Archive of Our Own ^beta

It's not that Dinah has a particular interest in snooping on her fellow Leaguers. Quite the opposite, in fact. She would much prefer to stay out of the super drama that comes from the personal lives of superheroes. 

Especially, especially, when the drama comes from the Bats. 

It's very hard to avoid it though, when Nightwing and Flamebird are having a heart to heart in the same room she left her leather jacket. The pair are very publically best friends and Leaguers have long suspected them to be romantic partners, not that Dinah particularly cares about what the two heroes do with their time off. She’s more worried about getting out of here before she’s pulled into a conversation about Batman’s weird mood swings this last year. 

Her monitor shift on the Watchtower is complete and she’d like nothing more than to go home and pass out. Just pick up her things that she's usually much better at keeping in one place, and go. 

There are voices coming from the common room. Not usual, although very few heroes actually ‘hang out’ in their secret satellite. 

“If you asked, I’m sure he'd understand,” Flamebird says gently. He sits in the corner of the large couch, in costume but with a Keystone Combines sweatshirt pulled on. His legs are tucked beneath him and one hand draws soothing circles into Nightwing’s back. 

It's good seeing the latter hero around again. He’d taken a year-long leave of absence from the League and, if Hal is to be believed, he was rarely spotted in Blüdhaven during that time. He’s back though and even taken up mentoring members of the latest iteration of the Titans. 

He's in full mask and costume, escrima sticks in their hostler on the floor. He sits close beside Flamebird, head tipped forward to push his fingers into his unruly dark hair. 

“He doesn't want me there,” Nightwing protests, voice raw and so unlike the upbeat hero she knows. 

Dinah, having been in the scene so long, is one of the few Leaguers to remember that Nightwing was once a Robin. In the last decade, she's never once heard him like this. 

She hovers at the doorway, every bit of her counselor training screaming for her to intervene. Across the room, Flamebird catches her eye. Shakes his head. 

Her jacket is draped against the nearest cushy loveseat, but rooted to her spot as she is, it remains unretrieved. 

Continuing his gentle ministrations, Flamebird suggests, “Why don't we talk about this at home?” 

“He'll overhear,” Nightwing dismisses. 

Flamebird frowns. “We're on his satellite, kinda late for that.” 

Impossibly, the darkly dressed hero’s shoulders slump further. “No, not- I promised myself I wouldn't fight with B in front of him.” With effort, Nightwing forces himself to sit upright. His jaw is set and Dinah didn't realize how much she expects his easy smile until it's gone. 

In a few swift strides, Nightwing has scooped up her jacket and held it out to her. She shouldn't be surprised that the bird knew she was there. 

“Thanks,” she says softly. She hesitates. “If you ever want to talk-” 

“Have a good evening, Canary,” Nightwing interrupts. It's not rude though, not dismissive. The words are worn. Another few sentences and she thinks he might fully fall apart. 

Flamebird is already at Nightwing’s side, intertwining their fingers and leading him to the zeta-tubes. 

Resigning herself to not knowing what upset their bird, Dinah counts to ten in her head, then follows after. 

Training with Hawkgirl is fun, always, but exhausting. The alien never slows her mace and Dinah never quiets her voice. 

Today they went long, enjoying the dance and having a space away from the unfortunate number of men that make up the League. 

Showered and only a little bruised, Dinah makes her way to the Watchtower’s compact kitchen for a fresh bottle of water. 

She waves at Nightwing, who nods and smiles and seems perfectly alright in spite of how broken up he was not a week before. 

The vigilante is sitting on the counter beside the percolating coffee maker, suited up as always. His gloves are removed though as he munches on a bag of pretzels that certainly didn't come from the pantry. 

His calm and collected nature convinces her not to be concerned about the unknown hero digging through the fridge. A flowing black and red cape drapes regally over his shoulders, distracting from the military grade body armor underneath. 

The distinctive domino mask on his face is reminiscent of Robin, although it's been a long time since Batman’s allowed one into the Watchtower. 

“Please come to breakfast,” the stranger insists, terrifyingly young voice brokering no room for disagreement.

Nightwing thunks his head against a cabinet. “Is that why you're up here, baby bird?” 

The way the teenager grimaces at the moniker, Dinah assumes it's not his preferred codename. He frees a large bottle of French vanilla creamer and hands Dinah a water bottle despite her not asking. 

She takes a swig gratefully. 

“I'm up here because you're hiding up here,” the stranger states levelly. 

“I have paperwork!” Nightwing protests. 

Through the mask, the teen gives an unimpressed look. “Paperwork you could do from the Cave. Or from home. Or literally anywhere with the laptop O gave you.” 

Dinah, feeling a little trapped in the kitchen, decides to rip off the bandaid. She turns around to leave, ready to be back home where she can tease Ollie about his latest gaff in the press before he heads out on patrol. 

“Just come to the breakfast. Robin wants you there and I promise B will hold it together,” the teenager intones quietly on Dinah’s way out.

In the instantaneous, never-ending liminal space of zeta travel, she wonders if Nightwing is jealous that yet another Robin has taken his place.

Not that she listens to them, but years old rumor has it that Nightwing did not give up the mantle willingly.

Usually Dinah avoids the gym when a Super is working out. One concussion because Supergirl forgot her strength was one too many, thank you very much. 

Ollie mixed up their scheduled time in the gym space though, so she arrives at a facility the JL owns on the outskirts of the city an hour early with shit to do. 

Well, she has reports to do. Fat chance of those happening before her work out though. 

The only games on her phone are the mind numbing ones she downloaded for Lian, so she wanders into the gym. 

She instantly regrets it. 

Superman slams into the mat, skidding back several feet with a grunt. His cape is totally mangled, which makes Dinah frowns. Wonder Woman usually isn't one to fight dirty. 

She steps through the door and sees… Nightwing. Stalking across the mats, typical escrima sticks brandished but in a darker costume that she’s used to. A black mask covers his mouth and a matte domino hides his eyes. His hair is weighed down with sweat, plastered against his forehead and ears. 

Superman staggers to his feet, out of breath, and prepares himself to absorb Nightwing’s next attack. The younger hero’s steps pick up in speed until he has enough momentum to flip over the alien and land on his other side. 

The acrobatics carry none of the flourish for which he’s known. Superman whirls around just in time to block with his forearm a harsh strike of the escrima sticks. Nightwing hits again and again. A scream, guttural and mournful, breaks out of his lungs. He drops his weapons and pounds against Superman’s chest with his fists. 

It takes a long time for his movements to lose their ferocity. When they do, Superman pulls Nightwing into a tight hug. The younger hero’s chest heaves and Dinah almost goes to get a trash can for him to vomit into. 

The elder Leaguer cards his fingers through Nightwing’s hair. “I've got you,” he promises quietly. 

Nightwing pulls away just long enough to ask in a strained, desperate voice, “Why is he doing this?” 

Shoulders slumping, the alien draws Nightwing close again. “He’s put you in countless impossible situations this past year. It's not fair that he's taken away the one good thing that's come from it.” 

“No.” Nightwing staggers back, clutching his arms to his chest. The muscle memory of holding something close. “It's- I can deal. But Robin…” The words are wet. “It's not fair to upturn everything that I've done to- to make things okay.” 

Dinah lowers her eyes. All she seems to do lately is intrude on Nightwing’s private moments. She slips back out the door, guilty to know just how broken up Nightwing is about his mantle once again being passed on without his consent. 

She's missed a call from Ollie. She picks up when he tries her again. 

“I pushed our gym time back,” he states after greeting her. Little late on the heads up, she thinks, rolling her eyes. 

Then, she furrows her brow. “Why?” 

“Superman asked. Said he needed to prevent someone from going off the deep end.”

Star City is most beautiful in the winter. A soft blanket of snow to conceal all the grime. Criminals tend to stay home after a storm. There are less cars on the road. When timed right, children get the day off to play in the parks that speckle the concrete jungle. 

Ollie works from home more often than not and Dinah tours for fun, not money. Artemis’ heat went out in the night, so Dinah makes the three of them hot chocolate while they wait for the city to wake up to the fresh layer of snow. 

“Classes going well?” Dinah asks, looking out at the sleepy street. The sun is close to rising but isn't yet visible through the buildings. The only vehicle they've seen in the last half hour was a city bus that slid through a traffic stop. Thankfully it didn't crash. 

Artemis sips her drink. Dinah sprinkled cinnamon in it and the girl hums appreciatively. Her socked toes curl around the edge of the chair. “The semester just started last week,” she answers quietly. “But I was able to schedule everything in the afternoon and a few of my classes let me work ahead. I figure I'll crank out as many essays as I can before Kaldur comes begging for me to hop on a mission.” 

Dinah glances over. “You know you're allowed to step away.” 

The young woman smiles and nods. “I know. I don't think I'm ready yet. Maybe after graduation, but… I think there's still some good I can do in costume.” She seems so self-assured. So certain. Dinah hopes the world is kind to her in this final semester of classes. Artemis first enrolled seven years ago. There hasn't been a semester where she hasn't withdrawn from one or more courses. But she's kept going. 

Dinah loves that about her. She shares a smile with Ollie, who dutifully answers emails at his desk. 

At least one of their proteges is considering getting out.

Artemis’ phone buzzes on the side table. She glances at the number, saved under KF. She frowns, but answers, wandering over to the far end of the living room. Her fingers are still wrapped around her mug and she looks so normal in this moment. Sweatpants and a baggy hoodie promoting Gotham University and Dinah can pretend that there aren't concealed weapons under those clothes. 

“Everything okay? Hey, deep breaths. Deep breaths. Feel the floor. Is it carpet or hardwood?” Artemis listens for a moment and laughs softly. “Yeah, N would have shitty linoleum floors. Touch the wall behind you. What temperature is it?” A pause. “What color?”

Artemis continues asking simple, orienting questions for a few minutes. Her shoulders lose a bit of tension before she asks, “What happened?” 

Her mouth twists at the answer. 

“Been there. When Hood babysat Lian overnight the first time… Not really the same, I know.” Artemis sighs. “You could always go check on him. I know you've broken into B’s place before.” She glances down. “Yeah, alright. Call back if N isn't home on time.” 

Artemis ends the call a moment later. She tucks the brittleness back behind her Normal College Student mask. 

“You're a good friend, Artemis,” Dinah intones when the archer joins her back by the window. The sun has begun streaking through the city. Water drips irregularly from the roof onto the sidewalk. 

The hero shrugs uncomfortably. “Wish I didn't have to be,” she answers, staring out at the street. And Dinah believes her. Believes that Artemis would sacrifice a lot if it meant that whatever caused her friend’s distress would disappear. 

The stealth mission remained stealthy for once, so after muddling through a thoroughly boring debriefing, Dinah has an uncomfortable amount of energy thrumming under her skin. 

The Watchtower gym takes up the most real estate in the satellite. It's two stories. One dedicated to sparring and weapons training, the other to all manner of gym equipment. 

She climbs the stairs to the higher level today. If she doesn't find a sparring partner, there will at least be punching bags to unleash her pent up energy on. 

The gym is split in half loosely around the middle. To the left is the equipment modified to meet the needs of sundry metas and aliens. To the right is the normie equipment. 

The left is empty at the moment. On the far side of the right half, Zatanna is spotting Rocket as she lifts weights. Dinah grins. Surely one of them will be up for a fight. 

On her way over, she passes the bank of treadmills. Flash and Flamebird are side by side, running at a normal pace, talking at a normal speed. Batman probably assigned them Be Normal practice. She rolls her eyes at the thought. 

“I just don't know what to do. N’s being completely cut off from his civilian life and I’m barely allowed in Gotham anymore,” Flamebird is saying. Dinah wonders how Flash can have such a close relationship with this new speedster after his first sidekick died running in the Arctic. She knows it's been hard for her to continue opening herself up when the losses keep coming. 

Flash casts a sympathetic look at his fellow speedster. “You said you got to see him yesterday though, right?” 

Flamebird nods jerkily. His response is strained. “I tried to hug him when I saw him and he just- He shoved me away. Wouldn't let me touch him. Which is fine, obviously. I know he doesn't always like to be touched. But it's been- He hasn't shoved me like that in half a year. He’d gotten so good at verbalizing his ‘no’s and I don't know what to do. I can't put it all on N.” 

“It's not fair to hide how you're feeling about the situation,” Flash points out, slowing his jog to more closely observe the younger man. “Not for you and not for N.” 

“I know that,” Flamebird responds, just short of a snap. “I'm pissed and I'm sad and I'm so fucking scared. I'm not hiding any of that. It’s worse for him though.”

Flash looks over, eyes devastated. “That's not true, kid. You're both deeply affected, you shouldn't compare-” 

“No, it's.” The younger speedster takes a deep breath that has nothing to do with his work out. “It is worse because it's his- it's Batman doing this. It’s not like I expected this. I mean, he wasn't even, we thought.” He clears his throat. “He didn't betray me like he did N,” he concludes finally. 

By the time Flash starts to respond, Dinah reaches the weight equipment and tries to put what she heard out of her head. It’s none of her business if Nightwing and Flamebird are breaking up over Batman reassigning the Robin mantle. 

“Either of you up for a spar?” she asks when Rocket finishes her next rep. Both women grin back at her. 

Bureaucracy, Dinah has long believed, is the worst part of being a Leaguer. Does she like having multiple people she trusts to have her back? Obviously. Does she enjoy being connected to the few people on the planet who understand her life? Undoubtedly. Does she go to sleep at night feeling assured that the world won't end because of it? Definitely. Does she wake up each morning knowing that she will be in the right place at the right time to help the most people because of their hard work? Certainly. 

Does she like going to the ‘monthly’ update meetings required of all senior-level Leaguers not on a mission? Not a chance. 

They're dry as all hell, her opinions are rarely taken into consideration, and more often than not, they end with mandatory training sessions being issued. 

Today is no different. They rotate which two Leaguers will stay planet side in case something breaks out. Last month was her turn, along with Flash, and this month Ollie and the Atom are on call. 

When she arrives in the conference room one minute before the meeting is due to start, most of the long time Leaguers are already settled. 

Batman, of course, is at the head of the table, Superman and Wonder Woman on either side. One of the Green Lanterns is doodling on his meeting notes. Across from him, Flash is texting quietly, brow pinched. 

In deference to Batman’s magical skepticism, Zatanna has her wand tucked away. Hawkgirl nods as Dinah enters. Her partner is off-world on a mission Dinah wasn't briefed on, so she sits beside her friend. 

On the other side of the table, Martian Manhunter studiously reviews the meeting agenda. 

The long conference table has several other empty seats, but Dinah doesn't expect any more to be filled. Batman assigns extra monitor shifts to late comers and she was already cutting it close. 

“Let’s begin,” Batman states when the clock on the wall ticks over to 6:18 PM Star City time. To mitigate the ability of evildoers figuring out the regular times the majority of heroes are off-world, the League meets at calcuated, apparently random intervals. It's smart, but annoying as hell to get into her calendar. 

Reading from his tablet, he begins outlining the meeting topics as if they don't cover the same items with different details every month. 

Still, she can't help but notice the tightness of his grip and the rigidity with which he speaks. Superman shoots a few looks down the hallway where the zeta-tubes are. The Green Lantern, Hal, shares a nervous glance with Flash.

No one likes a pissed off Batman. Especially not when the master of deception is failing to keep the angry tick out of his jaw. 

It's times like this that Dinah wonders how a group of the most headstrong, trigger-happy juggernauts became cowed into being so conflict avoidant. At least Zatanna has the wherewithal to private message Dinah about it. 

As Batman finishes his introductory drone, Superman’s head jerks up, hearing something the rest aren't. He doesn't call to action, so Dinah swipes her tablet screen to the next page. 

A minute later, Nightwing and Flamebird stride into the room. Nightwing’s shoulders are back and his head is held high. Flamebird at least has the decency to look nervous about their late arrival. They take up a pair of seats at the end of the table. 

Flash furrows his brow at his fellow speedster, to which the younger man mouths ‘Later.’ 

Dinah can't help but notice that Nightwing, who before his leave of absence often sat where Superman does now, has placed Flamebird between him and his former mentor. She's surprised the pair are able to appear as a united front after the anguish she overheard in the gym.

Nightwing efficiently unlocks his tablet and scrolls to the correct section of the agenda. He repeats the process with Flamebird’s, who has been caught in Batman’s glare. A glare clearly intended for Nightwing that is being easily ignored. 

Despite this, there is not an interruption. Batman continues the meeting without pause and eventually his glower simmers into a frown. 

The standard, recurring League questions of training and scheduling and tech upgrades and alien invasions are worked through more cleanly than expected for the amount of tension flowing between Batman and his former sidekick. 

Dinah listens attentively, although sometimes she finds herself being sucked into observing Nightwing. Hal has completely given up on subtlety and is blatantly staring at the younger hero. 

Once, during the conversation about zeta-tube upgrades, Nightwing types something quickly on his tablet and then slides the device to Flamebird. 

The speedster’s eyes flick over the note, then he raises his hand. 

Dinah can hear Batman’s eye roll as he calls on the man. 

He reads off the tablet in a weirdly emotionless voice. “For the five new zeta-tubes being proposed, are we planning for them to be built and brought online simultaneously? Or will we stagger the builds to prioritize certain locations? Kasnia in particular should be a priority.” The tablet is passed back to its owner. 

Batman addresses his response to Flamebird, but the tick in his jaw returns. 

Dinah’s brow furrows. Is Nightwing giving Batman the silent treatment? 

The young vigilante has only been back as a full time Leaguer for a couple months.

If they were going to have a falling out over Robin, Dinah would expect a lot more yelling. Although, maybe not, seeing as no one knows what drove Nightwing from the League in the first place. Even Flamebird was evasive on the topic the entire year of the leave of absence, only stating that Nightwing was alive and busy. 

She sighs, tuning back into the meeting. It's not any of her business, as she often reminds Ollie. 

Still, when the last item on the agenda is ticked off, she can't help but walk a little slower than normal, preventing Batman from catching up with Nightwing as he swiftly exits toward the zetas. 

With all the saving the world the League does, Dinah should probably be a bit more keen on celebrating their achievements of maintaining a sovereign Earth. 

As it is, her most cherished pride is the Women Warriors group she founded back when it was just her, Hawkgirl, and Wonder Woman in the League. 

As the JL has expanded over the years, and new women have joined their ranks and new teams have spiraled into existence, Dinah has taken a step back from a leadership role. 

Zatanna and Starfire plan most of the outings these days. The group is so large—and that thought bursts in Dinah’s chest with heart thumping joy—that they usually break up into those with secret identities and those without. 

Still, twice a year, the whole group takes over the Watchtower’s lounge, sprawling out with snacks and movies and games. Dinah goes to refill her drink in the kitchen, demanding that Hawkgirl wait before starting the next round of gin rummy. 

“Only if you're quick!” Supergirl threatens playfully. 

She hurries over, passing Starfire and Raven in the hallway. The pair has always stuck out to Dinah. Best friends with conflicting aesthetics and dispositions. 

“I do not understand why we cannot go to Gotham and retrieve Robin,” Starfire pouts, arms crossed. 

“No meta rule,” Raven replies dryly. She holds a champagne glass, but Dinah knows there's no alcohol in it.

Starfire rolls her eyes. “He lifted it.” 

“He created an exception and Batman rescinded it.” 

“It is not fair,” Starfire insists. “Nightwing came back, but our friend is gone.” 

The conversation continues after Dinah steps into the kitchen. There’s an open bottle of sparkling cider in the fridge and she gladly refills her cup with it. 

On the way back out, Zatanna is throwing popcorn at the two ex-Titan members. “No boy talk at girl’s night,” she chastises. 

Starfire and Raven look similarly guilty. 

“Apologies. We are just…” 

“Worried,” Zatanna finishes sadly. “We all are.” 

Dinah raises her glass. “Let’s save the worry for another night,” she encourages. “Go enjoy your event.” 

Flamebird flushes as his phone buzzes. Normally, League missions require that all personal devices be left in the Watchtower, but they’re taking the Javelin to Japan and there are secure storage containers aboard that Leaguers are permitted to use instead. 

He mouths ‘Sorry’ to the first Wonder Girl as he picks up. “Robin, what’s wrong?” he asks, forgoing a kinder greeting. 

Dinah doesn’t blame him. If Artemis called her while he knew she was on a mission, she’d assume someone had died. 

By the look on Flamebird’s face, he has the same dark impression. 

“What do you mean?” The terror drains off his features, replaced slowly with confusion. “Another kid? No, understand the words you’re saying, I’m just. Is it someone already in the game?” A strained furrow of his brow. “Okay. I remember him. Signal?” 

He jams his phone between his ear and shoulder, swiping quickly through his tablet. “Hey, buddy, I’m actually on a mission right- No, it’s okay, we’re in transit. But I’ll let N know and we’ll figure it out. I love you.” A pause before he whispers. “Stay safe, kiddo.” 

A beat later he ends the call. “Sorry,” he says aloud. “Sorry, I-” He slumps in his seat, unable to explain further. 

Wonder Girl waves him off. “It’s Robin, I get it,” she promises. “Back to the blast zone though.” And the team leader dives again into their plan of attack. 

The rest of the mission, Flamebird stays unnaturally quiet. The self proclaimed motor mouth is sullen and distracted. 

The Robin mantle being passed on already is odd, but not unheard of. Robin IV held the mantle less than a year. 

Dinah hopes this doesn't worsen Flamebird and Nightwing’s relationship, although it's none of her business. 

One of the smaller conference rooms is reserved for Titan leadership, which is interesting because they have a whole Tower planet side and the Watchtower isn't exactly known for engendering cooperation.

Dinah passes it on her way to the training room when Nightwing steps out. Before the door closes, she sees the same caped vigilante from the kitchen over a month ago and the newest Wonder Girl shooting the older vigilante concerned looks. 

Nightwing has a phone to his ear as he steps aside for Dinah to pass. “Hey, I'm at work, what's up?” A pause. “Night shift.” He leans his forehead against the metallic gray walls that line the satellite. “I can't do that. No- I. Sweetheart, I'm no longer on the list. I can't pick you up.” A harsh breath. “Neither can your dad. Your father or Agent A could-” 

Dinah glances back to see his trembling fingers press over his mouth. 

His voice is smooth when he speaks again. “I see. Why do you need picked up?” 

She turns the corner before she can overhear the answer. 

In a lull after stopping a convenience store robbery, Dinah and Artemis huddle up on an apartment rooftop. Winter still has a hold on Star City, but spring has started hinting at its return. 

The residents of the building they stand on have pulled out a few buckets and bags of dirt, but nothing’s been planted yet. 

The young archer has been distracted all night. Not enough to miss a shot, but in the moments between life and death, she spaces out. 

Dinah flexes her fingers to get some warmth back into them while Artemis scrolls through messages on her civilian phone. 

The elder hero frowns at that. Artemis’ civilian identity has been maintained for years from the wider public. A slip like this, even on a calm night, can end a career. 

The archer glances up when she notices Dinah staring. She doesn't acknowledge her mistake, barely lowering the device. “Mind if a friend stops by?” she asks. 

Dinah shakes her head, curious. 

Artemis shoots off another text and pockets her phone. 

Sirens start up in the distance. In sync, they stalk toward the source of the noise. It's a domestic disturbance and they observe. The heaving father is loaded into the back of the squad car and the trembling mother is given numbers to call. Dinah makes a mental note to check up on the household later this week. 

As the cops peel away, Dinah senses another presence on the roof. She tenses. Friends usually identify themselves when approaching from behind. 

“Busy night?” a young voice asks as she turns. Flamebird. Of course. 

He's dressed in some sort of stealth suit, the gaudy colors safe for Keystone, but dangerously flashy in her adopted city. 

“Nah,” Artemis dismisses. “Been a bit, Flame Brain.” 

His friendly expression sours briefly. “Well, thanks for letting me crash your patrol.” He rubs the back of his neck. 

Sincerity that she usually buries under cynicism brushes over Artemis’ features. “Anytime. You want to talk? Or a distraction?” 

He adjusts his goggles over his eyes. “Distraction, please.” 

The young archer grins. “I've got a recon mission with your name on it.” 

Dinah follows them as they jump off the roof, ziplining and speeding across the city. She maintains a bit of distance though, content to let Artemis be there for her friend. 

Flamebird is mostly quiet through the rest of patrol, although Dinah knows he’s a talker from the few League missions they've completed together. Not recently though, she supposes.

His movements are half done, like a dancer marking a routine, and there's a tired air about him. 

Nightwing isn't mentioned, so Dinah figures the break up has already happened. The newest Robin must have been the snapping point. How Flamebird can stand to wear a costume that, even with its muted colors, has a small circle of light blue fabric around the left ring finger that matches the bit of orange on Nightwing’s uniform, she doesn't know. 

She and Ollie have had their ups and downs. They've broken up and gotten back together and fought and hated and loved and protected. 

Her limited knowledge of League gossip doesn't include anything like the rocky relationship that most hero couples experience for Nightwing and Flamebird. Their aliases are direct references to a deified Kryptonian battle couple. According to Ollie in one of his gossip-y moods, Flamebird exchanged something great for the mantle that once belonged to one of the Bat-Girls.

The glimpses of them she’s seen these past two months have been tense, but there's love there. 

She hopes the two are able to work through it. That whatever the crisis around Robin is will resolve. 

Patrol ends with Flamebird munching on a speedster-friendly protein bar, complaining about the chalky taste. He offers a bite to Artemis who makes a face. “I think that would kill me,” she comments. 

Flamebird shrugs, some of the sadness that patrol had chased away returning to his features. Dinah is torn between giving the pair space and asking how she can help. 

“Speaking of death,” Flamebird murmurs. 

Artemis shoves him playfully. “You are not allowed to make death jokes for another two years.”

“It's my death,” he argues, wide, goofy grin. It collapses. “But I should get back to Blüd before N has an aneurysm.” 

Artemis gives a sympathetic look. “Still in mother hen mode?” 

“Definitely. His desired target is-” He frowns. “-out of reach and so are the Titans, so it's all getting funneled to me.” The crumpled up wrapper is tucked into a compartment on his suit, then he straightens up, facing Dinah. “Thanks for letting me tag along,” he says softly.

“Not a problem,” she insists, confusion coalescing into dread in her stomach. 

Flamebird gives Artemis a tight hug that the archer doesn't resist. Then, he disappears in a burst of light against the dark night sky. 

Miss Martian is the preferred mental health professional for this iteration of the Titans, primarily because she’s Beast Boy’s older sister. The alien is off-world though, and the Titans just came back from a particularly rough mission. The details are classified, but Dinah’s sure she'll know all about it by the end of the night. 

The zeta deposits her in their common room, so much homier and lived in than the Watchtower’s attempts at comfort. 

The young heroes aren't around, so she goes looking. The kitchen and gym are both empty. The door to the bedrooms is locked. 

Down the hall, there’s a light on in a small office. She approaches, listening to the soft conversation making its way past the cracked door.

“O, please don't do that.” Nightwing. The message she got indicated he'd be here. 

A feminine, modulated voice replies with conviction, “I'm not going to ignore-” 

“I'm not asking you to ignore anything!” Nightwing interrupts the computerized speech. “I'm just. Please don't hack into his home security system. I can't- He already barely lets me around for training. If B thinks I'm prying further… I can't lose him,” he whispers. 

The hacker is silent a moment. “B snapped at me on comms yesterday, which he knows better than. I'm just worried- I mean, I know B wouldn't hurt him. He's come a long way since- since you.” Dinah peeks through the open door. Several computer monitors are on, open to mission reports and muted body cam footage. There is only one person in the room. Nightwing appears to be speaking to the half-discarded laptop where a floating green head hovers on the screen. 

Nightwing sticks his trembling hands under his arms. “I asked Signal to let me know if he notices any signs,” he admits softly. “B won’t let him patrol with Hood which could be for a lot of reasons, but.” 

“I know.” Softness filters through the modulation. 

“He's already been ripped away from everything he knows once this year. I don't want to do it again if I don't have to.” 

O’s green image doesn't change, but there's an air of sympathy that permeates through the screen. “I’ll keep an eye on things, but I won't dig deeper until you say so.” 

“Thank you,” the vigilante breathes out. He wipes his eyes and it's only that motion that makes Dinah notice he’s maskless. His back is to her, but the realization is still jarring. 

He shuts the laptop, retrieves a piece of fabric from his utility belt, and sticks it on before turning to her. “Sorry about that,” he apologizes, none of the worry remaining on his countenance. “Let’s go talk to the team.” He says it like there isn't another young hero they should be checking up on.

There’s no quiet when the dust settles. It's never quiet. 

Civilians and capes and invaders all cry out for help. Batman gives clipped instructions on the order of priority. Injured capes are zeta’d back to the Watchtower by the pair of speedsters. Their flyers who haven't gone down are shuttling civilians to the National Guard members that cluster around the battlefield. The three Lanterns are yanking debris into less easily collapsible piles. 

Martian Manhunter and Rocket systemically restrain the extraterrestrial invaders who thought it smart to attack their planet. 

The Kasnia zeta-tube had only been brought online hours before the invasion and Dinah doesn't want to think about what would've happened if they had gotten there even ten minutes later.

She presses a bandage against her bleeding arm. Not life-threatening enough to get her shuttled back to the Watchtower, but certainly painful enough to keep her from helping retrieve civilians. 

At a loss for something else to do, she wanders across the field toward their fearless leader. 

Batman’s cape still smolders in several places. Dust clings to every inch of his black costume and all his weight is shifted onto his left foot. 

Unsurprisingly, Nightwing is beside him. The vigilante’s own costume looks worse for wear and he's bleeding from his forehead. 

What's unexpected is the small child shifting between the two heroes. A black cloak, similarly singed, hangs from his shoulders. There is a sword sheathed on his back and heavy armor bruises against his too-small frame. The boy glances between the two men, shoulders hunched and fists clenched. 

Even before Dinah is in range to hear them, she knows that they're not planning together like they did years ago. Nightwing’s wild, angry gesticulations only pause when someone asks a question over comms and Batman’s clipped response comes through. 

Dinah moves closer. 

“He is not supposed to be brought into battles!” Nightwing yells, gesturing at the destruction surrounding them. “Why would you bring him here? Do you have any idea-” 

“We were on patrol when the call came in,” Batman dismisses, barely facing his ex-mentee. 

The younger Leaguer wraps his fingers through his hair. “Then you take him home! You call Hood or Red or Spoiler or BB or literally anyone and they take him home,” Nightwing argues. 

Batman remains unemotive, gazing around the battlefield. “There wasn't time.” 

“I don't hear any other civilians in the area,” Superman reports over the comms. 

“Acknowledged. Supes, help the GLs clean up the debris. Shazam and Hawkgirl, head to base,” Nightwing responds in a suddenly professional tone. The moment his finger slips off his ear, the anger returns to his voice. “There's always time. There's always time if it means saving his life.” 

The young Robin, there's no one else the boy could be, takes a subtle step back. Nightwing immediately grabs his arm, preventing him from moving further. The quick movement is gentled the moment his fingers come in contact with the child. His thumb rubs absently, comfortingly against the boy's armor.

Batman crosses his arms. “He wanted to come,” he defends finally. It's clear even he knows this is a weak statement. Batman is the most competent hero out there. If he didn't want the child to join him, then Robin wouldn't be here. 

Nightwing tugs the boy even closer. He takes a calming breath. “It doesn't matter what he wants. It matters that he's safe. He should not have been here.” The calm breaks. “And if he was, for some godforsaken reason, going to be here, you should have warned me! Do you have any idea how horrible it was to find out he was fighting aliens by seeing him slicing one open? That lack of information is dangerous!” He steps forward to Batman, pulling Robin with him even as he attempts to cover the boy's ears. “I've hallucinated Robins before,” he hisses. “Do you think the middle of an invasion is the best time for me to wonder if it's happening again?”

Batman does not look intimidated. He straightens his shoulders and puts weight on his injured leg to prove it. “I will warn you when Robin is on League missions in the future,” he says tersely. 

The younger vigilante drops his head. “So not the point,” he growls. His mouth twists with more fury to spit at the Bat, but he shakes it off. He holds a finger to his ear. “Flamebird, take Robin ho- to the Cave.” 

And in between the first word and the second, there's a flash of yellow and orange and the child is gone. 

Nightwing shakes his head in disgust. “Go back to the Watchtower, Batman. I'll run clean up.” 

The caped crusader opens his mouth once, hand coming up as if to place a hand on the young adult’s shoulder. But Nightwing has already slipped out of range, calling out orders on the comms. 

“You want to patrol?” 

Ollie nods once. 

“In Gotham?” Dinah clarifies flatly. 

He nods again. “That's what I said.” 

She doesn't know if her partner is being particularly dense today or if he's always this dense and she's just learned to ignore it. 

“You do remember that that's Batman’s territory, correct? And that there's a pretty strict rule about metas in that territory?” 

Ollie hums. “Spooky won't mind you in town.” He waves his hand when she tries to protest. “Besides, Roy invited us.” 

“Roy,” she repeats. 

“Mmhmm.” 

She narrows her eyes. “Roy who blames you for everything that went wrong in his life? Roy who ditches every piece of tech you offer regardless of whether they have location trackers? Roy who only talks to you once a year if it's a good year? That Roy?” 

“Yep.” He pops the ‘p.’ 

“Roy doesn't live in Gotham.” 

Ollie waggles his eyebrows. “His boyfriend does.” 

Dinah sighs. It's going to be a long night. 

The zeta-tube in Gotham spits them out into a dark, grimy alley. Home sweet home, she thinks bitterly. 

It's been a long time since she's been allowed in her own city. 

But true to his word, no Bat drops down from the fire escape to threaten her away. 

Well, not Bat-man. She has only a moment to get her bearings before a bulky vigilante in a leather jacket and red helmet is straightening before her. His body armor is black but there's a red bat symbol on his chest. 

Roy, costumed up, appears on the Red Hood’s other side. 

Ollie gives Roy an enthusiastic greeting. Roy gives Ollie a warning. “Don't make me regret this.” 

Dinah withholds a sigh. 

The Red Hood crosses his arms, but this seems to be his resting position rather than a sign of anger as the night goes on. 

They stick to northern Gotham, Hood’s territory, she learns. 

Through the comms Hood provides them, Dinah discovers that there are a few more Gotham vigilantes coordinating than she previously thought. Spoiler chimes in every once in a while, patched in by someone called the Oracle. She seems to be patrolling with Black Bat, but the other vigilante never speaks. 

In southern Gotham, Batwing and Red Robin are stalking the night. 

No Batman though. No Robin. No Nightwing either, although she knows that bird has flown over the river. 

In a moment of quiet, the moon set and the cars below non-existent, she asks if they'll see the city’s better known vigilantes tonight. 

Hood laughs at her question. “Batsy’s in timeout. And if B’s benched, so is Robin. Wing’s out in Central City tonight.” 

On the other side of the roof, Ollie and Roy glance over, but they don't join the conversation.

Curious. “Speedster territory?” she asks. 

The Gothamite nods. “Flamebird is trying to get Wing to cool down about the whole taking-Robin-to-an-alien-invasion thing.” 

Dinah presses her lips together. “You think Batman did the right thing?” The little bits of Hood’s reputation she's learned indicate that he is a fierce protector of children. 

“Fuck no,” he spits out. “Batman’s lucky Red hid all my live rounds, otherwise he’d be dealing with a lot worse than a broken ankle right now.” He shakes his head, the helmet glinting in the street lamps. “But N has a thing about arguing in front of the kid and he has another thing about being around when the kid’s training.” 

Dinah hums thoughtfully. “He cares a lot about Robin.” 

Hood laughs without humor. “You got no idea.” 

They don't get invited back to Gotham. The comm units are returned before they return home through the zeta-tube. 

The next day, Hood screenshots some very strongly worded messages from Batman and texts them to Roy who texts them to Dinah. 

It's clear the crime lord turned vigilante thinks the angry threats are hilarious, but Dinah double checks the Watchtower schedule for the next couple of weeks to ensure she doesn't bump into the Bat unprepared. 

Batman is suspiciously absent from the schedule. Nightwing, however, is suspiciously present. Dinah imagines these two things are connected. 

Nightwing’s assumption of Batman’s responsibilities means that two days after patrolling in Gotham, Dinah’s monitor shift ends and Nightwing’s begins. 

A few minutes before the switch, Nightwing stands in the doorway, draining a large coffee. His hair is disheveled and there are dark marks of sleepless nights so far under his eyes the mask can't hide them. 

He stares blankly at his phone for a few moments before jolting himself back into reality. 

Dinah smiles as he slips into the room beside her. “Nothing unusual so far today. No new extraterrestrial movements, no developing situations, and no calls for back up,” she reports. 

He hums, the sound distant and unfocused. 

The clock ticks past the hour mark. Dinah logs out of the system and Nightwing logs in. 

She hovers a moment, unsure if she wants to say anything. She's felt less nervous facing down Lady Shiva. But she's stood here too long to leave quietly. “Can I ask you something sensitive?” 

Nightwing snorts as he scans through graphical weather reports on the big screen. “You and everyone else,” he mutters. He glances back at her, a typical-Nightwing smile flaring uncomfortably on his lips. “Sure.” 

Dinah hesitates a moment longer. It's really not any of her business. It seems that the two Gothamites have gone out of their way to keep their issues from becoming League business. Still, it's hard not to notice the heavy weight that's been on Nightwing’s shoulders since he returned to duty. 

“Robin. Are you concerned for his safety around Batman?” 

Nightwing stills. His mask obscures his expression, but there's a soft tremble in his breath. Seconds slip by. His hands find home row on the keyboard, but he doesn't start typing. 

An apology is on her lips when he finally answers. “Yes.” His voice is wet and the word cracks something open in both of them. 

Flamebird is waiting by the zetas when her next monitor shift ends. 

He’s wearing civvies—thin red rain coat, frayed jeans, sunglasses hiding his eyes. There's a worried set to his mouth. 

“Grab some tacos with me?” There's not really a request in his tone, even though the last vowel twists up into a question. 

Dinah agrees. He keys up Star City in the zeta interface while she de-capes her outfit. Gloves and mask are shoved into her jacket. She tugs a wet wipe from her pocket to clean off her face. It's easy to pull her hair into a quick braid.

Black Canary doesn't have the luxury of a secret identity, but Dinah Lance has long taken the Dolly Parton approach of going incognito in public. Amazing what dramatic makeup and big hair can do.

Whoever Flamebird is when he isn't in costume, that man doesn't deserve to be exposed because he was spotted with a superstar. 

Flamebird doesn't say much as they appear in the ‘out of order’ blue police box, a façade that was proposed as a joke but somehow made it past Batman. He leads her to a taco cart in a park she's familiar with from years of patrol. 

The winter air is thin and stagnant. A few patches of snow remain on the sides of the paved path. Flamebird sits on a bench, unwrapping the trio of tacos he ordered. 

He bought her some as well, but she passes them over as she sits. Not hungry. 

“B has been Robin’s primary caretaker for the past four months,” Flamebird says quietly, looking out on the empty, frozen park. “Before that, it was me and N. We had him for about a year before B came- took over.” She can't help but align Nightwing’s leave of absence with Robin’s custody change. 

“Where was he before?” she asks, wondering if the boy has echoed many of his publicly identified predecessors by being an orphan.

Flamebird shakes his head in annoyance that isn't directed toward her. “Assassins,” he answers. 

Classified, she figures then. “Why are you telling me anything about this?” The details are vague, but personal. With enough passion and private records, she could probably find a gay Gothamite around Nightwing’s age who raised a dark-skinned elementary schooler for a year before custody changed hands. 

She would never try, but it's still a lot more information about the Bats’ private lives than most non-Bats have been trusted with. Then again, she heard Flash mention once that Flamebird and Nightwing aren't publicly in a relationship as their civilian identities. What that entails, she's not sure. 

Flamebird rubs his eyes under his sunglasses. “N needs to talk to someone about this. It’s- He barely sees his loved ones in Gotham. He talks to me, but…” 

“You're just as upset as he is?” 

Flamebird deflates a little. “That obvious?” 

She shrugs. “You came to a counselor.” 

He crumples together the now empty wrappers. The sun is starting to set. She wonders what it's like to run hundreds of miles in the cold at the speed of sound. 

She doesn't have to wonder what it's like to watch a partner falling apart over a child just out of their reach. 

“I'll talk to him,” she promises softly. 

Flamebird swipes away tears as he thanks her. 

It's a conflict of interest to provide mental health care for someone she knows in life. 

It's good, then, that she doesn't know Nightwing’s real name. 

He meets her on a roof in Blüdhaven two days after the conversation with Flamebird. 

His black jacket is a little sun washed, lighter than his dark sweater underneath. His loose jeans slide over military grade boots. Like his partner, he wears sunglasses. 

The wind is cold in the night, cloud cover heavy. 

He reaches into his jacket pocket and tosses her something small. She examines it in the weak lamplight. A comm unit, different from the standard issue the League uses but smaller than anything on the market. 

Pushing up from where he leans against a brick structure she thinks hides a water tank, he presses a finger to his own ear. “Going dark,” he says lowly. Her comm vibrates in her fingers with his voice. He slips his own into his pocket. “It's on Bat frequency. You need something while your in our cities, you ask for Oracle.” 

An invitation into Gotham, for a meta no less. She nods to Nightwing. 

The vigilante delicately sits on the edge of the roof, swinging his legs as they dangle over. He looks very young right now. It's unnerving. 

She joins him, gazing out at the city under this man’s protection. “When'd you move across the water?” Blüdhaven isn't all that different from Gotham. The sun sets in the distance, the last of its light washing across windows. Sirens call every few minutes. Telephone wires crisscross the city. People mill about below them. When they glance up, there's a moment of excitement followed by a moment of disappointment. Outside the suit, Nightwing looks shockingly different. 

It's the way he holds himself, she decides. In costume, he exudes an easy going air, bringing up the mood of anyone he encounters. 

This blend of hero and civilian she sees now carries something heavier on his shoulders. 

“About eight years ago,” he answers. A few street lamps, late to the party, buzz on across the street. 

“Long time to have such a large territory on your own.” 

He flinches. He nods. He shakes his head. “I’ve had help.” His voice is a little raw. He tugs one of his legs up and wraps his arms around his knee. His jacket catches to reveal thin scars along his skin. 

“Flamebird?” 

He hums noncommittally. Bats and their secrets. 

Dinah shifts away so she can see his face better. “He asked me to check in with you. He's worried.” 

“I know,” Nightwing whispers. He wipes a hand over his mouth. 

“Batman took Robin from you.” 

An ambulance blares past. Nightwing watches it go. Pulls his sweater sleeves out past his jacket and balls them up on his palms. “Robin was always B’s. I just… We just looked after him for a bit.” 

The therapist in her wants to pry further. The hero in her knows to wait. 

“K- I mean, FB and I stepped up when B wasn't able to be there. I didn't. I didn't think B would be able to take my place and then suddenly he was ready and-” Nightwing presses his sweater-swaddled fist into his mouth. When his breath stops rattling his chest, he says, “He just took Robin. Without asking me or FB if we still wanted him. He completely changed his training protocol and all his rules for patrol and all the day-to-day of his civilian life and- Robin needs consistency. He- Everything he’d learned and built in Gotham got ripped away and I can't- I’m- I don't get to be his dad anymore. I barely see him. He won't talk to me like he used to. I don't- I don't.” He shakes his head when the words stop coming. 

Dinah focuses on the sound of the city—eclectic music and gunshots and blaring horns—while Nightwing works to contain his sobs. 

She would tell him that there's no shame in crying, but she remembers him saying the same thing to Red Robin when they checked in on the Titans only a couple weeks ago. “Does Batman know you want to be a part of Robin’s life?” she asks when he wipes his eyes and straightens his posture. 

“Yeah.” He drags a hand over his mouth. “It’s- I asked him about splitting custody and he lost it. Said I was trying to steal his son and banned me from their home.” His voice is achingly distant as he withholds his distress. She thinks about Nightwing beating his fists against Superman’s chest. “It took weeks of Black Bat wearing him down before Batman let me back into their training sessions.”

The sun sinks below the horizon. Her breath fogs up. “That's a lot of control he’s exerting over Robin’s life.” She considers. “You mentioned before that you're worried about Robin’s safety.” 

He nods, gazing out at his city. “I have a few people keeping an eye on it. We just- If we don't have proof, Flamebird and I will be buried in lawyers before we have Robin back home.” 

Dinah leans back. Her chest aches with how precarious the situation is. The balancing act of Robin’s short term and long term safety. The custody battle cutting across civilian and vigilante lives. 

There's a video file waiting for Dinah when she wakes up a few days later. The email doesn't list a sender, nor does it give any ability for her to respond. Just a familiar green face floating on her screen. 

She waits for Ollie to retreat to his office for a work meeting before watching. 

Security footage from the Watchtower appears. 

The zeta-tube is visible, along with the near empty workspace that stretches in either direction. 

Near empty, because Nightwing is sitting at one of the tables, chewing on a pen while he types on a laptop. 

She presses play.

“Batman, 02. Robin, B-47,” the zeta interface calls out. Nightwing’s head snaps up to see the latest iteration of the dynamic duo step through the zeta. 

In an instant, he's standing beside them. 

“We agreed Robin would not come to the Watchtower,” Nightwing says in place of a greeting. At first blush, his voice is level. Now, after hearing on that rooftop what devastation sounds like, Dinah knows there is terror beneath his words. 

Batman grunts. 

“No, we both agreed,” Nightwing argues as if Batman had given a cogent response. “We both-” He sucks in a breath. “Sorry, sorry-” The apology is clearly directed at the stiff little boy between them. “I'm not fighting. I'm-” He releases the tension in his shoulders. “Why did you bring Robin?” 

Batman stands a little straighter. “He needed supervision.” 

The boy scowls at this. “I do not require supervision, I am perfectly capable of keeping myself alive.” 

Nightwing’s back is to her in the footage, but it's still clear how much he softens hearing his child’s voice. 

“I know you- I know.” He reaches toward the boy but stops himself. “I can keep an eye on him.” 

The white slits of Batman’s mask narrow. 

“We’ll just be in the lounge or the kitchen. It's no problem, really. I would, please.” 

Robin takes a small step toward the zeta-tube, but Batman pins him with a glance. 

“Fine. Robin, I’ll be back in an hour.” 

Batman’s cape flares dramatically as he sweeps out of the room. 

Nightwing keeps himself very still until he's gone. He holds out a hand to Robin, which the boy ignores. “It’s good to see you, sweetie,” Nightwing tells his child quietly, leading him to the lounge area. 

In the footage, it's hard to make out how Robin reacts to the words. 

They step out of the camera’s range and are immediately picked back up again by a new angle. Nightwing is on his phone, texting quickly. 

Another camera switch as they enter the lounge. There are no other heroes hanging about. The father and son sit beside each other on the couch. 

Nightwing is clearly struggling to stay calm, alternating between long stares and gaze pinging around the room. “How’s school going?” he asks after a few minutes. 

Robin turns to give his parent a withering glare. “You of all people know I will not answer that question here.” 

The father deflates. “I know,” he whispers. 

“Flamebird, B-38,” the zeta calls out. Immediately, the speedster is by Robin’s side. He wears civvies but has a hastily slapped on mask over his eyes. 

“Hey kiddo,” he breathes. 

“Hello,” Robin answers, voice devoid of emotion but mouth fighting against a smile.

Flamebird clears his throat. “I was at home when N texted. I brought some- I brought your sketchbook, in case you wanted something to do.” He passes a Batman-branded backpack to the boy, who wraps his arms around it. 

“I also grabbed some coloring books since I'm hopeless at art.” 

The too-young vigilante zips open the bag. “You are. Hopefully you have not forgotten all I have taught you about composition in the last three months.” 

Nightwing’s face crumbles at the reminder of how long they've been separated from their son. Flashbird keeps it together until Robin turns away to set up his supplies on the coffee table. 

The fathers clasp hands briefly, locking away all their stress in front of their child. 

Flamebird joins Robin on the floor, dutifully taking the crayons that Robin selects for him and listening attentively to each of the child's recommendations as he colors in an underwater scene. 

Robin has a fancy-looking pen that he slowly scrapes across a blank page of the large sketchbook. 

Nightwing sits on Robin’s other side, not joining in the activity but chatting idly. 

It's easy to forget that the family is under such strain when they fit together so naturally. 

Then, Nightwing asks, “Hey, sweetheart, would it be alright if I gave you a hug?” 

The artist freezes. 

Hope drains from the father’s face. 

Robin forcibly relaxes his body. “Yes, I suppose a single embrace would be acceptable so long as it does not exceed thirty seconds.” Dinah’s not sure if the formality of the child’s speech means anything, but neither father seemed particularly surprised by it.

Still, trepidation flickers between the parents.

The boy sets down his pencil and glances up. The confused furrow of his brow smooths out after a moment. “Thirty seconds each,” he decides. He holds out his arms and immediately Nightwing sweeps him up. 

Robin’s small frame curls around the older hero, who cradles him close to his chest, swaying slowly around the room. The boy hides his face in the crook of Nightwing’s neck when the father whispers something that isn't picked up by the camera’s microphones. 

When the hug ends, Dinah backs up the video thirty seconds to watch Flamebird during the embrace. 

A grin splits the father’s face with a joy Dinah forgot he was capable of. As the seconds tick by, the smile fades and the sadness that’s shrouded the usually jovial hero returns bit by bit. He shakes it off when Nightwing sets the boy down and Robin faces him, arms out expectantly. 

“Could I save my hug for later, or does it have an expiration date?” Flamebird asks, pushing humor into the words. 

Robin drops his arms in what looks like relief. “My offer does not expire,” he declares, returning to his sketch. He’d flipped the book over before Nightwing had picked him up and he continues to keep his parent’s eyes away from his art piece. 

Time slips by. Flamebird completes his underwater scene and is immediately instructed on how best to shade a savannah. Nightwing takes a few photos on his phone as he chats. 

They relax further, even Robin, up until the moment Batman silently appears at the entrance. 

The two birds notice immediately and the speedster follows their gaze. 

“Robin, let's go,” Batman orders. Dinah can't make out a single emotion in his tone, his face, his posture. Does he know that he's ripping the boy from his fathers? Does he care? Dinah's not particularly close to Batman, no one is, but his callous disregard for both Robins' well-beings makes her blood boil. 

The boy hesitates even as he stands. “I promised Da- I promised Flamebird I would endure thirty seconds of physical contact with him before I left.” Dinah doesn't like how Robin rephrases the hug to better manage his guardian’s blocked emotions. 

Batman’s face doesn't change. He gestures vaguely at Robin, who takes it as permission.

Kneeling beside his child, Flamebird cuddles Robin close, rubbing his hands across the boy’s back and arms. Some of Robin’s stiffness fades away. As the thirty seconds come to an end, Flamebird softly presses a kiss into Robin's hair. 

“I love you, kiddo.” 

Nightwing is ripped out of his pained glare at Batman to say, “Love you, sweetheart.” 

Robin retreats back to his guardian with the compliance of a soldier. The obedience of his feet does not match the flickering wariness of his face. “Goodbye, Nightwing. Goodbye, Flamebird.” 

The two fathers hold it together long enough for the zeta-tubes to announce the dynamic duo’s exit. Then, they collapse into each other, clinging desperately. 

Left upright on the coffee table is a sketch of three heroes standing defiantly on a rooftop. 

It’s been a long time since Dinah’s visited Mount Justice, seeing as the property has been outed to the public on numerous occasions, not to mention exploded at least twice. 

The zeta still works though and it only takes a few minutes to find Flamebird staring at the cabinet of souvenirs that Kid Flash collected before the tragic day in the Arctic. 

“He was a good kid,” Dinah comments respectfully. It’s been harder to hold onto that specific grief when the losses have only grown over the years. 

Flamebird’s mouth twists ruefully. “Yeah.” His fingers press gently against the glass case. “Yeah, he was.” 

“Did you have the chance to meet him?” she asks. She doubts it. Flamebird came on the scene over a year after Kid Flash died. 

He shrugs. “You could say that.” He clears his throat. “Thanks for talking to N.” 

“Of course.” She feels off-kilter, mouth dry. It's my death, Flamebird had said.

The father gives the cabinet one last, mournful look before stepping away. They slowly walk out into the water-filled grotto. “We’re debating hiring a lawyer.” He makes a face. “We’ve been debating hiring a lawyer, but N is finally coming around to the idea.” 

“You want me to fake session notes to be subpoenaed?” Otherwise, she’s not really sure why he asked her here. 

Flamebird shakes his head. “N is very serious about the secret identity thing,” he answers dismissively. This Dinah knows to be very true. She wonders if that why Kid Flash was not resurrected to the League as a whole. Artemis, at least, must know. KF saved in her contacts. Dinah pulls her attention away from this joyous realization. “We have a friend who’s going to do that with a fake civvy therapist.” 

“The Oracle?” She’d finally done some Internet sleuthing after the hacker had shared the video. 

“She’s the best.” He sighs. “I know she sent you footage of Robin in the Watchtower.” He scrubs a gloved hand over his face. “Do you think he’s-” He takes a shaky breath. “Did you see anything we missed?” 

Dinah considers. The video had deleted itself from her phone immediately after ending. Still, she’s not a licensed therapist for nothing. “Robin’s very young to have that kind of control over his emotions. But there were a few things I noticed.” The father tenses. “He was more relaxed around you and Nightwing than he was around Batman. He misses you both.” The brief smile when Flamebird had joined them. “Sees you both as heroes.” The sketch of a crime fighting trio. “He did not try to establish limits, but seemed very grateful that you both remembered them.” 

They come to the edge of the unmoving water and look out over it. Flamebird rubs his fingers over his arms, contemplative and sorrowful. 

“He didn't want to go with Batman.” 

A choked sound escapes the father’s lungs. He tips his head down so she can't see his face. His shoulders tremble. 

Dinah wonders why some of the most closed off members of the League are offering up their bottomless fears and bitter hopes to her. Secrets pool in her stomach. 

“It's not like I didn't already know it,” Flamebird whispers. It's hard, reconciling the teenager who died with this mourning parent. “But hearing someone else say it is so much worse.” 

There’s a reason they want to do this all so quietly. There’s a reason Robin won't report any mistreatment to another adult. There’s a reason they’re waiting for proof. 

Not for the first time, she wonders who Batman is under the mask. She wonders what kind of outrage would occur if that man were found out to be an abuser. 

Last year, the caped crusader seemed to finally start relaxing his deeply entrenched boundaries. Ever since Nightwing’s re-joined the League though, it's like all that progress has disappeared.

Has he snapped? Reverted back into the impenetrable wall every Leaguer has slammed into at least once? 

Flamebird sniffles. “I don't want things to get messy and public. I really don't.” He glances over at her. “But I don't know how much longer I can wait for things to get worse.” 

At a loss for words, Dinah pulls him into a hug. The way he melts into it, she thinks it's the first time he’s been comforted in a while. 

They meet on a different roof at a different time nine days later. 

One week would be too consistent, Nightwing asserts. 

Spring is slowly creeping into the city, enough that she leaves her coat at home, always more comfortable in her signature jacket. 

It’s early evening, the sun positioned to shine directly into her eyes, when Nightwing materializes beside her. 

They greet each other softly, gazing out at the quickly shadowing city. A pair of capes races across a nearby rooftop, a little early in the day as they cover for Blüdhaven’s protector. Nightwing smiles at them, pressing a finger to his ear. “Black Bat, keep Red Robin from dooming my city please,” he requests playfully. 

The duo wave before shooting grappling lines and disappearing behind a courthouse. 

Nightwing signs off, tucking the comm unit into his pocket. 

The amusement fades from his face as he remembers why they're here. 

“I got an email from his school. They forgot to take me off the contact list, I guess.” The hero presses his sunglasses more firmly against his nose. “Robin’s missed enough days this semester that they’ll hold him back if his attendance doesn't improve.” He swallows. “And I don't know if he's skipping or if B’s keeping him home or if he’s been sick or.” He looks at her helplessly. “I don't know.” 

Dinah joins him at the ledge. They're on the roof of an office building, spaces rented out by designers and realtors and therapists. 

“He hasn't said anything to his counselors or teachers.” If he had, Nightwing would be holding his son right now. 

The vigilante fiddles with the cuffs of his jacket. “He won't. Even if they reported it to CPS, B would bury it. And Batman has drilled all of us on keeping our identities secret. Robin wouldn't do anything that would cause an investigation of any kind.” 

“What kind of proof are you waiting for then?” Dinah asks. It’s a little forward, but Nightwing isn't the typical client. 

“I-” His phone dings in his pocket. Worry creases his brow as he tugs it out. As he reads the message, his free hand covers his mouth. He shudders out of shock. “I have to go.” 

“N?” 

He briefly touches Dinah’s shoulder. “Signal just texted me the codes for civilian injury and Robin. I-” He presses his fist to his lips. “It's time.” 

In their current attire, they can’t jump across rooftops like Nightwing clearly wants to. He races down the office building’s stairwell three steps at a time as tennants dart out of his way. Dinah follows after, only just keeping up. 

They burst out onto the street and Dinah is struck that it’s still daytime. There are still civilians going about their lives. Getting dinner, walking dogs, meeting family, laughing with friends. 

A strange, casual look gets pinned on Nightwing’s face as he attempts to blend in with the people around him. It’s eerie, how well it works. 

His phone is in hand and she comes up behind him, she sees him slip his comm unit into his ear. He covers the motion seamlessly with his phone. 

Dinah gets her own comm in a moment later, holding in a cringe at the staticky echo. “O, who’s here?”

Nightwing gestures for Dinah to follow him. They’re not heading to the warehouse that hides Blüdhaven’s zeta-tube. Instead, they cut through foot traffic and cross the street when it’s clear, ignoring the walk sign, as Oracle responds. 

“Robin’s the only one on the main channel. I’ve got Hood, Signal, and Spoiler on a separate link,” the Oracle reports. It’s the same voice of the woman who had spoken with Nightwing through the floating green head in the Titan’s tower. The same woman who coordinated Dinah’s patrol with Roy, Ollie, and Hood in Gotham. “RR and BB are on Blüd’s general channel. Canary’s with you. I’m pinging FB too. He’s on patrol in Keystone but went dark a few minutes ago to talk to a victim.”

The vigilante stops suddenly outside a gas station. Dinah looks up to see a blue bus stop sign. The 23 and 48 lines stop here. Westbound, it says. Nightwing has his phone wedged into his ear as he retrieves his bus pass from his wallet. His driver’s license isn’t visible in the usual pocket. 

“The moment FB is available, put him and Robin in a separate room and lock it.” He hands Dinah two dollars and points up the street. A bus is slowly trundling toward this stop. She wonders if it’s luck or if Nightwing truly knows his city that well. 

“Will do.” A pause. “Signal wants to be put in with you.”

Running his fingers through his hair, Nightwing nods. “Alright.”

The bus stops in front of them. Nightwing climbs on, swiping his bus pass. Dinah feeds the machine her two dollars and follows the young hero to the very back row. No one looks up from their phones and books and knitting as they pass, except for one older gentleman with a walker, who seems annoyed that someone is taking a call on the bus. 

“Status report, S,” Nightwing requests quietly after the line clicks once. “BC is here as well.”

A young, nervous voice comes through. “I’m upstairs. Spoiler is in the Cave with Robin and Batman. I, um- He-”

“You don’t have to tell me what happened,” Nightwing soothes quietly. The rumbling of the bus takes away the echo of his words. “You’ve done a really good job, S. You’ve been very, very brave. If you need to cut out now, no one will be upset.”

The teenager lets out a shaky breath. “No. I- What do you need?”

“Hood is on location,” Oracle announces as Nightwing pulls the cord to request their stop. “If B didn’t know something was up before…”

“He will now,” Nightwing finishes. “Tell RH his priority is Robin.”

“I’ll try.”

The vigilante pretends to hang up his call and slips his phone in his pocket. The bus whines to a stop. 

“You don’t have to come with,” he tells Dinah as they step over a sewer drain onto the sidewalk. 

She tugs on her jacket, straightening it. It’s her cape, after all, and they’re about to go save a child. “I’m coming. Just tell me where you need me.” 

The tightness of his smile relaxes slightly. They march past a convenience store and climb a chain link fence into the warehouse district. 

“Signal and Spoiler are going to run interference with B,” he says after glancing around to make sure there isn’t anyone milling about past the No Trespassing sign the JL no doubt hung here. “Hood will make sure Robin doesn’t spook and FB and I will extract him. We’re not sure if B will put up a fight, but if he does.” He clenches his jaw. “I don’t like asking you to fight another Leaguer.” 

Dinah shrugs, ducking below the loading dock’s garage door as Nightwing tugs it up with practiced ease. “I won’t be acting as a JL member when I kick his ass.” 

Shocked gratitude flashes across his face. He doesn’t have a chance to say anything when Oracle chimes in again. “Pulling you to Hood’s channel, N. Canary.” 

Nightwing taps his comm once, making a clicking sound, a non-verbal acknowledgement of the information. He moves quickly through the warehouse, not running so much as leaping. At the zeta’s disguised interface, he quickly signs in, queueing up Gotham. 

“... needed some equipment,” a gruff voice is saying. Red Hood, Dinah recognizes. Every news outlet tells her the man is a homicidal maniac, a crime lord that only stops short of killing children. 

After meeting the man, Roy’s boyfriend, she knows that’s far from the truth. 

There’s a soft pinging of metal against metal. “Demon brat, help me carry some of this shit.” 

Dinah can’t hear anyone respond. Neither Robin, nor Batman are on their channel. 

“Hood, I’m about to pull Robin into a channel with FB,” Oracle warns. “Keep it subtle, if you can.” 

Another clicking sound. 

The zeta fires up before them and Nightwing disappears into it. Dinah steps through without hesitation. 

Despite being just across the harbor, it’s dark in Gotham. Dense cloud cover and too-tall buildings. Nightwing doesn’t wait for her, already at the entrance of the alleyway containing the broken down telephone booth. 

She jogs to catch up, only slowing her gait when she sees civilians waiting in line for a night club a few feet away. 

Nightwing’s hands are shoved deep in his pockets and he has a scowl that makes people move out of his way. Dinah slides into step beside him. 

“Bus again?” she asks quietly. 

The vigilante shakes his head. “Spare car in the parking garage,” he nods to the pillars of open air concrete across the way. He pretends to scratch his ear, clicking on his comm. “We’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”

“Acknowledged,” Oracle answers. There is no frantic edge to her voice. None of the heroes Dinah’s heard tonight have faltered. She thinks back to the day she retrieved her jacket from the Watchtower common room. Almost four months ago. That’s how long Gotham’s heroes have been preparing for this. “I’m adding Spoiler and Signal to this link. B is now on the main Gotham channel.” 

“C’mon B-man, it’ll take like five minutes,” a young girl groans. Dinah follows Nightwing into the parking garage’s elevator. He hits the button for the top floor. 

There is again no response, but frustration creeps into Spoiler’s voice. “I know we have patrol. I’m literally here for patrol, I’m just asking-” 

Dinah’s not exactly sure what tips the Bat off. One moment, Spoiler seems to be holding his attention. The next, Hood is growling threats at the man to stay on the other side of the room and ordering the two teen heroes to make sure he obeys. 

“Oracle, update,” Nightwing demands. 

There isn’t a direct response. The elevator doors open to the roof of the parking garage. Nightwing sprints to a nondescript black car in the corner of the lot, tucked in behind a white truck with an insensitive logo for a butcher on the side. 

“If you take another step forward, I will shoot you. And I'll make sure this death sticks,” the Red Hood roars in all his crime lord authority. 

The car unlocks without Nightwing pulling out a key. The vigilante slides into the driver’s seat and the engine turns over without him doing anything. Bat tech has always amazed Dinah, but she's more distracted by Red Hood's threats. 

She barely has time to buckle before he’s zipping out of the garage, cars spiraling past them. 

“Let’s try using our words, B-man. Not everyone is fluent in grunts.” Spoiler’s taunts are painfully tight over the comms. She gasps for a moment. “Okay, not everyone is fluent in punches either! What the fuck!” She coughs. “Thanks, Signal.”

“No one engages with Batman,” Nightwing orders. “I’m ten minutes out.” The front tires hit pavement. 

Hood shouts, “If you touch any one of these kids, I will put you in the ground.” Then, his voice turns soft. “It’s okay, you’re okay baby ba- kiddo. Sorry, wrong Batman, I know. It's okay. Take a deep breath. Listen to your dad.” 

Nightwing’s foot presses ever harder on the gas pedal. 

Oracle’s calm voice clicks back on the comm channel. Momentarily, the other three vigilantes are muted. “Batman and Robin are in the Cave, but seperated,” she reports. “Everyone is masked. FB is on his way.” 

“Acknowledged,” Nightwing grits out. His fingers tighten around the steering wheel. 

The line clicks back over to the rest of the vigilantes. 

“Your baba’s going to be here soon, alright? I need you to stay next to me until then,” Hood states calmly. 

The father next to her swerves south, sailing over a bridge as he weaves in and out of traffic. “Close your eyes,” he says quietly. “You don't want to deal with knowing where the Cave is.” 

Water thunders overhead and then the car stops moving. 

When Nightwing exits the SUV, she peers out. 

They’re parked in a bank of various vehicles that backs into a churning waterfall. The Cave is not a nickname, it turns out.

Stone walls stretch high on all sides. To the left is a blocked off area with heavy security on the visible door. Beyond it, is a sterile medical area with several white beds and neatly labeled cabinets. The space is sealed off from the rest of the Cave with thick glass walls. Through them, she sees work out equipment more extensive than the Watchtower’s gym. 

To her right, is a bay of lockers labeled with weapons and suits. A sparring mat is in front of it, overlooked by a platform with a massive spread of computer monitors that run code, display case files, and depict video feeds. 

In the distance straight ahead is a stairwell that is shrouded in darkness. And just a few yards away is Batman. 

The founder of the Justice League stands very still, projecting displeasure at the teenage vigilantes who block him. Signal wears a mix of civilian clothing and his yellow uniform. Spoiler is fully dressed in her purple costume, hood blocking her features. 

Two teenagers shift from foot to foot, shouting at the man to stay put. They stand between the cape-less Bat and the training mat, where the Red Hood crouches. 

The ex-crime lord’s armored back is to the trio and he speaks softly. His helmet is set aside, eyes covered by the same empty domino mask hiding every young vigilante’s eyes. His hands are held out placatingly as he soothes the young Robin. 

The child’s chest heaves with a swirl of devasted, confused fury. His fists are balled up and, even in the poor lighting, Dinah can see a bruise discoloring his left cheek. 

He too is in a mix of uniform and civvies. He looks very, very scared. 

In the moments Dinah observes the state of the Cave, Nightwing takes three long strides forward. Equidistant between Batman and Robin, he immediately gains the attention of the room. 

Spoiler and Signal’s shouts are choked off. Hood’s quiet reassurances are paused. Even Batman swings his glare from Robin’s general direction to rest squarely on Nightwing’s face. 

Dinah has seen world-saving supers crumble under that furious gaze. Nightwing does not flinch. He's come a long way since you, Oracle had said. 

When Nightwing turns away from his mentor and toward his child, Batman steps forward. Nightwing’s attention immediately snaps back. “You don't touch him.” 

The air prickles with the promise of danger. 

As he kneels in front of Robin, the firm posture of team leader melts away. His words are achingly gentle to his son. 

“I'm here now, sweetie. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry this happened.” 

Hood is rigid beside him, shifting his weight uncomfortably. 

Nightwing lifts a finger to his ear. “I'm with Robin now,” he informs whoever is on the other side. Dinah realizes her own comm unit has been silent since they entered the Cave. 

Then, the weight of the first sidekick, the first Robin, the founder of the Titans, one of the youngest, most trusted members of the League, returns. “Hood, Canary.” Nightwing glances ever so briefly over his shoulder. “Put Batman in a containment cell.” His finger goes to his ear again. “FB, can you pack up his things and meet us in the Cave?” A pause. “Thank you. I'll see you soon.” He shifts his weight backward. “Spoiler, Signal, come here.” 

Dinah obliges without discussion. After all she’s witnessed and all that's been divulged to her these last few months, she’s more than happy to lock Batman away from the child he hurts. 

The hesitance on Robin’s face as he followed Batman out of the Watchtower is strong in her mind’s eye as she stalks toward the so-called hero. Hood is on her right, glowering. The two teenage vigilantes only step back when Hood nods for them to. They sweep away silently. 

“Canary,” Batman hisses. “This is entirely inappropriate and unnecessary. This is a civilian matter and Nightwing and I will handle this privately. You may leave.” 

She rolls her eyes. “If this were a civilian matter, Nightwing and Flamebird would have taken back custody already.” Her jaw sets. “Bet you've been real careful making sure they can't show anything to a judge.” Her vision flares with the anguish that's been entrusted to her. “Let's move,” she orders, putting all the authority that over a decade in the League has given her. 

Batman, the world’s greatest detective, doesn't stumble back. But his weight shifts just a little off and his mouth clicks shut and he shuffles angrily to the small hall between the containment cells and medical center without another word. 

Hood shoves him through the door, shoulders shaking with rage. He types a code into the security panel and the glass turns opaque. No one will be seeing their abuser for the rest of the night. 

Back on the training mats, Nightwing is speaking softly to Robin. The boy hasn't moved from his spot, but a shock blanket has been wrapped over his shoulders. 

Spoiler and Signal sit on either side of the elder hero and he has an arm wrapped around each of them. 

Hood crouches down beside Spoiler and Dinah sits on Signal’s right. 

“He’s not going to touch you ever again, sweetie. I promise,” Nightwing whispers. “I’m right here and I’m not going to let him take you again.” 

Dinah is experienced enough with masks to know that Robin is staring back at the containment cell his guardian has been locked in. 

“I’m going to take Spoiler on patrol,” Hood says quietly. Around the children, his fury has been tucked away. 

The young teen shutters through a series of lost expressions. Tears leak through her mask now that the danger is over. 

“You can stay with me and Roy or I can take you home tonight, whichever feels safer,” he tells her gently. 

Nightwing kisses the top of Spoiler’s hood. “Love you,” he tells her. “I’m- I love you and I'm sorry and I'm really, really grateful you were here.” 

She gives a watery smile. “You owe me big time,” she agrees. She accepts Hood’s extended hand, passes him his helmet with minutely shaking fingers, and follows him toward a motorcycle parked haphazardly by the car Nightwing had driven in. Hood stares a moment at the containment cells before taking off. 

Nightwing’s grip tightens on Signal’s arm. “Do you want FB to pack a bag for you?” he asks quietly. 

Signal looks up at him, then rests his cheek on Nightwing’s shoulder. “You’ll need this,” he whispers, retrieving a thumb drive from his jean pocket. 

Nightwing kisses the top of his head too. His empty arm reaches listlessly toward Robin. 

“I’m going to stay with Batwing tonight. Is Robin still going to do school here?” 

“Yeah, we’ll- FB and I will figure it out. And we’ll figure your situation out too, I promise. I already have all the forms for emergency custody, I’ll file them first thing-” He cuts himself off when a blur of orange and yellow zips through the room. 

Flamebird has a small, but expensive-looking black backpack slung over one shoulder and a stuffed gym bag in the opposite hand. 

He sets them down to hover anxiously in front of his son. 

Having both his fathers here is what Robin was waiting for, consciously or not. His lip trembles and his breath shakes. He reaches out a small hand to Flamebird and the father immediately wraps him in a hug. 

His sobs are too quiet, heaving through his chest as he chokes off every sound. 

Flamebird carries him back the few feet to be cuddled between his two fathers. 

Nightwing keeps one arm around Signal and uses the other to card through Robin's dark hair. Flamebird rubs the boy’s back and squeezes his arms. 

It’s cathartic, Dinah thinks for a moment. To see the end of all the strained horror she’s glimpsed. 

Then there’s a muffled clang from the containment cells and she remembers that the threat is far from neutralized. 

Robin isn't calmed in the slightest, but Nightwing insists they get moving. He calls someone named Agent A to release Batman from the containment cells if he hasn't escaped within the hour. 

Then, Dinah, the fathers, and the two young vigilantes are all climbing into the same car Nightwing drove here. 

In the middle backseat, Flamebird has Signal and Robin wrapped in each arm. Signal appears to be fighting sleep, flinching back into awareness every few minutes. Robin distantly traces his fingers over the stitches in his dad’s uniform, tears replaced with listless despondancy. 

The drive to the Cave was more dangerous than any high speed chase she’s witnessed. The drive back to the parking garage is a model of safety. 

She closes her eyes for most of the trip—everyone remembers how long it took Flash to get through the paperwork necessary after learning the location of the Cave, and he's a speedster. After a few detours to obfuscate her sense of direction, Nightwing quietly tells her she’s clear. South Gotham blinks into view, the car pointed north. 

The third time Nightwing flicks on his turns signal far too early, Dinah opens her mouth to tease him. Then, she catches the terrified glint in his eye. She stays quiet. 

As he slowly guides the car through the garage, Nightwing asks Dinah to wait a few minutes after Flamebird and Robin leave before returning to Star City via the zeta-tube.

He promises his partner and child that he’ll be home as soon as Signal is with Batwing. 

Everyone does as instructed once he parks, Robin only lingering long enough for Nightwing to hug him tight and kiss the crown of his hair. 

When Dinah reaches the phone booth, the zeta is queued up for Blüdhaven. It takes less than a minute to switch it to her destination, something frightened and hopeful in her chest. Stepping into her city, Artemis and Roy wait just outside the zeta, looking to her expectantly. 

It's a surprise to hear Flamebird, Nightwing, and Robin’s call signs be read off by the zeta interface until Dinah realizes Batman is no longer here. 

The recently minted JL Reserve members make the rounds, talking with friends old and new. Robin is never more than an arm’s length away from his parents and Dinah knows this is for his own comfort rather than his fathers’ orders. 

Ollie cheers her across the room, grinning widely when Nightwing joins his conversation with Aquaman. 

It’s good to see the man who silently carried the mantle of Batman for a year interacting with some of the founding Leaguers. Dinah still can't believe no one other than Superman knew that particular secret, when she asked Nightwing after putting it together thinking back through the night Robin was rescued. Wrong Batman, Red Hood had said. I'll make sure this death sticks.

Batman still holds his position, much to Dinah’s eternal frustration. Nightwing and Flamebird stand by the secret identity precautions as much as it clearly pains them to see their son’s abuser in a position of power. 

Still, Dinah has done her part to warn as many Leaguers as possible that Batman should not be trusted with children. The Woman Warriors in particular have been leading a campaign to shut Batman out of missions he isn't involved in, slowly squeezing his relevancy away. 

Dinah smiles to herself. A few months ago, Batman certainly would've stayed for the whole event. It speaks volumes that he left when the press did. 

The night continues on. At their table, Zatanna and Rocket excuse themselves to pester Vixen about an upcoming game night, so Dinah heads to the buffet table to snag a few more cucumbers before another speedster makes a pass. 

Her instincts are right. A moment later, Flambird is scooping tzatziki sauce beside her. 

They greet each other pleasantly, moving to the far wall where the viewing windows have been made opaque. 

The ceremony of accepting new members into the League is complete. The public relations are smoothed over. The rest of the night is for the heroes. 

“No Signal?” Dinah asks, craning her head around in case she misses his call sign. The Hall of Justice is crowded with all manner of heroes, chatting and eating and laughing. 

Flamebird shrugs, carefully scooping as much artichoke dip onto his tortilla chip as (meta)humanly possible. “Sig likes to keep to Gotham. Most of the birds do.” 

Dinah raises an eyebrow in Robin’s direction. The little boy is scowling at the younger of Superman’s sons while Nightwing speaks animatedly with Supergirl. 

“Robin’s a special case,” he laughs and there’s only a trace of the hollowness that he carried through the spring. He leans forward conspiratorially. “He won't let us leave home without him.” 

As if sensing he’s being discussed, Robin sends a glare to Flamebird. The father pleasantly cheers him with a carrot. 

“All the paperwork went through?” Dinah asks as casually as she can. There are a lot of enhanced senses in the room and she doesn't want to jeopardize her position as the couple's confidant by spreading around private information. 

The rooftop meetings have mostly ended in the last few months, replaced by quick calls and texts as milestones are reached. She suspects the exact dates of the sealed court proceedings are being changed, but she's honored nonetheless that they continue to trust her. 

Flamebird’s beaming smile is answer enough. 

She squeezes his arm. “I'm truly happy for you all.” 

Setting aside his plate on a nearby table, Flamebird pulls her into a tight hug. “Don't think we would've kept it together. Thank you,” he whispers. 

Dinah strengthens her hold before releasing him. “You’re welcome,” she tells him genuinely. 

“Flamebird.” 

Dinah starts at the flat voice. She turns to see that Robin and Nightwing have snuck up on her. 

“Hey, kiddo.” The father reaches under Robin’s hood to ruffle his hair. 

“Nightwing insists that we must leave to adhere to his arbitrary bedtime rules. Order him to make an exception so I might convince the imbecile known as Superboy that his city is a disgrace to the already blemished concept of Western culture.” 

Dinah withholds a laugh, bright joy passing between the three adults. Robin glowers, but it's clearly performative. 

“No can do, buddy. I agree with your ba- with Nightwing on this one.” 

Robin crosses his arms, but leans against his father’s leg when Flamebird places a soft hand on his shoulder. 

“I promise I'll set up a playdate for the two of you," Nightwing assures his son. His posture is relaxed and smile genuine. "Last stop before we head home,” Nightwing says softly. “Do you want to give Canary your gift?” 

The young boy looks embarrassed, straightening his shoulders against the emotion. “Now would be an optimal time, yes,” he agrees after a moment. Hidden under his cape, he slips a small backpack off his shoulders. It shimmers, Nightwing’s breastplate logo on the back and Flamebird’s colors running through the threading and zippers. Definitely custom made. 

His small fingers efficiently open the main pocket and gingerly pull out a rectangular object, about the size of a book, wrapped in parchment paper. He holds it out to her expectantly. 

Dinah kneels down to accept the gift, surprise making her movements slow. She’s never technically interacted with Robin, only been in the same space as him twice, yet here he is with a present just for her. 

Carefully, she unwraps the paper to reveal a beautifully painted scene of herself standing on a rooftop. Covered in her black jacket and fishnets and subtly armored breastplate, she looks fierce and strong and steady, looking out at what is unmistakably Blüdhaven. It’s a rainy, nighttime scene, the blur of streetlights pulled by thick, precise brushstrokes. 

On a power line stretching above her rest three birds. A blackbird, with a collection of blue feathers on its throat, head cocked thoughtfully. An oriole with its wings, streaked in yellow and orange, ready to take off. A small, ruddy red robin, tucked between the two.

“This is beautiful,” she says a little breathlessly. She has no doubt that Robin is the artist, the way he studies her face for a reaction. “Thank you so much.” She ghosts her fingers over the textured surface, careful not to actually touch the dried paint. 

Robin tuts noncommittally. He glances back up at his fathers who stand on either side of him now with matching proud grins. Three birds, reunited for good. 

Three birds who trusted her throughout their long flight home and who trust her now. She’s strangely pleased that she won't be seeing into their lives much more.