? The Bruce Wayne? Dying, sure, but coming back to life? How would that happen?
“Cool! We’ll–” Reese starts, then cuts himself off abruptly, staring at Danny’s face. “What happened to your eye?”
Danny shrugs, not bothering to touch the purpling bruising around his eye. A perk of healing fast: all parts of healing go fast. Even forming bruises. “Nothing major. Met an old friend at a gas station.”
Reese gasps, dramatically. “You have friends?”
“Yes, I have friends. Twerp.” Danny flicks Reese’s forehead even as his brother laughs. “Go get your books, then we’ll head out. ‘Kay?”
“Okay,” Reese says, then leaves with Damian to the right.
Danny stays in the entrance with Wayne. He rocks his heels back and forth for a second before resigning himself to starting a conversation. If Reese doesn’t have anything picked out already, they could be here for a while. It’d be annoying if Danny wasn’t so proud of how far he’s come.
“So,” Danny starts, turning to Bruce, “did they get along?”
Bruce turns to him, looking away from the hallway the boys disappeared into. “Yes. They make a good team.”
Danny sighs, “Good. I was worried they wouldn’t.”
A fair assumption, since they haven’t really interacted outside the tournament before. Even if this visit was based on patrolling together, and that’s not really a get to know each other kind of activity. Danny’s patrols rarely had downtime for that, or if there was downtime the three of them would just call it for the night.
Bruce hums in agreement. He glances at Danny again, his look searching. Danny meets his eyes with a raised eyebrow.
“You don’t look much like your father,” Bruce observes, plainly. It takes a minute for Danny to realize he’s talking about Slade, not Jack.
“Oh. Yeah?” Danny says, a little at a loss. Does he think that Slade is, like, actually his dad? Biologically, not just legally? What had Reese told them?
“Yes,” Bruce confirms, like it was really a question. “Did you dye your hair?”
“No, it started black.” Danny doesn’t explain the rest, interested in the way Bruce’s expression closes off, gears turning behind his eyes. A part of Danny wants to know what conclusions he’s coming to, but the forlorn look Bruce settles on dissuades the curiosity.
Reese and Damian come back into the room, Reese holding three books. A tuxedo patterned cat pads behind them, rubbing against Damian’s leg when they stop in front of Bruce and Danny. Damian smoothly picks the cat up into his arms, petting and scratching it behind the ears.
Reese takes his bag back and carefully puts his mystery novels into it before shouldering it and turning to face Bruce and Damian.
“Thank you for letting me stay over. I had a good time,” He says, “I hope we can do this again sometime.”
Damian nods in agreement. “Maybe next time I could come over to your house.”
Danny doesn’t hide his wince, imagining the hissy fit Slade would have at the security risk. Damian’s eyes flick to him, his gaze sharp. “I doubt Slade would go for that. Maybe you could find a third place?”
Damian’s eyes narrow at him, but he nods again. The cat in his arms starts wiggling, so he kneels down and lets it hop out of his arms.
“Good idea,” Reese says. He hikes his bag up more onto his shoulder, looking at Damian and hesitating. He sways for a second before reaching over and pulling Damian into a quick hug. He backs off before Damian can reciprocate, and Damian watches him with wide eyes. “Until next time, then. Goodbye.”
Reese nods at Bruce for his goodbye, and turns to the door. Danny follows after him, smiling at the two Waynes.
“Thanks for watching him,” He says, hovering in the doorway while Reese heads to the Fenton Truck. “Can you extend my thanks to Batman too?”
He figures that they know the dude if his son is staying with Wayne as a cover story. Danny’s first thought is that they’re dating, but he doesn’t want to make any assumptions when they’re already halfway out the door.
Bruce looks at him, face expressionless, but Damian steps forward.
“Of course. Have a safe drive.”
“Thanks.”
Danny waves and closes the large doors behind him. He hops down the steps and joins Reese in the car, his brother already settled into the passenger seat and digging around the bag of gas station snacks he got. Danny slides into the driver’s seat and turns the car on. Reese wrinkles his nose at the Katy Perry blasting through the sound system and switches his efforts to finding a different CD.
“So, are you and Damian friends now?” Danny asks as he pulls out of the manor’s long driveway.
“Yes,” Reese immediately says, “I also got his number. He said he’s going to send me pet pictures. He has a lot of them.”
“I saw the cat, what else does he have?”
Reese launches into an explanation about the menagerie Damian’s somehow collected. Danny drives them out of Gotham, keeping an eye on the road even as his peripherals are distracted by Reese’s excited hand movements to describe the cow’s spots.
They have a long drive home, but he’s happy to hear the detailed recount of Reese’s visit.