Three days.

Three days since Dick was taken.

It didn’t make sense. Not to Bruce. Not to any of them. Dick was careful—the most experienced of them after Bruce himself. He was fast, smart, unpredictable in combat. He didn’t get caught. But three nights ago, he went quiet during patrol. Radio silence. No signal. No trace. Just… gone.

And then the message came.

A grainy video feed. Joker’s voice warbling like a broken music box. And behind him—barely visible, bound, bloodied—was Dick. His mask gone. His face unmistakable. His expression blurred by pain, but still trying to stay strong. That was all they got. No demands. No clues. Just taunting.

Then silence.

And now, the Cave was darker than usual. Quieter, too. The screens glowed, but no one spoke unless they had to.

Bruce hadn’t left more than a few hours at a time, his jaw locked, shoulders stiff, eyes colder than ice. Guilt gnawed at him in quiet moments. He should’ve been there. Should’ve tracked Dick’s route better. Should’ve known. He replayed every second, every patrol detail, wondering what he missed.

Jason punched a wall the first night. Then another. By the second day, he wasn’t speaking unless it was angry. If Bruce had guilt, Jason had rage—boiling under his skin, ready to ignite. He offered to go to the Iceberg Lounge, to Sionis, to every contact who might know something. Bruce said no.

Jason almost went anyway.

Tim was in front of the Batcomputer, eyes bloodshot, fingers trembling from too much caffeine and too little sleep. He was combing through every traffic camera, satellite pass, criminal chatter—anything. He hadn’t showered. Barely ate. Refused to stop.

“He’s alive,” he kept saying. “He has to be.”

Damian didn’t say much. Not at first. But he stuck to Bruce’s side on patrol, sharper than ever. And when Bruce wasn’t watching, Damian would pause on rooftops, scanning alleys, shadowed rooftops, anywhere someone could be hidden.

He’d never say it, but Dick had been his balance. His anchor. The one who could calm him without trying, who smiled even when Damian was insufferable. Without him, Damian was just… quieter.

Colder.

Barbara rerouted her Oracle setup, working double shifts—hacking city systems, scouring Joker’s old hideouts, tracking old associates. Steph was out in the field, covering twice the ground, refusing to rest until they found him.

But it was Bruce who carried the weight hardest.

Because it was Dick.

His son. His first. His light in the storm. The one who always brought warmth back into the Cave when it had been drowned in shadow for too long.

Without him, the family felt hollow. Off-balance. Like a clock missing its central gear.

And in the back of all their minds, the same thought whispered, heavy and awful:

What was the Joker doing to him now?

They didn’t say it. Couldn’t. But they all felt it.

And they all promised, silently, together—

They’d bring Dick home. No matter what.