Just Don't Ask Me How I Am

SUMMARY:

Batman is de-aged after getting hit by a spell while fighting a magical battle. Dick, Jason, and the Justice Leaguers closest to Bruce learn some of his most terrible secrets and must figure out how to deal with him.

AUTHOR'S NOTE:

As usual, I own nothing. This fic has some rather strong triggers for child abuse and rape/sexual abuse, so please be warned. It wasn't a fun fic to write, and I don't think "fun" would be a word anyone who reads it will associate with this particular fic.

This story is unbeta-read, any and all mistakes are mine; I hope you won't judge this too strictly.

The title of this fic is a line from Suzanne Vega's song, "Luka."

Nightwing has just come home from a relatively quiet patrol of Blüdhaven when his communicator beeps, indicating an incoming call. "Nightwing here."

"Nightwing, it's Red Robin. How long would it take you to get to the Watchtower?"

"Maybe five, ten minutes? I just got home, and I'll need to get to a neutral location if it isn't urgent."

"Can you be at the roof of BPD headquarters in ten? I got a call from the Justice League. B took a hit for Superman during a battle with a new magical supervillain, and something's wrong. Whatever it is isn't life-or-death urgent, but apparently the Demon Brat is not playing well with the JL founders, and B isn't able to step in."

"And Alfred's on vacation," Dick says, sighing. "I take it you're still on mission with the Titans?"

"Yeah. I could leave, but it would mess up some of what we've got planned, so if it's not an emergency, I'd rather not."

Especially since any injuries will leave Batman grumpier than usual yet still in denial he needs rest or treatment, Dick thinks. "Any details on what's the matter? Supes is usually pretty good at nagging B into the infirmary if necessary."

"Sounds like a standard de-aging spell, but none of the JL magic users can be pulled in until tomorrow."

Dick grins and all but bounces on his feet. "Bruce got de-aged?"

"Yep, and I know you offered to take charge last time it happened, so I figured—"

"Tell them I'll be right there! Give me five minutes to get into position, then have them lock onto my coms and zeta beam me up."

"Cool. Mr. Terrific's on duty in the Monitor Womb, and he says they have the transporter bay ready and waiting for your arrival."

Nightwing leaves his apartment by way of the window. He's so excited, he can't help doing a few extra flips and vaults as he traverses Blüdhaven's rooftops on his way to the roof of the BPD. Once in position, he taps his coms. "Nightwing to Watchtower. One ready for transport."

"Acknowledged. Transporting in three, two, one."

There's a wash of light, and Nightwing blinks into the sudden brightness of the Watchtower transporter bay.

"Dick! Ohthankgodyou'reherewegottagetyoutotheinfirmary!"

"Woah, Wally," Dick says, laughing as the scarlet-clad speedster appears at his side. "Slow down and update me so I don't walk in blind."

"Well, Batman's been—"

"De-aged, I know," Dick says happily. "Tim told me. But what do we know about how long it'll last? And how old is he? Does he remember who he is or does he think he's still a kid?" Flash starts chewing on his bottom lip nervously. "Hey, Flash, chill out. It's not my first time on the age-regression roadshow."

And it really isn't the first time the former Robin has seen his mentor in this sort of predicament. It isn't even the second. Or the third. Magic users, it seems, are a strangely unimaginative lot, and at this point, Dick has seen Bruce regressed to the ages of one, four, six, and twelve. All thanks to missions involving either magic users or alien technology.

Dick supposes that last, preteen Bruce doesn't quite count. It's the only time Bruce was de-aged so that he retained his memories of being Batman; the Justice League had agreed to the transformation in order to defeat a power-mad Mordred, who had banished all adults in the world to a shadow dimension at the time. Dick hadn't been involved with that mission, but he's been present for the other three times Bruce had been de-aged.

And Dick loves taking care of de-aged Bruce. As a child, his mentor is as brilliant and intuitive as he ever is, but so much more open, cheerful, affectionate, and just downright adorable. In fact, some of Dick's squidgier moments with Damian happen because the boy looks so much like a miniature version of his father that sometimes Dick just has to hug him. It's practically a biological imperative.

Dick is pretty sure the rest of the Justice League—the founders in particular—share his opinion that kiddie Bruce is simply unbridled cuteness, so he's a little surprised at how harried the Flash looks. In fact, last time, when Bruce was a six-year-old, Dick had had to pull out the Bat Family card to get the mini-Batman away from Flash, Superman, and Wonder Woman.

"It's not like last time, Dick," Flash says. "There's something seriously wrong. Bruce doesn't remember being Batman. J'onn says he's physically about ten years old, and Bruce confirmed that, and he told us his name too. But he's not like the Bruce we met before…"

Flash looks as distraught as Dick has ever seen him. Nightwing frowns. "Maybe you'd better start from the beginning, tell me what happened."

But Flash just shakes his head. "No time," he says. "In fact, let me speed you over."

And before Dick can protest, he feels himself get picked up, his stomach roiling at the feeling of displacement as he is deposited in the waiting room of the infirmary in under a second. Dick grimaces and takes a few moments to just breathe in and out, centering himself and waiting for the nausea to subside.

"Sorry," Flash says sheepishly.

Just then, the doors of the surgery slide open, and Robin walks out, phone in hand and a scowl on his face. He looks up, and upon seeing Dick, puts the phone away. He looks relieved to see his eldest brother, and this adds to Dick's confusion. "Gr—Nightwing," Damian says curtly. "You need to talk to Fa—Batman."

That Damian nearly breaks Bruce's no-civilian-names-while-in-uniform rule not once but twice is worrying. When the boy merely turns on his heel and heads back into the surgery, Dick follows.

"I'll just… stay out here," Flash says lamely. But the two Bat Family members have already dismissed him.

The tableau that greets him is even more perplexing. Standing in the far corner is a black-haired, blue-eyed boy Dick instantly recognizes as a young Bruce Wayne. He is wearing sweatpants and a hoodie Dick recognizes as being Damian. One part of his brain is amused by the fact that the clothes are obviously a couple of sizes too big for the boy. But the other part of his mind is assessing the situation in front of him and not liking what he sees.

Superman, Wonder Woman, and the Martian Manhunter are facing Bruce and doing their best to look non-threatening. They are in full regalia, so Dick is pretty sure they are failing miserably in the endeavor. He has never seen the Man of Steel or the Themysciran princess look quite so uncomfortable while in uniform. Only J'onn J'onzz appears to be his normal, stoic self.

Right as he makes the observation, he feels the gentle "knocking" on his mental barriers, and he quickly gives the Martian permission to establish a mental link. Nightwing, it is good you have arrived. Batman has been—

De-aged, I know and can see that, Dick responds. His is staring at Bruce. The boy's eyes are emotionless, assessing; his features inscrutable. Aware that the silence in the room must seem strange, Dick moves forward, hand outstretched. "You're Bruce Wayne, right? I'm Dick, Dick Grayson."

The boy makes no move to shake his hand. Dick activates the release on his domino mask and removes it.

"You are in charge here," Bruce says. His voice is as devoid of inflection or emotion as his face.

Dick hesitates, glances at Clark and Diana. "I, ah… Who told you that?" He's frowning at the way neither the Kryptonian nor the Amazon will meet his gaze.

For this matter, it is probably for the best if you take the lead, Grayson, Damian says through the mindlink. The aliens and the Amazon have only succeeded in making Father more suspicious of them, and something about seeing me appears to enrage him.

What the heck is going on, guys?! Dick demands.

We don't know, Superman responds. Finally. I'm usually pretty good with kids, and so is Flash, but he's been pretty rude to us, and he won't let any of us near him. You can see for yourself, it's not like the other times he was de-aged. It's like he's Batman, but not. I've never had a child look at me like that. The Man of Steel is clutching at the corner of his cape like a kid with a security blanket. Dick thinks he's about a beat away from wringing his hands.

We tried to tell him that we are friends of Alfred's, but he does not believe us, Diana adds. It only seems to make him more hostile.

"If you're about to try to convince me you're a friend of Alfred Pennyworth's, like your… associates… have already attempted to do, a word of advice: don't waste your breath." Bruce sneers at Dick, who is shocked by the icy derision in his tone.

"All right," he says, fighting to keep his tone light. "I won't."

I just remembered something! Clark sends. According to public record, Bruce was living with his uncle Philip Kane and his family when he was this age—from the ages of nine to twelve, actually. But I've never heard either Bruce or Alfred mention the Kanes.

Neither has Dick.

It would have been useful to know this half an hour ago, alien. Perhaps then Father would not now be so suspicious of us all.

It was something I read years ago, when he first came back to Gotham after his training! Clark whines.

Perhaps we should call Alfred, Diana says.

Father has said we must not interrupt Pennyworth's vacation for anything short of life-or-death circumstances, Damian says firmly. And while this is distressing, Father appears in no danger of suddenly expiring. Grayson, perhaps you should mention this Philip Kane. I assume he is a relation of Father's mother.

Yeah, Dick sends. His eyes are still on Bruce, who meets his gaze steadily. But Kate—that's Batwoman—and her dad are the only Kanes Bruce actually associates with willingly. He's about to suggest there's a reason for that when the Martian Manhunter addresses them.

We need to examine him and treat his injuries. Kal-El says he has two cracked ribs and one broken. He must be in pain, but he will let none of us touch him, even Robin.

Dick frowns. "Bruce," he says, trying to sound authoritative, "we only want to check to see if you're hurt." When the boy glares at him, Dick adds, a little desperately, "Your uncle Philip has given us permission to examine you."

Bruce whitens visibly, and something flashes in his eyes that sends a chill of foreboding down Dick's spine. He's about to warn the others he thinks he's made a mistake when Bruce speaks.

"You are friends of Uncle Philip's?" he asks in a harsh whisper. "All of you?" Pale blue eyes dart from J'onn to Clark to Diana before returning to Dick.

He's about to deny it when Clark shifts, straightens. "Yes," Superman says, imbuing his voice with all the authority of Earth's mightiest hero. "Yes, we are."

Dick shakes his head subtly, but Bruce's gaze is now locked on Clark's. "Is that why you brought—" His eyes flick to Damian and away again.

Clark, Dick sends a little desperately. I don't think this is a good idea. Something's wrong.

This is the biggest reaction we've seen from him in the two hours since we got back to the Watchtower, Superman replies calmly. I say we proceed. "Yes," he tells Bruce. "Your uncle said it might make it easier for you to have Damian here. He's just a couple years older than you are right now."

"Older, but still a kid," Bruce murmurs.

"Yes," Diana says.

Bruce's eyes go flat, dead. It frightens Dick. "There are four of you," Bruce says slowly, evenly. "Just to be clear, the boy—Damian—is here because there are so many of you and Uncle Philip thought it would be better to have someone else close to my age here."

Something is screaming in the back of Dick's mind. J'onn, can you read Bruce's thoughts?

No. For a child, he is surprisingly adept at keeping his mind closed. I am only able to see the barest flashes of emotion. Fear, anger, despair. I am concerned, Nightwing. Something is… not right in Bruce's mind.

No shit.

Dick opens his mouth to speak, but Clark is talking again. "Your uncle didn't want you to be overwhelmed by all the adults here," Superman says, voice kind, as if he is speaking to a child. Dick isn't so sure that's what Bruce is at this point.

The boy's gaze narrows, and for a moment hatred shines through, a stabbing accusation, but of what, Dick is scared to contemplate.

"I'll do it," the boy spits out, venom in his voice, rage in his eyes. "But you need to send him—Damian—away."

Diana frowns. "If there are too many of us in the room for you to be comfortable during your examination, Kal-El and I can go with Damian while—"

"No!" Bruce shouts. He glares at the Amazon. "Damian leaves. You will all stay here. I alone will be given the examination"—sneering derision at the word—"by the four of you."

Damian scowls. "Fa—Bruce," he starts to say, then falls silent. He glances at Dick, who cannot meet his eyes.

"Get out of here," Bruce snarls at him. Then, to the others, "Nothing happens until he's gone."

"Damian, leave," Dick snaps.

"Tt. I will be outside." Damian turns on his heel and stalks out of the room. Dick can tell from the rigid set of his shoulders that he is hurt by Bruce's banishment of him and trying not to show it.

Under other circumstances, Dick would go after his youngest brother, but right now all he can feel is gratitude, and that ever-growing dread as the part of his brain that is smarter than his conscious thoughts starts to unravel the mystery behind the blue-eyed boy across the room. The one bleached white with fear, incandescent with rage.

Dick is very afraid he is beginning to see the shape of that fear, the feel of that rage.

He looks at the three other adults left in the room with him, hoping yet terrified to see the same dawning comprehension on their faces. But they only look confused.

Of course, he thinks, disgusted with them. Two of them are aliens, and for all Clark was raised human and is a big city reporter who should really be more perceptive than this, at heart, Superman is still basically a corn-fed farm boy. And Diana is a goddess born and raised in a place whose name is literally Paradise Island. Guys, I think we should—

But it's too late. He's interrupted by Diana's gasp, and the sudden, utter, inhuman stillness of J'onn and Clark. Dick turns to follow their shocked stares. And he freezes, body, heart and mind turning to ice in a single instant.

Bruce has stripped off the clothes he was wearing. "If you are 'friends' of my uncle's, then you'll have signed the contract and know the rules," the boy says flatly. "But I'll remind you of the major ones anyway. You must use contraceptives for any form of intercourse. You may not leave marks that cannot be covered by everyday clothing or do anything that would result in permanent scarring. Failure to comply will result in additional fines proportionate to the injury."

He narrows his eyes at them. "I get a full day with Alfred for each of you. Two if you damage me. The extra day will be charged to you in addition to the fines I have already mentioned. So, please, go ahead and do your worst."

"Dam—damage you?" Clark's voice is strangled, his face rapidly bleaching with horror.

Dick struggles to breathe.

Bruce shrugs. "It is in the contract for Brucie, along with the NDA."

Just when Dick is tempted to start screaming—in rage, in denial, he doesn't really know—something shifts in the boy's face. It's sly, bordering on lascivious. And perhaps it's the use of the nickname, but Dick feels bile rise to his throat as he realizes that he recognizes that look. It's an early iteration of ditzy billionaire playboy Brucie Wayne's patented leer.

But Bruce continues to talk, eyes vacant, face twisted into a parody of seductiveness. "I've never done more than two at a time before, so I'm afraid I'll have to take instruction, unless you would like to take turns."

There are no words in the mindlink, but Dick thinks he can hear emotions screaming through despite its silence.

And then Superman breaks.

"I—I'm sorry. I have to—"

In a burst of super speed that has equipment shuddering and lightweight materials flying, Clark is gone.

"Kal-El!" Diana shouts. She moves to follow, then looks hesitatingly at Bruce, who is still naked, with his head tilted in confusion. She turns to Dick.

"Go," he says hoarsely, and she does. J'onn, I need you to leave too. Make sure no one else comes into the infirmary. Get Flash and Damian out. They don't need to know about this, not now. Maybe, hopefully, not ever.

Very well, Nightwing. A whisper of doors sliding open and closed, and Dick is alone in the room with the boy his father, his mentor, used to be.

He wants nothing more than to follow the others out. No, the truth is, he desperately wants for this all to be a bad dream. But even as his brain tries to deny the reality of everything he's learned in the span of a few minutes, things are falling into place for him, memories making sense in terrible, terrible hindsight. And all the while, those pale blue eyes are watching him warily.

"Bruce," he says, then stops. Because what is he supposed to say? The boy in front of him both is and isn't his father. And Bruce—god, Bruce—is staring at him, stark naked in the harsh light of the surgery, with eyes too old and cynical for the ten-year-old body his soul inhabits.

I haven't been a child since I was eight years old, Dick remembers Bruce saying in the aftermath of one of the previous de-aging incidents. At the time, he'd assumed Bruce was talking about his parents' murder. It's possible he was, but that wasn't all Bruce had been talking about, he realizes. And something else comes to him too. Clark had said Bruce had lived with Philip Kane from the time he was nine until he was twelve years old.

Three years, he thinks. Three years with that fucker. Oh my god, Bruce.

"I seem to have miscalculated," Bruce says into the oppressive silence, which had begun to fill with Dick's wheezing breaths. "I take this to mean none of you signed the contract."

"I…no. We didn't."

"And none of you are actually friends of Philip Kane's, with the… accompanying benefits?"

"Oh fuck no."

"I see." Bruce's gaze, his expression, is shuttered once more. "May I get dressed?"

"Please." Dick's head is pounding, or maybe it's his heart. In contrast, the boy standing in front of him seems cool, unaffected or uncaring that he has just shattered a young man's view of the world, of the hero who raised him. The boy's extreme calm makes the roiling of Dick's stomach even worse. "Ah, please excuse me," he manages before bolting from the room.

Once outside, Dick sprints for the scrub room sink and proceeds to throw up. Vomiting over and over again until he tastes nothing but bile. Finally, even the dry heaves subside. Tears are pouring down his face, and he turns on the faucet, just lets the water run for a moment or three or sixteen. He splashes water on his heated cheeks, over eyes that burn, then just turns and slides down the side of the metal cabinet to sit on the floor.

A can of ginger ale appears three inches from his face.

"Drink this. You won't feel better, but your mouth won't taste like battery acid when your brain catches up to the rest of you."

"Jay?" Dick winces at the blades that stab at his throat from the inside when he tries to speak. He takes the can from the man crouching in front of him, downs half its contents gratefully. "What are you doing here?"

"The demon brat sent a message to the family group chat saying Bruce got de-aged to ten. Thought there was a good chance you guys might need some help with damage control. Got here in time to see Big Blue puke like you did before the princess helped him to the couch. Seeing as the guy's curled up like Luthor just killed his puppy and you're rushing to heave your guts up through your esophagus, I'm guessing I was right."

"You—" Dick stops, takes a shuddering breath. "You know about what happened?"

"I know Philip Kane was a bastard who didn't get the long, slow death he deserved." Each word is a gunshot out of Jason's mouth.

"H-how did you find out?"

Turquoise eyes flick toward the infirmary's waiting area, where Clark is huddled on one of the couches in a ball of misery, Diana is pacing furiously, and J'onn appears to be meditating as he floats on thin air. "Not now," Jason tells him.

Dick nods, then looks around. He's relieved to see neither Damian nor Flash is present.

"I told the demon brat to call Alfred. Kid didn't want to, but I told him I'd invoke emergency protocols if I had to. He agreed to explain the situation, or what he understands is the situation. Tell Alfred Bruce's current age."

"Thanks," Dick says. "I hate to cut his vacation short, but I'm not sure what else we can do. Bruce… I don't know what to say to him, how to be around him right now."

"Hmm."

"What?"

Jason frowns. "The demon said Bruce sent him away."

"Yeah." Dick scrubs at his face with a shaky hand. "He thought we—he thought Clark, J'onn, Diana and I were friends of his uncle's. He said he'd let us all fuck him if we sent Damian out of the room."

His vision goes spotty and he puts his head between his knees, focuses on breathing.

Over the roaring in his ears, he can hear Jason cursing. His brother stands up abruptly and starts pacing, only to stop and punch his fist into the wall. "You're telling me," Jason says, choking on his words, "that Kane not only spent the better part of three years beating Bruce up, but that rat-faced, limp-dicked asshole actually pimped him out to his friends? When he was nine?"

Dick gapes at him. "I thought… I thought you said you knew what had happened?"

"I knew he'd been abused," Jason snaps. "Alfred didn't—I didn't know about the rest."

"Please tell me Alfred doesn't know," Dick pleads hollowly.

Jason shakes his head. "Bruce didn't tell him anything. Alfred figured out he was getting beaten up."

"Well, he never figured this out, or they never would have found Philip Kane's body."

There's a flash of something on Jason's face. And really, Bruce would be proud of the way Dick's brain is observing the people around him, putting clues together to understand the secrets people are trying to keep. Oh Jesus, he says as revelation hits and he freezes up. He clamps down on the urge to giggle hysterically because of course. Alfred killed Philip Kane then reclaimed guardianship of Bruce.

Dick gets to his feet shakily. "He can't know about this. Jay, we can't tell Alfred the truth." He grabs the lapels of Jason's leather jacket. "Promise me you won't tell him."

"Fuck no, I'm not going to tell him. Who the hell do you think I am?"

"Sorry." Dick lets go of Jason's jacket, stumbles back. "Sorry, Jaybird. I… I'm not parsing properly." He wraps his arms around his middle, trying to hug himself for comfort. "What do we do, Jay?"

"We talk to Bruce."

Both former Robins turn to see Superman staring at the wall of the surgery. Dick realizes he's using his x-ray vision to check on Bruce.

"Superman?" Dick remembers how he idolized this man when he was a boy. How convinced he'd been that if Clark had been at the circus the night his parents fell, they never would have died.

He's often wished he still had that shining conviction that this man could and would make everything be okay. For a moment, he wishes he could sink into that fantasy. But he's older now, and he's seen too much of the world and what people can do to other people. What villains can do to innocents. And he remembers that Clark was the first to break and run out of the room when faced with the truth about Bruce's past.

"We're going to go back into that room and tell Bruce the truth."

"Okay," Dick says wearily. "Okay. But how much do we tell him?"

"As much as he wants to know," Jason says immediately. "About the spell, about him being Batman."

"And especially about the fact that Philip Kane is dead and that can never, ever hurt him again," Diana adds. "I may offer to go into Tartarus and ensure that man's shade suffers punishment for all eternity."

Clark frowns. "I'm pretty sure we'll all want to make sure of that," he says darkly. "But, Jason, I was just talking about telling him about Philip's death. The rest of it… Well, that's a lot to lay on a ten-year-old, don't think?"

"No," Jason says. "That's where you're wrong. It may be a lot for a ten-year-old, but it's not too much for that ten-year-old. Because the boy in that room is many things, but he's not a child."

Clark starts to protest, but Dick holds up a hand. "He's right, Clark. I saw it, and so did you. He… He bartered himself to save Damian. He dared us to hurt him so he could get a few extra days with Alfred. Which is something he seems to have done regularly, but is also something that no one, and most of all Alfred, can never, ever know."

"Agreed," Clark says, and the others chime in as well.

"But we need to accept that the person who did those things is not a child," Dick says. "That is Batman. And for all the years I have known him, the one thing he has always insisted on was control, especially over the things that concern him."

"Fuck," Jason spits out. "Well now we know why he's such a hard ass, don't we?"

"Yes," Clark says, sorrow in his voice and in every line of his face and body. "Now we know why."

"And because we know," Dick says, "I absolutely will not deny his right to make the decisions that are his to make. Not now, not when we all understand how many decisions have been taken from him."

"I agree," Wonder Woman says. "At the very least, we must leave it to Bruce to decide what, if anything, we should tell Alfred, outside of what he may already have deduced about Bruce's situation."

"Okay," Dick says, to no one in particular. He draws in a shaky breath. Sighs. "I guess I'd better be the one to do this."

"No," Jason says. "We do it together."

"It's the least we can do," Clark agrees. "To show him we are… not what he thought we were."

"And we must still see to his injuries," J'onn adds.

"His—" Jason sucks in a breath, then curses until Dick would swear the air has turned blue. "You fuckers mean to tell me that this whole time you dipshits have been having your emo breakdown, you've left a traumatized ten-year-old alone in a room with his injuries untreated?"

Their silence is heavy with shocked realization and guilt. So much guilt.

"Oh fuck you all." Jason strides toward the surgery, stalks through when the doors slide open. They all follow, and Dick feels even more guilt weigh heavy in his chest that part of him is relieved that someone else—his little brother, at that—has taken charge of the situation.

A fully dressed Bruce looks up at their entrance. He eyes them warily.

Jason wastes no time on hesitation or guilt or pleasantries. "Bruce Wayne? Jason Todd," he says, with a clipped bluntness he must have learned from the Bat himself. "I'm here to tell you that the fuckface known as Philip Kane is dead. We've called Alfred to come and talk to you, but it may take him some time to get here. In the meantime, we will tell you everything you want to know about what's going on, but only if you agree to let our doctor check you out and patch up any injuries. Deal?"

Bruce's eyes are narrowed, his expression thoughtful. "He's really dead?"

"Philip Kane will never hurt you or any child ever again," Diana vows, her voice ringing with the power of her gods.

Bruce lets out a breath, crosses his arms in front of him. But Dick doesn't miss the way his hands are shaking. The boy has not looked away from Jason's face. Finally, he says, "Your doctor will explain every procedure before he performs it."

"Agreed," Dick and Clark say in unison.

"And I retain the right to refuse any exam or treatment."

"You may refuse any procedure that does not urgently impact your health," J'onn says.

"That means you let them wrap up or set anything that's broken and stitch any wound larger than a papercut, kid," Jason adds.

"Fine," Bruce says. "And you'll answer any questions I have truthfully. I will know if you lie."

The threat is so typical of Batman that Dick has to bite down on the urge to smile. A quick glance at the others shows Clark and Diana doing the same.

But Jason stays absolutely serious. "You've got yourself a deal, kid."

"It's Bruce Wayne," the boy says, offering a hand for Jason to shake. Part of Dick's mind registers that this is probably the first voluntary physical contact Bruce has made with anyone since the magical attack.

Jason bends at the waist in a half-bow so he can take Bruce's hand and shake it. This way, they are eye to eye when Jason grins and says, "You're kind of a badass, even at ten years old, aren't you, Bruce?"

Bruce smiles, and suddenly, there is the sweetness and the joy Dick was expecting when this whole nightmare began. Only that brightness is cut by something fierce and razor-edged with intelligence.

"Yes," Bruce says, a simple statement of fact. "Yes, I am."