Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Something was different.

Well, in a family of heroes who all have their own teams and misadventures, there was always something new with the lot of them.

One day, everything is relatively "fine" — and then the next day, Jason comes out wielding magic swords no one knew he had and Cass can now bend blood.

So the threshold for "weird" had always been wonky in their family.

Tim had been a Wayne for the better part of nearly a decade now, and so determined he knew that threshold well.

Which is why when he came to the manor to find Steph curled up next to Bruce, her eyes puffy and her face flushed an angry red, Tim thought of the worse.

"Did someone die?"

The two looked up. Tim couldn't tell the remnants of emotions on Bruce's face because his dad immediately melted at the sight of him, as he always did.

Steph, meanwhile, profusely began to wipe at her face.

"No one important, probably. Fuck you doing here?"

Tim arched her brow, "For several reasons. Let's start with the fact that this is my house, tonight is batkid night which is what I am, and that's my dad you're cuddling."

Steph sputtered, jerking up from where she laid, with her legs across Bruce's lap and her body snuggled under his arm, face buried into his collarbone.

"Fuck you mean cuddling? T-This? This isn't cuddling!"

"I don't know, Steph," Bruce shrugged, "You seemed very comfortable."

Steph slapped her palm on his mouth.

"Hush. You are a pillow, remember? And pillows don't- UGH! Bruce! Did you just fucking lick me!?"

Tim bit his lip, "Steph, are you really okay? You look fresh out of crying."

Steph and Bruce blinked at him owlishly, before turning to each other for a thorough conversation in looks, and answering in tandem.

"Sad movie."

"Hormones."

Bruce frowned at Steph.

"Hormones triggered from a sad movie."

Tim rolled his eyes, throwing his hands up. "Okay, fine, keep your secrets."

And it was true. Tim was very much alright with taking their clearly bastardous lie. Far be it of him to pretend he's above it, after all.

But then Alfred appeared from behind him and Stephanie flinched.

The butler lit up at the sight of him, "Ah, Master Tim. Welcome, sir. I would've greeted you at the foyer but my hands are tied to prepare tea snacks for our arrivals."

Tim watched from the corner of his eyes as Stephanie shifted back to place on Bruce, but with her earlier reaction, he figured it wasn't actually cuddling.

No, Steph was posturing herself upright, hand on Bruce's chest and pushing him on the couch and her eyes were trained on Alfred.

Tim couldn't tell Bruce's reaction from this angle, but he can feel the burning glare coming from Steph in a distance.

It was in these situations where he wished he had Cass' abilities, truly.

Speaking of, "Am I the first among the actual Wayne kids? I see Steph's first among the freeloaders to arrive.

Steph didn't dignify that with a response when she normally would. If she wanted to be subtle about the truth, she was doing a horrible job at it, purposefully or no.

"Master Jason and Master Duke are in the kitchen, if you would like to see them. Master Damian is out with his pets in the meantime. Miss Cass, Miss Gordon, and Master Dick will be expected before dinner."

Then Alfred regarded Steph, so did Tim, and he saw a flash of something… murderous in her eyes.

"I wasn't aware Miss Stephanie was here as well."

"I'm here," she chirped, a wry smile.

Bruce flicked her at the shoulder, giving her what was clearly a warning look. Tim gave Alfred a glance. The man looked just as confused as he was.

"Steph came through my window, by the way," Bruce grumbled, pushing her legs off, "Right after my shower."

"Not the first time I've seen you butt-ass naked."

"I am still a man and you're a lady."

"Yeah? And I'm more turned on by your son being fully clothed, what's your point?"

"Steph!" Tim and Bruce chorused.

Alfred sighed resignedly, "In any case, noon snacks will be served in the East sunroom, sirs and madame. I advise you all call the rest of the family there."

With that, Alfred left. Steph's shoulder sagged when he did and Tim was staring when she did.

Their gazes met. A curt but loud conversation occurred between looks.

What's wrong with you today?

A lot of things, Timbit, none that are any of your business.

Bruce, aware or no, pulled Steph closer to him. His hand was tight around the meat of her arm, enough to be forceful, but loose enough that Tim could at least surmise that he had more to be angry at.

"Tim, could you go get Damian from the barn? Steph and I will join everyone for snacks in a second."

Tim frowned, ready to retort, possibly to breach secrecy and acknowledge out loud that there's clearly something amiss.

But he caught it, the rawness of Bruce's own eyes, as if scrubbed clean of all traces of grief.

To that, Tim simply nodded and walked away, making some joke or another in an attempt to mask the way he knew his own face melted into an expression of fear.

The last thing he heard when he parted from the drawing room was:

"Steph, when I said you don't talk about it doesn't mean you can interpret it in actions."

Tim is nothing if not observant.

In this family, nothing was ever just "fine" or "not worth worrying about."

There were 3 things that he gathered from that one strange encounter in the drawing room that toiled in his head the whole time he was to and from picking Damian up from his zoo (it's a barn in paper only, no matter what Bruce's denial says).

1. Steph is clearly unhappy with Alfred, who appears clueless as to why

2. Steph was emotional in a way that made her seek out Bruce, who is usually her last resort for comfort

And…

3. Steph was guarding Bruce from Alfred, from posture alone

Cass could've come to a conclusion from that one encounter alone, and her blunt nature would've pulled out the truth.

Or maybe she wouldn't be able to either, because good grief, this was weird to the maximum level.

No one in the family dislikes Alfred, not genuinely anyways. Hell, no one can imagine there being any concrete reason to dislike Alfred.

Sure, there's a biting comment here and there, but it's more in a sense of verbal jousting than verbal abuse. The man was the bedrock by which their family functioned on. There's no reason to dislike Alfred, as far as anyone was concerned.

But Tim knew Steph.

Above all else, Steph's better senses were dedicated to speaking and acting for those who couldn't.

So Tim, by virtue of his respect for Alfred' character and Steph's better judgment, decides to give both the benefit of the doubt.

So for now, he observes.

When he got to the sunroom, everyone was already there. At the moment, they were gathered at the table, with Alfred coming and going with all sorts of trays full of food.

Food that was gracelessly being devoured by everyone there.

"Are there any left at this point, you Neanderthals!?" Damian snapped, stomping over to the rest of the family ahead of Tim.

"There's some of your gross vegan burritos," Duke snorted, mouth full of chocolate mousse still.

Damian clicked his tongue, "These cabbage wraps have less poison than that Gotham river-grown fish you call 'dessert'."

The boy hopped over to the other side of the table, climbing onto his father's lap as opposed to sitting next to him. Bruce didn't mind, still invested in the business on his phone.

Tim noted immediately how Steph sat next to Bruce, when she would usually prefer to sit next to Jason, if Cass were not present, of course.

Alfred passed Tim again with a curt 'pardon me', carrying a tray full of tea and setting it next to the cake stand.

Stephanie stiffened when he approached the table, eyes fixed on the man himself over the tea he was pouring, when she would normally consider Alfred invisible compared to the conversation she was engaged in.

And her stiffness turned into rigidness when Bruce looked up, beaming at Alfred.

"Alf, how many more of those desserts are you bringing out? Come sit with us."

Alfred, none the wiser, smiled politely, "Only a few more to bring out, sir. There's plenty to go around as we're expecting the rest, and Master Jason and Master Duke were most excellent kitchen aides."

"And why, pray tell, are they not helping carry them out?" Damian retorted, nodding over to Jason and Duke who sat across him.

"Because, sir," Alfred chuckled, "While Master Jason and Master Duke are graceful fighters and exemplary cooks, I'm afraid neither trait translates to their ability to carry delicate cargo."

Jason turned to Duke, "He meant you, by the way."

Duke shoved him, "Fuck you. At least I don't have the weight and footprint of an elephant."

Steph joined the banter, something about comparing Jason to a rhinoceros more, but it didn't fly pass Tim that her eyes followed Alfred out of the sunroom.

And her seating was strategic; she sat in the place receiving Alfred closer, Bruce pushed a little farther away.

Any other day, he'd consider it a coincidence, an impermanent deviation to her usual choice of seatmates and behavior around house staff. But with how it was going, he digressed.

He catalogued this under number 3 of his earlier observations.

Cass arrived just as the last of the desserts were being pulled out of the oven, it seemed.

Everyone cheered at her arrival. Tim made space between himself and Damian, beckoning her over.

"Class finished early," she beamed, passing by Bruce to give him a forehead kiss, as the tactile person she was. Cass meandered to hug Steph and Duke tightly before settling next to Tim.

"Thought you'd pick Babs up for dinner," Jason remarked.

"Tried to, but Dick said he'll do it because he'll take his car over his motorcycle," she answered, putting her bag on the back of her seat, "In the meantime, she sends her regards… with these!"

Cass pulled out two giant bottles of soda, which had everyone beaming and pushing their teacups of herbal brews away.

Alfred came through, displeasure growing the closer he got to the table and the more apparent the label on the bottle became.

He put down the tower tray of fritters a little harsher than he should.

"I do believe," Alfred began carefully, "There's a firm rule in the house against sugary drinks."

Cass smiled sheepishly, "Whoops?"

"A house full of grown adults, Alfred," Jason coughed into his fist.

Damian rolled his eyes, "Debatable."

Bruce looked at all of them with endearment, like true children caught sneaking food they knew full well they shouldn't be having.

"Dinner isn't until a while; they'll burn it off soon," Bruce reassured, giving Alfred a warm look, "Sorry to trouble you, but can we get some ice and glasses with these?"

"And I should listen to you, sir, because you are the paragon of healthy diets?"

Normally, the kids would grin and snicker at the verbal assault that Bruce was facing.

Steph's expression became thunderous as such, even as Bruce's face remained impassive.

He sighed, putting Damian off his lap and settling him in the vacant chair next to Cass. "Fine, I'll go get it."

"I'll help!" Steph snapped, jerking up to her feet.

To everyone and Tim's surprise, more so the former.

"And since when were you the paragon of helpfulness?" Duke asked her, mocking Alfred's voice.

Steph shrugged, walking backwards and trailing after Bruce, "When I figured potato fritters would go well with peanut butter."

"You're disgusting."

"Can I try?"

"Brown, you're abhorrent."

"Get me my ketchup!"

But Steph was already gone, arm linked on Bruce's as they went back to the kitchen.

Tim filed that under 2 of his observations from earlier.

The catalyst for it all, where it was truly without a shadow of a doubt that something was wrong — like… terrible wrong — was when Steph and Bruce returned.

Glasses of fizzy drinks were passed around. Banter that was characteristic of the family resumed as normal, voices crossing over plates and trays of cakes, muffins, and fritters.

Tim was engrossed in everyone's excitement for tonight's SIBLING HANG OUT DAY - BRUCE IS NOT ALLOWED AND ALFRED CAN COME WITH FOOD ONLY (Dick insisted the whole name be used). The batkids' exclusive monthly hang out.

Tonight was for family dinner and a sleepover, this time.

Tomorrow, they would be headed for the boardwalk to see a drone light show exhibit and the outdoor amateur play depicting the Batclan in action (and yes, they all planned to boo each other's characters when they came out).

Then his ear caught a conversation between Alfred and Bruce.

"Sir, you have not touched your tea at all."

"No, I have not," Bruce replied, not even glancing at him, eyes clearly fixed on the animated conversation his children were having.

Bruce had that sweet and soft expression on his face, the one that exists only in places like the sunroom during tea time or the drawing room during cuddle piles.

It makes Tim blush at how unguarded Bruce was.

"Look at them, Alfred. Isn't it so good to see them all like this, fine and together?"

"As do I, sir, but I must insist you finish your tea."

Bruce chuckled, "You're not as pushy with the food I leave to become lukewarm."

"I have to be if you are also going to be drinking… this fizzy poison."

Alfred's nose crinkled as Bruce drank more of the soda with a fine smile on his face.

"Don't you know that Babs made this soda? She's finally using that soda maker that I got her. I'm at least a little glad she's using it for normal things like orange or strawberry soda. I almost thought she'd jump right ahead and making a toast-flavored one."

"What a picture that makes," Alfred retorted dryly, "Sir, I must insist on the tea."

"Alfred, I had soda, I can't jump back to tea."

"Then it is your fault then, to begin with soda rather than tea."

"Alfred, come on."

"No," the butler snapped, plucking the glass from Bruce's hand and pushing the teacup back, "I must insist, sir."

Bruce winced at the sight of the teacup, slowly trailing his gaze up to Alfred.

"Alfred, I will be… honest. The tea you gave me… disagrees with me."

"The tea is a necessary thing for someone so hellbent on eating more red meat than the entire state of New Jersey."

"You exaggerate."

Alfred gave him a pointed look.

Bruce sighed, smile faltering just enough, "Alfred, I just… I'll have the tea later, okay?"

Alfred turned away, nose high, "Or perhaps never again then."

The teacup was taken back. Bruce frowned, reaching for it, "Alright, fine, it's just-"

"No," Alfred chided, pulling the teacup farther, "Far be it of me to force you, sir, to do anything at all if it helps you, for once."

Bruce blushed, "I just said it tasted weird-"

"Ah, is that so? Remind me to cook better next time, then."

"Alfred, don't be like that."

This wasn't unusual, to Tim's memory. But now, he figured, it should've been considered abnormal.

It wasn't new to him to hear Alfred's tone when talking to Bruce shift that way or for Bruce to falter under his guardian's authority in these small pockets of civilian life.

But since when had Bruce seemed so… small?

Tim averted his gaze lest he be caught staring and for others to take notice with him, but it appeared Steph was one step ahead in being confrontational.

The girl snatched the teacup from Alfred.

"Fuck is this, old man?" Steph asked, sniffing the tea.

Tim had half the mind to think that the 'old man' being derogatorily referred to here was not Bruce.

"It is tea that is meant to complement Master Bruce's heavy, protein-based diet," Alfred answered, folding his hands neatly, "Tea that he should be having once a day, over this… soda."

"And how do you make it?"

"Well, you start it-"

"Okay, let me rephrase that," Steph chuckled bitterly, gritting her teeth into a tight smile, "How do you make it not smell like shit?"

The table went silent after that.

Alfred sputtered, "Miss Steph-"

"He has sensory problems. Everyone knows this," Steph pointed out, swirling the cup.

"This is for his health-"

"This tea?" Steph said, taking a deep breath again.

"What is this, Wormwood? It's bitter and tends to smell bad, yeah, but I'm pretty sure there's deliberate ways to mitigate the sensory problems."

She put it down, cocking her head and smiling too sweetly.

"I can teach you if you want, Alfred."

Oh.

Oh.

Oh fuck.

Forget filing it under observation 1 from earlier.

Tim is gonna put that quote as the folder name.

Steph isn't just upset with Alfred.

There's pure, volatile hatred in Steph's eyes and her grip on the teacup handle was hard to the point of shaking, like she was ready to throw the clearly hot concoction at the man and then whack the fine ceramic on him for good measure.

Steph was angry, enraged, synonyms thereof.

If it weren't for the no-kill code attached to the Bat symbol she owned, Tim would even go as far as to say that she was homicidal.

That was disconcerting, at best, and a cause for the execution of 7 defense protocols at most.

Bruce stepped in, loudly sipping the glass of soda.

"I'll just stick to the soda, Steph."

Alfred sagged in his seat, "For now, sir."

Bruce flushed, "Yeah, of course."

Steph hadn't stopped staring at Alfred, who was looking everywhere except at her.

Damian, meanwhile, took the cup from her hands, perhaps in some missed attempt at distracting her.

"Oh, it is bitter," the boy noted, sticking his tongue in, "Can't be that- GAH!"

"Habibi, we were just talking about how it wasn't the best taste," Bruce gently admonished, humor bleeding back into his voice.

The knife that dug itself into the atmosphere was pulled out at that instant.

Tim took the cup and sniffed, noting that it was predominantly Wormwood, with a hint of crushed medication somewhere.

Steph mentioned deliberate ways to rid the tea of its sensory downsides. None of them were present. There was no milk or creamer or anything to counter the bitterness.

Alfred, who always moved with foresight and intelligent preemption, had not done any of that.

And with the way he was talking to Bruce earlier, and in every instance before, Tim almost gathered that the man meant to forego this small act of care.

Jason took the teacup and took a deep inhale, face thoughtful for only a split second before it broke into the most mischievous grin.

"Ever tried soda with tea?"

The table erupted in groans and laughter with such a suggestion and Steph's earlier outburst was pushed to the back of everyone's minds.

Then another half hour later, the desserts were all cleared, and everyone began to depart.

Tim and Cass offered to help stay behind to clean, much to Alfred's appreciation, as the man returned sooner to the kitchen to begin the washing there.

But Tim didn't begin immediately, or at least as quickly as he normally would, one ear keeping to Steph and Bruce just as they began to leave earshot.

"Father," Damian pulled at Bruce's sleeve, trotting after him, "I do remember you said you would help me relocate the fish eggs I found in the pond, yes?"

Bruce chuckled, patting the boy's head, "Of course, Qalbi. Just let me go get better shoes and pants for it, alright?"

"Can I come?" Steph asked, but she was already toeing off her shoes to search for better ones in the manor.

"Don't you have better people to annoy?"

"Nah, besides. I like a little caviar."

Damian tried to kick Steph, promptly missed, and began chasing her inside. Bruce kept a brisk pace behind. At least Damian liked Steph, and also didn't have a sword on him at the moment.

When they disappeared, Tim finally returned to his work, only to find that Cass was already fixed on him.

"What?"

"There's something wrong with Steph."

He blinked, "Well, yeah."

"You know," she narrowed her eyes.

Tim shook his head, playing with his fingers, "No, but… I've had a feeling since earlier that something is wrong. I just don't know what."

Then he regarded his sister again, whose eyesight had layers of intelligence that no one in the family could ever compare to.

"Do you know?"

Cass sagged, crossing her arms over her chest defensively.

"Steph wears her heart on her sleeve, or whatever the saying is. It's not hard to gather that she's angry with Alfred."

"But she's clinging to Bruce," Tim pointed out, "Steph doesn't tend to do that for no reason."

Cass nodded, as words finally came to give meaning to her observations.

"Steph thinks Alfred has something to apologize for. She's trying to goad him into asking her why she's mad so she can confront him, as if she can't go about confronting him on her own terms. She always seems ready to stand up and pounce, like she's just waiting for the opportunity."

Tim nodded, keeping that in mind, realizing it was supplementary to all his hypotheses so far.

"I think Dad made her promise not to, that's a hunch. She's crowding him away from Alfred physically. It's not so much clinging, more like herding. She feels like she has to protect Dad from Alfred if a confrontation should happen, or at least stop Dad from protecting Alfred."

"But why?"

"That's what we need to find out."

Tim blinked, "We?"

"Yes, we," Cass said, wiping down the table, "Jason noticed too. I don't think Duke has, but that's because he's new."

"And Damian?"

"He noticed, but I don't think he wants to be asked what he thinks," she paused, "You know how much he looks up to Alfred."

Tim helped with stacking up the dishes on the nearby serving trolley in the sunroom, "Should we really do something about this?"

"Steph wouldn't get mad like that if it wasn't important."

"Yeah, but... this is Alfred we're talking about," Tim wearied.

"All the more reason," Cass insisted, her gaze darkening.

Tim saw her fists ball around the damp cloth.

"Cass?"

"Dad would worry if it were any of us," her grip tightened, "Even if it were Alfred or Clark or Aunt Diana, he would- he'd do something if he thought we were getting hurt."

Tim stilled himself, reflecting on every small twitch in Steph's body and every inflection of her voice.

And he is reminded, in every way, how Bruce had brought a storm over Jack when he demonized Tim for his heroism, how Bruce had spat venom at the press who tried to make a spectacle of Tim when he was too little for all the grief in the world, how Bruce was ready to fight even his closest friends if they dared deprived Tim of his Young Justice initiative.

It was settled, barely a debate about it.

He shared Cass' look and nodded at her.

That man would fight battles for them, and so they'd wage a war for him if it came to it.

Despite not being a Wayne, Stephanie was entitled to the luxuries of the name by virtue of being a Bat anyways.

A room in the manor she could come and go as she wished. Rights to the pantry, and a few slots in the grocery list for her to write in so that there's always a stock of what snacks she preferred. A limitless credit card that really was Cass' but Cass preferred the fun in stealing cash from Bruce's wallet, so Steph used it more than she did.

Unfortunately, with these luxuries, also came the drawbacks.

Like a lack of privacy.

Steph came back from a few hours of watching Bruce and Damian tend to the critters at the pool, and after nodding off one too many times under the tree she was "observing" from, she finally digressed and returned to her room for a change of clothes and a nap before dinner.

Just as she was pulling off her pants, her bedroom door slammed shut, making her jump.

"DUDE!" Steph snapped, chucking her pants at Tim, who batted it away with his staff. She was still in her undershorts and shirt anyway.

She surveyed the room, realizing there was a bigger audience than she first realized.

Cass was next to the door, as was Tim, leaning against the wall. Like this, Steph could see why there was a common joke that they were twins. Sans the eye shape and skin tone, they looked almost alike.

And Jason was in the armchair at the corner of her room, using one hand to play with her inactive keyboard player next to it, and another playing with a Batarang shaped as if it belonged to Cass.

"What is this, a shakedown?" Steph snorted, waving her hands around, "Don't rob me now, sirs and madams! Check the mirror, there's a bunch of billionaire children there that are better targets."

"A confrontation, more like," Tim corrected.

"Steph," Cass charged, arms crossed over her chest, "We know you're mad at Alfred."

Steph feigned nonchalance, knowing there was no rebuking that if it came from Cass, of all people. Briefly, she wondered if she'd survive jumping off the window, before remembering she got a room on the 4th floor.

Then her eyes landed on Jason, "Should we really be talking about this in front of Alfred's biggest fan?"

"If Alfred has a big fan, it's Damian," Jason responded, sinking into the velvet cushion, "Who should be here, but he's picking up a special guest so-"

The door opened, and Damian poked in, along with Dick.

"Ah, good, everyone is here," the boy remarked, herding himself and his brother inside.

Damian then pointed an accusing finger at Steph.

"You. Start talking. What do you have against Pennyworth?"

Steph flushed, glaring at Dick, "And you? Fuck are you doing here, Boy Wonder?"

"Hey, don't look at me~" the eldest laughed coolly, walking past her and settling on the space on the bed next to Damian, "I'm just here because I was promised drama."

"No, I said we are here to confront Stephanie on her uncouth behavior."

"Spell 'uncouth' first."

"Do you need a dictionary definition too, Todd? U-n-c-"

"Hah, Unc."

Tim beat his staff on the ground, one slam firmer than the last. "Guys, priorities."

"Nah," Steph badgered, pulling off her sweater to be left in her undershirt. "Let's go back to Damian spelling 'uncouth'."

"Stephanie," Cass glowered.

And everyone became conscious of the gravity of the situation, because Cassandra Wayne didn't do two things: she never called her dearest friend by her government name, and she never said it with such… threat to it.

Steph twitched, posturing herself taller with hands on her waist.

"I don't know what any of you want from me."

"You're mad at Alfred," Tim snarled, "Which is strange on its own, but you're also snuggling up-"

"Please say anything else."

"-to Bruce, which you never do unless it's bad enough."

Steph waved her hands.

"So maybe I decided to give Bruce an easy time today! God knows the man needs it. As for Alfred, you don't know, maybe I just discovered he's English and took offense. My mom is Irish, by the way. The genetics are kicking in. It's why I ate so many potato fritters earlier!"

"She's babbling," Cass observed out loud.

Tim hummed in agreement, "She's redirecting."

Steph's face scrunched in disgust, "You meiosis germs need to stop doing that. By this rate, you'll be finishing each other's sentences by dinner."

"Wait, you're mad at Alfred?" Dick asked, sitting up from the bed. "Dude, why? The man is ancient and is, like, literally only here to keep us all alive."

"And you snuggled with the old man?" Jason followed up.

Damian huffed, pouting himself red, "That is my father, Stephanie, and he is much too old for you."

"OKAY!" Steph snapped, "All of you, SHUT UP!"

The 5 Wayne kids all collectively followed, their brain cells working in tandem at the sight of an ally's distress.

"I'm not suddenly in love with Bruce. For god's sakes, the man is almost thrice my age," Steph groaned into her palm as she rubbed it all over her face out of frustration.

"Okay," Jason conceded, "But what about being mad at Alfred?"

Steph glared at him from the gaps of her hand.

Then she started turning around the room, looking at each kid with deep regard and contemplation.

Tim turned to Cass, who didn't seem alarmed by this. She signed to him: She's considering telling the truth.

"I made a promise to Bruce I won't confront Alfred about what I know," Steph admitted, coming down at her writing desk's chair from close by.

Jason mirrored her posture from across the room, "And what do you know, exactly?"

"Something vulnerable," Steph answered, pinching her expression.

"Like, he didn't make me promise to not tell anyone else, so I can very much word-play this out to make you guys confront the geezer for me, but what I know… what I learned is very upsetting."

Then she opened her eyes, looking at Tim's staff, the batarang on Jason's lap, and the full knowledge that Damian and Dick had knives on their person presently, and that Cass didn't need a weapon to be lethal.

"And I do not want you guys to mutilate someone over this."

The siblings all shared a look, speaking in flinches and twitches that Steph barely followed.

"The fact that you even feel the need to put a disclaimer already says enough."

Dick said, sitting more upright on the bed, not quite the regal stance Damian took, cross-legged on the mattress next to him.

Steph bit her lip, "It's not my story to say, I don't think so."

"Did Alfred do…"

Everyone stopped, shifting their attention to Jason, whose voice never trembled like that. His eyes were wide with something not quite like anger; terror, more like.

Dick seemed to understand, his expression shifting to the rage his younger brother couldn't muster out of shock. He glared at Stephanie.

"No!" Steph interjected, "I- Alfred didn't-!"

"But," Cass interjected, voice coming out harsher, "There is a but."

Steph shrunk to her chair, hugging her knees to her chest.

"I've said enough," she growled after a second, pulling at her hair in frustration, "Gods, Bruce was right, I should've toned it down and just left it be."

Damian — sweet, wide-eyed, confused Damian — finally caught up. He grabbed Steph's chair and pulled it closer, steadying the rotating seat to their direction.

"Stephanie," the boy said, "This is our father we're talking about. You know something, you are protecting him from something. We want to know what it is because we want to help."

His voice was raw with innocence, dripping with guilt of not being there for someone he loves, and the fear of what that could mean.

At this point, what else could Steph do?

She finally sighed and nodded in defeat.

Steph looked at everyone else in the room. Jason was already leaning over his seat, elbows to his knees, thinking, maybe strategizing.

Tim and Cass had not moved from the door, but Steph didn't miss the way Cass gently locked the knob.

Dick was glaring at the floor where, some 2 levels down, was Bruce — their father (because fuck, Stephanie may not be a Wayne, and she preferred it that way, but she was loved and looked after as though she was one).

"I'll tell," she began, "But please do not start marching out that door to start a war over this."

"We're not promising shit, Steph," Jason snapped, "That's our Dad we're talking about."

"I know," the daughter of Arthur Brown retorted, "I know, Jay."

Damian wormed his hand into hers, squeezing it. Everyone else stared at her expectantly. Day turned to dusk outside.

Stephanie took a deep breath before beginning.

"I… I did that stupid thing where I climbed into a random window instead of going through the front door, like we all do."