"Sorry, did that hurt?"

He's quick to coo the reassurance as he cards his fingers through your hair. The family has been quick to step in where the Court had obviously failed. Naturally, this included just about every skill that wasn't manipulation, fighting, scheming-

You'd initially been sent to the manor to spill blood, tackling Bruce in a mess of blades and brutish grunts before you'd been incapacitated. Dick had been the one to vouch for you. To try and plead a case for what you'd called "internment" but had grown to see as rehabilitation. It hadn't been hard for Bruce or any of the others to guess why Dick was sticking his neck out for you.

He'd been forced to don the Court's mask too, and his thoughts and recall of the time were still hazy to some extent. He remembered the shame most of all, or at least having the liberty of having shame because of the events. He had some form of normalcy, a status quo to return to after his mind became his own again. But you? He's not sure what you have to compare to. He just knows what you have now. And a mess of siblings, a warm home, a strong paternal figure and time to recoup and build yourself a new life didn't seem too shabby.

"We've got to get you a haircut, owlet. Y'know that?"

He winces a moment or so after having said it, the taunting nickname rolls off his tongue accidentally. He understands that it seems cruel to call you that, but he still thinks the name is cute. Jason had awarded it to you almost tantalizingly when he'd first begun seeing you around the manor, not in restraints. But Dick had begun using it earnestly.

You're no longer the predatory bird, swooping in silently to attack with open talons, as what used to be your namesake. You're just some small, scrappy, ward, staring at him or anything else with a gaze that leaves him wondering what's going on behind those wide eyes.