Dawn went by and morning arrived, knocking gently on the doorsteps of the big blue sky.
In the Grayson household, things were just starting to stir—or rather, detonate.
In his room, Dick was enjoying a profound, soul-restoring sleep after a late night patrolling the city with freaking Batgirl.
He was snoring softly into a crumpled pillow, his bed looking like a combat zone, and his limbs twisted in a way that made him resemble a contorted, sleeping possum.
Nearby, the alarm on his phone had been blaring for a solid twenty minutes.
It was playing a generic upbeat chime that had long since lost its charm, and at this point, even the phone's battery seemed ready to give up on him.
BANG!
"DICK, WAKE UP DUMBASS!"
Unfortunately, Mark decided to enter with a bang right through the doorway, barging into the room with all the quiet grace of a runaway freight train as if the house were actively engulfed in flames.
"WHOA! What the—?!"
Thanks to his hyper-sensitive super-hearing, the sudden crash sent Dick jolting out of his sleep.
His instinct kicked in before his conscious brain did.
He leaped straight up toward the ceiling like a startled, super-powered monkey.
BAM!
In his groggy state, he miscalculated the spatial dimensions of his own bedroom.
His head collided squarely with the drywall above.
He rebounded off the ceiling, dropping back down along with a shower of white plaster dust and pulverized drywall flakes.
Above him, a distinct spiderweb crack radiated outward across the ceiling.
Thud.
Dick landed flat on his back on the carpet, letting out a hollow groaning sound.
He rubbed his forehead, his vision swimming, and slowly cranked his neck around to stare at his brother.
Mark stood in the doorway, frozen, staring up at the fresh structural damage.
Absolute silence reigned in the room as both brothers stared at the ruined ceiling.
The dust settled over Dick's messy hair like fake snow.
Slowly, their expressions melted from initial shock into pure, unadulterated horror.
Their mother was going to skin them alive.
"DICK! MARK! What on earth was that noise?!"
A sharp, unmistakable voice echoed from downstairs, carrying straight up the stairwell.
Yup.
Debbie was going to murder them.
The two brothers locked eyes.
Dick's murderous, sleep-deprived glare drilled directly into Mark's soul, making the younger brother shrink back an inch.
If looks could kill, Mark would have been vaporized into fine ash on the spot.
*********
A short while later, Dick and Mark were seated at the dining table downstairs, picking at their breakfast while metaphorical steam billowed from their heads.
Sure, Debbie's furious smacks to the back of their heads didn't actually hurt their invulnerable skin, but the sheer embarrassment was no less humiliating than getting your ass handed to you by a supervillain in broad daylight.
As for the mother of the century herself?
She was sitting at the head of the table, gently rubbing her temples as if trying to ward off an impending migraine, contemplating just how wildly unpredictable her household was becoming.
To make matters worse, Nolan wasn't around today to help balance the chaos or share the burden of parenting two teenage powerhouse brothers.
A heavy sigh escaped Debbie's lips as she took a bite of her toast.
Even through their lingering guilt, Dick and Mark couldn't help but notice that their mother looked noticeably more exhausted than usual today.
Dark faint circles sat under her eyes, and her shoulders slumped with a weight that wasn't entirely physical.
"Uh, Mom?" Dick began carefully, sliding his chair a little closer.
He reached out, gently placing the back of his hand against her forehead to check her temperature. "You okay? You don't look so good."
Debbie gently brushed his hand away, offering a weak, reassuring smile. "I'm fine, honey. Just tired. It's... a lot, sometimes."
"Are you worried about Dad?" Mark asked, leaning forward, his breakfast forgotten for a moment.
Debbie shrugged, staring down at her coffee mug. "A little, yeah. He's been gone longer than usual on this mission."
"Nah, don't stress about that old man," Dick chimed in, trying to lighten the heavy atmosphere. "I'm sure he's just stuck under a mountain somewhere, arguing with a rock."
Debbie let out a genuine, quiet chuckle, the tension in her shoulders easing just a fraction. "Don't talk about your father like that," she chided gently, though the humor in her eyes gave her away.
Mid-chuckle, a massive, jaw-cracking yawn suddenly escaped Dick's mouth.
He slumped back into his chair, rubbing his bloodshot eyes.
Mark squinted at him suspiciously. "Bro, you look way more exhausted than you should be. What did you even do last night? Stay up till 4 AM playing video games or something?"
Debbie's posture shifted immediately.
Her motherly radar pinged, her gaze sharpening with sudden suspicion. "Dick... you're usually up before the sun. Why are you so tired?"
"Oh, actually, I sneaked out to patrol the city last night," Dick answered casually, taking a casual bite of his bacon as if he were discussing the weather.
"What?!"
"WHAT?!"
The exact same word, but delivered in two wildly different tones.
Mark sounded like a kid who had just been left out of a trip to Disneyland, while Debbie sounded like a mother who had just caught her son juggling live hand grenades.
Dick, who was about to take a sip from his orange juice, flinched violently at the dual reaction, nearly spilling it across the tablecloth.
"What do you mean you went outside to patrol the city?!" Debbie shrieked, slamming her hands down on the table.
"Uhhhh... exactly what it sounds like, Mom?" Dick stammered, holding his hands up defensively. "I went out last night to keep an eye on things. You know, patrol Chicago."
He offered the answer with such straight-faced, innocent honesty that he looked almost saintly—if not for the plaster dust still speckling his collar.
"Bro! Not cool! Not cool at all!" Mark burst out, crossing his arms and pouting dramatically. "You should have at least brought me with you! Why do you get to do a solo run?!"
Before Mark could escalate his rant, Debbie turned a scorching glare onto him.
Mark immediately clamped his mouth shut, slumping down into his seat and staring intently at his scrambled eggs.
Debbie, who had stood up in her outrage, slowly sank back down into her chair.
She buried her face in her hands, letting out a long, shuddering sigh that seemed to drain the remaining energy out of her.
She rubbed the bridge of her nose, sounding utterly defeated.
"Great. Just great," she muttered into her palms. "The father disappears whenever he feels like it, and now the children are running off into the dark to play vigilante. I am literally raising a house full of renegades."
Seeing how genuinely overwhelmed their mother looked, Mark caught Dick's eye from across the table.
He nudged his chin toward Debbie, giving his brother an urgent, exaggerated hand gesture that clearly communicated:
Bro, fix this right now, please.
Dick swallowed his pride, pushed his chair back, and walked over to where his mother sat.
As soon as he stepped into range, he wrapped his arms around her shoulders from behind, leaning down to give her a massive, enveloping hug.
"No. Absolutely not. Young man, a hug is not going to work on me this time, do you hear me?" Debbie said loudly, attempting to sound stern.
But Dick didn't let go. He held the embrace, patting her shoulder softly. "I'm sorry, Mom. Truly."
Debbie, who looked ready to combust just seconds ago, let out another soft sigh.
The rigidness in her posture melted away, and she leaned back into the warmth of her son's embrace.
"You boys and your father... you really know how to drive me completely insane, don't you?" she grumbled softly.
The bite was gone from her voice, replaced by affectionate sarcasm.
Seeing that the crisis had been neutralized, Dick broke the hug and stepped back, looking genuinely remorseful. "I really am sorry for being reckless, Mom. I know how dangerous it can be—what if someone got hurt, or what if things went entirely south? I promise I didn't take stupid risks. We were extremely careful with how we handled everything."
Debbie's head snapped up. Her sharp ears caught the phrasing instantly.
"'We'?" she repeated, her eyes narrowing. "What do you mean 'we'?"
Dick froze, his eyes widening as he realized his slip-up. He bit his tongue so hard he almost drew blood.
Even Mark sat up straight, glaring at Dick with newfound intrigue. "Wait, who was 'we'? You were with someone?"
"Uhh..." Dick rubbed the back of his neck, looking intensely awkward. "...Batgirl?"
"WHAT?!"
Now it was Mark's turn to shriek, his voice cracking on the high note.
Debbie shot Mark a warning look to quiet down, but Mark completely ignored it.
Personal safety was off the table—they had a far more critical matter at hand.
"What do you mean you were out with Batgirl?!" Mark demanded, leaning over the table, his eyes practically bulging out of his head. "Since when do you hang out with Batgirl?!"
Caught red-handed, Dick spilled the details. "Look, I was just stopping some guys robbing a jewelry store downtown. I knocked them out, and then she showed up. One thing led to another, and we ended up patrolling the skyline together until almost dawn."
Mark sat there in stunned silence, looking like a kicked puppy whose favorite toy had just been stolen. "I can't believe this. You went on a rooftop team-up without me? The utter betrayal..."
Then, leaning in closer with a sudden spark of intense curiosity, Mark whispered, "By the way... was she hot?"
Dick's guilty expression instantly vanished, replaced by a confident, shit-eating grin. "Hot? Bro, she was an absolute bombshell."
"Ugh, my heart!" Mark clutched his chest dramatically, collapsing back into his chair as if struck by a lethal blow. "The betrayal is absolute!"
"Okay, you two, that is quite enough," Debbie intervened sternly, throwing her hands up. "We are not discussing the aesthetics of local vigilantes over breakfast. Goodness gracious, kids these days..."
DING, DONG!
The chime of the doorbell rang out through the ground floor, cutting off the brothers' impending argument.
Debbie frowned slightly, turning her head toward the front hallway. "Are you expecting anyone?" she asked, looking between the two boys. Both shook their heads.
Puzzled, Debbie stood up from the table and walked toward the foyer.
She approached the front door and pulled it open.
Standing on the front porch were two tall men impeccably dressed in dark, sharp suits, wearing sunglasses despite the morning shade.
Their entire aura practically screamed high-level government secret agents.
"Mrs. Grayson," the taller agent on the left acknowledged, offering a stiff, polite nod.
Debbie narrowed her eyes slightly, keeping her hand on the edge of the door. "Yes? Can I help you?"
"I'm afraid you and your sons need to come with us immediately," the second agent said, his voice flat, professional, and entirely devoid of warmth. "It is a matter of extreme urgency."
Debbie's heart gave a sudden, violent thud against her ribs.
Looking past the agents to the street, she saw two sleek black SUVs idling at the curb.
Instantly, the lighthearted atmosphere of the morning vanished, replaced by a cold, sinking realization that something was terribly wrong.