Chapter Text
Dick woke up feeling as stiff as a brick wall– every joint and muscle felt like it had been compressed together. Maybe he morphed into a PDF, rather than a person with an overused musculatory system.
Opening his eyes was a near painful experience– his eyelids cried out in protest, trying to stick down to his face like glue. Finally he managed to get his eyes open, bleary, staring up at a ceiling high above him.
He was in the manor. It was Saturday morning– oh, right. The night before. Tim under Mad Hatter’s mind control. Jason getting his shoulder dislocated. Damian feeling worried, hiding it under his plethora of snarky remarks. Bruce needing a break, but when had the universe ever been so kind to him to offer him some?
Dick groaned, letting his head sink a bit further into his plush memory foam pillow. He felt hot throbbing somewhere in his ribs, but nothing he hadn’t dealt with before. No pain, no gain, right?
“f*ck, why did we never hire a full-time chiropractor,” he muttered to no one in particular, and after a few seconds of debating, he convinced himself to get out of bed.
Walking over to his wardrobe, he found an old, generic grey sweatshirt (did he keep this one for civilian missions to be nondescript? Probably, but it was damn comfy), and a pair of sweatpants with a small Wonder Woman logo on them. Donna would have been proud.
“Alright, let’s get this party started,” Dick said, hoping to hype himself up, though his voice trailed as he eyed a spare bottle of Advil on his desk. He probably had, like, seven of those scattered around, but this one might as well have been a beacon. If he was waking up this sore and in pain, he could at least start the day off on a slightly better foot.
He popped a couple down the hatch before steeling himself to brave the manor, exiting his room as if to leave the one of the few spots he knew he could consider a true sanctuary.
The hall was eerily quiet when he left his room and shut the door to his bedroom behind him. Soft light came in from the large windows further away, but illuminated nothing of note. There was no shouting, no running around, no sounds of vague crashing in the distance. It was simply silence.
Dick cautiously made his way down to the kitchen, where he knew he could count on at least seeing someone down there. Still, the manor remained oddly still. The eyes in the various paintings lining the halls seemed to follow him, the mirrors speckling the place reflecting a messy-haired, sleep-deprived Dick on the lookout.
“Good morning Master Dick, I do hope you got some quality rest after your eventful night,” Alfred greeted him, tending to something that smelled utterly divine on the stove as Dick slinked into the kitchen.
“Morning Alfred, I hope we didn’t keep you up too late,” he said with an apologetic smile.
“Nonsense my boy– if anything, you all came back far earlier than expected,” he said, but Dick’s mind automatically went to Tim and Jason’s injuries, and then of course–
“When did Bruce get back last night?”
“Just a couple hours after you all. He helped with the transport back to Arkham, and finished up with some reports,” Alfred answered, fetching something from across the kitchen.
“How did he seem?” Dick asked, taking a seat at the kitchen island and watching the man work.
“I will admit, he did seem more weary than normal, but given your line of work, nothing I would put past the ordinary. Though I do believe he was up early today, and left to tend to some business.”
“On a Saturday? I thought he loved sleeping in on the weekend more than he loves us sometimes,” Dick joked, though he didn’t miss the brief scolding look Alfred sent his way at the comment.
“While he does tend to enjoy a grasse matinée, perhaps he simply did not find it in him to sleep very much last night,” Alfred said swiftly, focused on the pan that was sizzling with pure breakfast goodness.
Dick nodded, and took it that Alfred would not let up if he knew where Bruce had gone, or what he was up to. Maybe the Wayne Enterprise business was taking up more time and energy than he initially thought.
He instead opted to settle into watching Alfred’s masterful art of working the forbidden kitchen, a force of nature in one of his domains. Lithe fingers well practiced over years of culinary finesse danced about as he reached for herbs he had set aside. He moved with grace, but succinct and precise, reminiscent of their sparring practices down in the cave. Though after all he had heard from the bits of stories scattered across his memory, he was sure that Alfred would easily be able to whoop their asses in three seconds flat if he truly wanted to.
“Have you seen the others yet, or am I first one–” Dick caught himself before finishing with ‘back from the dead’, but figured Alfred would not appreciate the comment.
“Master Damian is the only one to have been up before you, though he made quick work of breakfast before retreating to who knows where,” Alfred said, transferring the savory contents of the skillet onto a plate, and setting it before Dick.
“Thank you, Alfred. And if he’s not tormenting Tim, I’ll call it a win so far,” Dick said before digging into the omelet soufflé. It tasted like the pearly gates of Heaven– hot, light, fluffy, a bit of sharp cheese and some basil. Simple, but perfect, as always when Alfred cooked.
“He did mention something about perhaps having plans for the day,” Alfred said with a knowing glance.
Dick swallowed the bite he had, rewinding the day until he hit just the right moment. “Right, I did promise him a morning just us two I believe.”
“I’m sure it would do you both good to get out of the house even for just a few hours. Master Timothy was just visiting you the other day, Master Bruce has been occupied with his more formal work, and Master Jason visits infrequently. It would do the young boy some good to be out of the house.”
Dick nodded, and felt Alfred’s gaze still directed at him.
“It does not evade me, you know,” Alfred started, and Dick lifted his eyes from his breakfast to see the old man wiping down some of the counter.
“Hm?”
“Well, I for one appreciated your more agreeable demeanor last night. Even when he came back last night he was more wound up than typical, and with the rest of the boys bickering all through the week I do appreciate your efforts in being reasonable with everyone,” Alfred plainly said, not needing to denote the ‘he’ in question as Dick could easily conjure up the well-known image of an irritable and cranky Bruce.
“Of course Alfred, and I have to let some of the pressure off of you when I’m back,” Dick said, though he could have sworn he saw something change briefly behind Alfred’s eyes when he said it.
“It’s never ‘pressure’ on me lad, though I am thankful for your care for your siblings. Perhaps it is you that people put too much pressure on, after all,” Alfred calmly explained, still preoccupied with cleaning up an already spotless kitchen.
Dick squirmed a bit in his seat, unsure of how to respond. “Yeah, well, we all know I was a diamond that was good at forming under pressure.”
Alfred stopped his scrubbing and looked over at Dick, to which Dick felt like retreating back up his room. Alfred’s poker face was truly unparalleled, and inscrutable no matter how many years of experience Dick thought he had to start cracking it open.
The older man didn’t enlighten his remark with a comment, and instead went back to scrubbing the kitchen, and Dick could have sworn there was a glint of something akin to sadness on his face. Content to end the conversation there, Dick ate the rest of his utterly scrumptious breakfast in silence, with only the slight scraping of his knife and fork, and when Alfred had the faucet running, as background noise.
Dick got up and helped Alfred with the dishes silently, drying the dishes that Alfred passed his way. Granted there wasn’t much given how quiet the manor was, but it was still something, and gave him something to do with his hands.
“I’m going to go check in on Damian, and hopefully get us out of the house for a bit. Mind if we take the Lexus if we do?”
“You know I don’t, just as long as it arrives back unscathed, and the same goes for you two boys,” Alfred said with a gentle smile, the one that Dick was so accustomed to.
“Alright, and don’t hesitate to text me if something comes back, or you need help with Tim or Bruce,” Dick said with a nod, folding the towel he had been using.
Alfred nodded, and Dick left, headed back up to where all the rooms were, finding Damian’s door closed. He gave a couple brief knocks, but sturdy enough that he knew Damian would hear it above the sound of the music he would surely have on.
The door swung open, and Damian stood there, hair slightly messy as if he had been fussing with it. He did immediately perk up a bit when he noticed that it was Dick.
“Damian,” Dick said, sliding his forearm on the door frame, “You have a free morning?”
And that’s how Dick and Damian found themselves zooming through downtown Gotham, both equipped in their sleek and overpriced sunglasses as the sun peeking through the dark Gotham clouds bounced off of the endless reflective surfaces of the city. You’d think given how much property damage Gotham suffered yearly due to the constant rise of madmen, villains, and vigilantes that they would stop making so much of their architecture out of glass, but luckily for Dick, that just meant more dramatic entrances were permitted. He much preferred jumping through skylights than crawling and jumping down a tight vent anyways.
Dick expertly swerved the car into the car garage, grabbing the ticket, and finding a parking space. Thankfully, given how much the Waynes donated to the museums, they always had a parking spot dedicated for them off to the side, and never paid for parking. Not that that was what would be breaking their bank.
“Are you finally telling me what we’re doing here? You’ve yet to say anything indicative to our plans,” Damian asked, stepping out of the sleek vehicle.
“Come on, I know you’ve figured it out by now,” Dick said, stepping out and locking the car behind them.
“The art museum, clearly,” Damian said, ushering to the parking garage’s murals of abstract blobs of color.
“Yep, but you know that there’s that new art exhibit that’ll be opening in three days?”
At that, Damian stiffed for the briefest of moments, and Dick knew that were it not for the sunglasses that he would have seen his pupils grow threefold.
“I’m aware that they were announcing the grand opening– the opening gala for the benectors is tomorrow though, is it not?”
“And what if I said I knew that Bruce has another commitment tomorrow night, and so I knew that you weren’t going to be able to that?” Dick pointed out as they started walking out to the entrance.
“... Who told you?”
“What, your big brother can’t just be up to date on what’s going on the family calendar?”
“You mean the calendar, at home, stuck on the fridge, that you only get to see on the weekends?”
“Oh, I’m sorry, I think you meant the digital version of that calendar that Tim graciously has updated online that I can easily access. That family calendar,” Dick said back, and when Damian looked at him he couldn’t help but let out a laugh.
“What’s so funny, Grayson?”
“You think that just because I’m in Blüdhaven that I’m not up to date on what’s going on back home, little bird,” Dick mused as they rounded the corner to the elevators.
“You purposefully keep up to date on our day to day affairs given your own busy schedule?” Damian asked, throwing an eyebrow up.
“Well, yeah.”
“Hm,” Damian replied, but didn’t say anything else on the calendar matter, “And so we’re just waltzing in and asking to see the yet-to-be-unveiled gallery?”
“Something like that,” Dick said, unable to keep his little smirk back.
“You’re hiding something.”
“And you’ve got to wait, like, 5 minutes until we get there.”
At that Damian huffed, but gave up in verbally investigating the matters.
The museum entrance was wide, full of people slowly walking around, gawking at the high-domed ceiling and the screens in the lobby advertising all the seasonal exhibits and new artwork acquired. Dick started walking towards the customer service representative, rather than going through the ticket booths.
Damian stood at his side, more relaxed than he had been in the parking garage as he picked up a flimsy pamphlet about their upcoming ‘The Danish Golden Age: An Exploration Through Painting’ exhibit, and another about their current collection of Fabergé eggs.
“Hi, I called about a week ago under the name Richard Grayson– yes, we’re with the Wayne Family…”
When Damian finally glanced back up from browsing their stands of pamphlets, Dick was looking at Damian, unable to contain his anticipation.
“Please Richard, if you’ve somehow managed to get the largest single-family benefactor from the museum kicked out before we’ve even entered…”
Dick reached out and placed an arm around Damian’s shoulders, barely shaking him, “God, have some confidence in me, will you? We’re just waiting for one of the curators.”
At that last word, Damian’s interest piqued and he looked up at Dick with accusatory eyes. “What do you mean by that?”
“Be–”
“ – Patient, yes, I know,” Damian huffed, earning him a playful clap on the shoulder.
“Mr. Grayson and Mr. Wayne?” A feminine voice called out, and a woman with her hair expertly tied into a ballerina bun walked up to them. “I’m Claudia Eshamith, Head Curator for our Artist Highlights series. Now, if you’d follow me, we can start the private tour of our upcoming exhibit on Thomas Moran’s works. If you have absolutely any questions along the way, please don’t hesitate to let me know.”
“Thank you, Ms. Eshamith, we really appreciate you taking the time to guide us through this,” Dick said with a polite smile, reaching out to shake her thin, bird-like hand.
“Of course, I’m always happy to give some additional information to those with such high interest in the arts,” she said, as she guided them away.
Dick glanced down at Damian who was wide-eyed at the prospect of getting a full tour and sneak peek at the new art exhibit, and Dick couldn’t help but feel like he had won the damn lottery.
By the time they’re back to Wayne Manor, it’s early afternoon.
Dick is armed to the teeth with art supplies and museum merchandise (his favorite part is the gift shop, after all). The tour was an hour long, and they had the whole exhibit to themselves, but Damian, inspired by the watercolor paintings, had wanted to stay and try to recreate one that caught his eye. Which meant Dick ran to the art store attached to the museum, bought the best new specialized sketchbook and small watercolor palette, and raced back up to bring it to Damian who was stuck like a statue in awe of the serene beauty of the place.
Dick was happy for the peace. No other people besides him and Damian once the curator left meant he could fully breath. It wasn’t the small, messy space of his apartment, and it wasn’t the large, suffocating Manor that it sometimes felt like. No, here it was just him, a very focused and determined Damian, and the endless beauty of the paintings that were expertly hung up on crisp, white walls.
It gave him time to think– and a lot of it– while Damian diligently worked away. He figured he at least made a good decision with the art supplies since Damian didn’t complain once about their quality or the thickness of the paper.
And afterwards, Damian was more than happy, as much as he tried to fight it, to explain the techniques and strokes and color theory behind the one that he tried to recreate, albeit slightly frustrated that it didn’t come out entirely the way he desired.
Dick, while listening, was happy to nod and hum along to Damian’s musings while browsing their selection of postcards, each with a different exhibit or piece of art on them. After he had his selection meticulously selected, along with Damian’s arms now suddenly filled with merchandise he might in his typical mood consider frivolous, they checked out and departed from the museum.
“I’m going to go find everyone, give them each their postcard,” Dick explained once they pulled up to the Manor.
“If you need me, I’ll be out in the garden,” Damian said back, and Dick knew without having to ask that the younger boy was already thinking of which spots would be best to paint and detail out. “What?”
“What, what?” Dick replied, pulling the car into the garage.
“That smile, what’s that for?”
“Nothing, just,” Dick pulled the car into its parking place and parked it, “Just that I’m really glad you had a good time. I’ve never seen you relaxed before– it suits you, you know.” Dick reached over and nudged Damian with his elbow.
“We were in the new exhibit alone, just us and the art. It’s much easier to focus without so many people or threats around,” Damian replied, which is about as good as Dick was going to get to him admitting he was allowing himself to keep his guard down. Or at least as far down as it could probably go.
“And you keep focusing here. I doubt there’s anywhere safer in Gotham than here after all,” Dick pointed out, leaving the vehicle and grabbing his newly acquired tote bag.
“Mm, perhaps, though the security could still use an upgrade I suppose,” Damian said, grabbing his new sketchbook and watercolors.
“Speaking of,” Dick said, fishing a small postcard from the bag and passing to Damian across the hood of the car, “For you.”
“This hardly has to do with our home security,” Damian retorted, looking over at the postcard. His forehead scrunched up as his eyes remained pinned to the little card, “I didn’t see any of their postcards out yet for the exhibit.”
“That’s because they didn’t. I asked the person at the counter if she could grab it for me, and then tipped her generously for her being willing to fetch it. I’m sure her boss wouldn’t be happy if she was caught, but then again, I doubt they were counting their pre-release postcard stock.” Dick shrugged, but knew he had hit the mark when he saw the edges of a smile creep onto Damian’s face.
“I was lucky that they had one for the painting you were admiring,” he continued.
Damian walked over to his side, postcard held firmly between his fingers, and then gave Dick a big hug, surprising the other.
“Thank you, Dick. I really enjoyed our morning outing,” Damian said, and then just as quickly broke free from the impromptu hug.
“Anytime you want to go again, just let me know,” he said, reaching out and ruffling Damian’s head. Damian immediately pulled away and grimaced.
“You’ve got to stop doing that, you keep messing up my hair,” Damian whined.
“Not my fault you have such fuss-able hair,” Dick said without a hint of remorse for it.
At that, they parted ways, watching as Damian made his way up the stairs and towards the rest of the house, where he was sure the other would be locked into an intense artistic session. Dick waited a moment to make sure the other was out of sight before he made his way to the Medbay, hoping to find a particular face there.
Sure enough, Tim was in one of the cots with a thin lavender blanket draped over his lap, typing something away on his phone, when he perked up and saw Dick walking towards him.
“Hey hey, looks like you’re finally up,” Dick said, sitting on the edge of the makeshift bed.
“Yeah, I just woke up like fifteen minutes ago,” Tim said with a cough, setting his phone down.
“Yeah, apparently you were solidly out for a while. How’re you feeling?”
“Honestly pretty drowsy and everything feels really thick, like wading through syrup,” Tim made a face at that, “But otherwise fine. I don’t remember anything from last night though.”
“Has Alfred checked up on you yet?”
“Yeah, he was down a minute after I woke up. I swear he just aparates sometimes,” Tim said with a nervous chuckle, bringing a hand up to absentmindedly rub at his neck.
“So, what’s the prognosis, doc?”
“Bedrest, some more bedrest, and finally some bedrest to finish it off,” he said with a grumble, “He has me on a strict hydration schedule, and though we assume whatever I was under was more mental than physical, he’s having me recuperate here just in case. Plus turns out I’ve got slight vitamin deficiencies, including Vitamin D, big surprise, so he’s using this as an excuse to fix me up into top-tune shape”
“Ooh, staying still in bed, your favorite,” Dick teased, earning a hard look from Tim.
“Ha ha, yeah laugh at it. It’s not too bad at least– I was able to get up and grab one of the tablets and log in, so I can get some work done to pass the time.”
“Which is of course the definition of restful bedrest if you look it up in a Merriam-Webster,” Dick said.
“It’s stupid, if it’s mental then I really don’t have a reason to be rotting away down here,” Tim said with a sigh, and dramatically flopped back onto his pillow.
“Have you considered that you’ve had a rough week and if one of us doesn’t physically pin you down then you won’t sleep half the time?”
“Hmm, yep. For like two seconds. Before I realized it was stupid.”
“Want me to tell Alfred you called his orders ‘stupid’?”
“Don’t you f*cking dare,” Tim said, dragging out that last word and earning a chuckle from Dick.
Dick fished a postcard from the tote bag and presented it to Tim, “Here, a little souvenir to remind you of the great world that exists up on the surface since you’re in temporary exile from it.”
Tim took it gingerly, flipping it over and his face splitting into a smile, “Oh my god! It’s that photographer– oh his name is on the tip of my tongue– he, oh he’s so cool! He just recently did a series of black and white photos in Gotham highlighting the day-to-day victories and comforts of the working class that won a few awards!”
“It reminded me of some of the pics that you’ve taken,” Dick admitted, watching the other flip the card around.
“Sergei Kaplina! That’s his name!”
“Well, I’m glad you like it,” Dick said, eyes glued on his younger brother’s intense fascination for the postcard.
“This is going to go above my desk, with my other photos,” Tim said with a nod, setting it down on the blanket.
“If you need me to fetch anything from there for you, just let me know,” Dick offered, but Tim shook his head.
“I’m good, but thank you. Alfred fetched me a change of clothes, and said he was going to be down again soon to run some more vitals and tests. He had to leave since Bruce just came back.”
At that news, Dick straightened up, “Oh, his royal highness has returned? Decided to grace us with his presence in his humble abode?”
Tim scoffed, but didn’t bother trying to hide his smile at the remark, “Yeah, not long before you came back. Just missed him, really.”
Dick hummed, storing that information. First Jason, and then he would actually get to talk to Bruce. Speaking of, “So, when did Jason leave the Medbay?”
At that Tim tried to act nonchalant, but clearly the name was not a welcome conversation topic, “He was gone before I woke up.”
“Still at the manor I suppose?”
“I’m not his keeper,” Tim huffed, “but he hasn’t left, no.”
“Good to know,” Dick muttered, which Tim didn’t miss.
“I’m sure he’s off sulking or brooding or being all ‘cool and mysterious’,” he said with finger quotes, “Somewhere else. Nobody else has been down here all day besides me and Alfred.”
“Does this still have to do with the fight you guys had?”
“All I said was that he was gone before I woke up.”
“Sorry, sorry,” Dick held up his hands in good will.
“Is there anything else you need?” Tim asked, eyes quickly glancing down to his phone where the screen was lit with a few missed text notifications.
“Other than for you to actually respect your bedrest doctor’s orders? Nope,” Dick said, popping the p on nope, and getting up from the cot.
“Will do, but won’t make any promises, and thanks again for the postcard– it is really cool,” Tim said, holding it up.
“Don’t mention it Timmy,” Dick said with his signature smile, and looked around. The rest of the Medbay was indeed quiet, and Jason long since abandoning it.
He nodded, but Tim was already preoccupied with whatever new messages he had received, and Dick made his way up to the actual rest of the house, on the prowl for wherever Jason was hiding.
It wasn’t his first, second, or third location, but his fourth, that he found him.
He was hiding away in the library, sprawled over one of the chairs, legs thrown over the side of the wingback chair, book peering down on him.
“Which one is it?” Dick called out, closing the massively oversized door behind him.
“Wuthering Heights,” Jason replied, flipping the page over.
“‘Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same’”
“Congrats Dickie, you know your classic literature quotes,” Jason retorted, still staying in the same position in the chair.
“See, I pay attention to you when you talk about what you’re reading,” Dick said, walking over and dramatically sitting down in the chair next to Jason’s. He had forgotten how comfortable these old chairs were, especially since it was some of the rare furniture aside from the main living room that was regularly used.
“God, last time I read this was… what, three, four years ago?”
“Probably something like that,” Dick replied absentmindedly, looking around.
Dick rarely found himself here, even when he was still living full-time in the Manor. It was the kind of room that demanded stillness and silence from its occupants, which was antithetical from Dick’s typical demeanor. He did however, used to love perusing the old books, the leather bound copies of classics that always smelled of satisfying musk, or the books he knew weren’t ones that Bruce purchased for himself.
It was odd but intoxicantly intriguing when he was younger, knowing that some of the books had been in the family for generations, and others some that Martha and Thomas Wayne bought. Their large portrait was of course one that he stared at for hours as a kid, and he at one point found himself consumed with getting to know them posthumously, when he thought that learning about Bruce’s parents meant he could get more of a glimpse into the man himself. It took him some time to realize that Alfred was more of a parent than those two ever really were, but it still sometimes haunted him. He had at one point found a book that Martha had annotated, some Agatha Christie she was trying to solve before Poirot could, with her thoughts scribbled into the margins in a fancy cursive he could barely comprehend. Dick stopped snooping when he noticed the notes abruptly ended right before the ending, where the receipt of it was tucked into it as a bookmark. It had been bought less than a week before their untimely demise.
Since then, he hadn’t really cared to browse the books based on their previous readers, and much less for the library itself.
“You’re staying awfully silent,” Jason noted, loudly flipping over another page.
“Just thinking, that’s all. It’s been a while since I’ve actually been in this room,” Dick said. After a moment of silence and no reply, he looked over at Jason, and how the arm not holding his book was in a sling. “How’s the shoulder?”
“It’s seen better days. Alfred put it back in place correctly, but he has me wearing a sling for the next three days– apparently I was right to trust my gut, it was a nastier dislocation than usual. Otherwise I would have popped it right back in myself.”
“Here, I got something for you. You know, just in case you need a bookmark,” Dick said, reaching into the Gotham Museum of Art tote bag and grabbing the postcard he got for Jason.
Jason set his book down on his stomach, making sure it was open to the page he was on, and reached out to grab it from Dick’s extended hand.
“It’s Gustave Doré’s art for The Inferno. When we read it back in school, we had to look over a bunch of his illustrations for it,” Jason said, clearly caught off guard, but Dick could tell it was a good kind of surprise. Success.
“Turns out they managed to somehow, temporarily, get some of his works in for a brief event last year, and still had a few postcards remaining.”
“And I missed it?!”
“Well, maybe if you kept an eye out on their website or their emailing list,” Dick’s voice trailed off, and Jason gave him a hard look.
“I still can’t believe I missed the chance to see these in person,” he murmured, flipping the postcard over.
“You know, I’m sure if you asked Bruce to take a trip to Italy and do a Dante-themed tour, he would jump at the opportunity to spend time with you, even if it was the most touristy places,” Dick said, half-joking.
“Yeah, right,” Jason said with a scoff, and didn’t say more on the matter.
“Seriously, when was the last time you two just hung out?”
“A while,” Jason said flatly, and Dick recognized the tone as one not to push him on the topic. While their relationship wasn’t nearly as contentious as it was when Jason first came back to Gotham, they still had a long way to go.
Dick added to his mental list of things to do to bother Bruce about setting up a nice dinner or brunch for him and Jason. Even if it was awkward, he knew the two would appreciate it independently on their end of things. He knew both well enough to know that each thought the other was responsible for their rift, while more internally blaming themselves. He had seen it well enough.
The room fell into silence again, though not necessarily an uncomfortable one as Jason resumed his reading.
“Will I see you later? As in you’re not going to immediately bounce and take the sling off while at it?” Dick asked, getting up from his seat.
“Yeah, I plan on leaving sometime tomorrow. I’m enjoying Alfred’s cooking while I can,” Jason responded.
Dick thought about bringing up the fight with Tim, but immediately pushed the thought of it down. He was already pushing things as is, and knew Jason relished his solitary reading time.
“See ‘ya around,” Dick said, waiting for a moment just in case Jason needed anything, but the other briefly raised his hand as a goodbye.
Dick took it, and set off to find the last man he needed to talk to for the day.
Unlike Jason, he knew where Bruce would be hiding.
Given how Wayne Enterprise work was keeping him busy, it only made sense he was in his office. Dick’s knocking was only one done out of courtesy, though he assumed Bruce would have known it was him from his footsteps.
Dick opened the door after not hearing anything, but was right to see the man hunched over his oversized mahogany desk, with papers spread out as if a tornado had drifted them all over the room.
“What do you need?” Bruce asked, not bothering to look up from his current stack, pen in hand.
“You took the words right out of my mouth,” Dick said, closing the door behind him. That caught Bruce’s attention, even if briefly, Dick noticed. Door closed meant this wasn’t just a one-off little question.
“Dick, this really isn’t a good time,” Bruce said with a sigh, pushing the stack slightly away from him, or at least as far as it could go without pushing other papers off the desk. He at least looked up to look Dick in the eyes, and Dick, for the first time, could see the clear bags under his eyes. Even yesterday in the cave they were more concealed, which he now suspected was from makeup if he was out in the office. Certainly seeing your head honcho so tired wouldn’t be good for team morale.
“Relax, I was just offering my services,” Dick said, taking a seat across from Bruce, and setting his bag down. The postcard would just have to wait.
“You’re home for the weekend, enjoy it.”
“I know you’ve had a hectic week with WE work, and you’re up to your gills swimming in the paperwork,” Dick said, jabbing one stack with a finger lightly as if to make his point, “And even if we’re just working in silence, I figured I could at least help you out a bit. I could do with a bit more reading, anyways.”
Bruce sighed, but Dick had worked with the man long enough to distinguish between them. This one was a sigh not of defeat, but of weariness.
The older man leaned back in his leather chair, putting his face in the palm of his hands. It was a picture Dick achingly knew would only be reserved for him– not Jason, not Tim, not Damian. Just him, and most likely Alfred.
“It’s been a week,” was all Bruce murmured, barely audible behind the stifling of his hands. Dick just watched, his heart breaking for a moment to see him like this. In a gruff of frustration, Bruce let his hands drop, and reached across the overstuffed table and grabbed a manila folder, with no less than nine sticky notes plastered on it.
“It started on Tuesday– R&D is developing a new device that we’re hoping to patent, as is typical in the department, but the news came that someone was trying to leak the prototype blueprints. Our security luckily flagged the attempt to snag the online files and transfer them to an unknown USB drive, and blocked it, requiring an upper-manager code to do so. But there were repeated attempts, and the firewall kept being provoked, so it was looked into. Turns out this researcher has been stockpiling the lower-levels of information on the project, enough to accumulate them so that he can recreate it for themselves and try to sell the patent for himself and strike it rich.”
While he was explaining it, Dick opened up the file, where the guy’s file had been marked up, along with a thick amount of miscellaneous papers and blueprints that Dick assumed was like the acorns he was trying to squirrel away.
“And they need you to sort out this fire in particular?” Dick asked, flipping over the page and reading over the guy’s CV. PhD in Biochemical Engineering at MIT, postdoc at Metropolis University, with tens of thousands of dollars of external funds received for his work during that time. Overall, an extremely impressive candidate– one that made sense to be where he was at now in the company.
“Fires, plural. He wasn’t working solo– he had collaborators in the company, and all four of them had the same advisor during their academic careers, which is the only link between them all. One during her masters, two during their PhDs, though their careers didn’t overlap, and this main guy during postdoc. We have evidence to believe they’re trying to smuggle the info back to their advisor so that he can recreate it, patent it, and win… Funding? The Nobel Prize? A university award? He’s already tenure-track, so we still need to figure out a concrete motive.”
“Money’s motive enough,” Dick said, swiftly flipping through the rest of the file. “Besides, your job here isn’t to figure out a motive– it’s to get them removed along with all their security clearances and file access points, and to make sure that any copies are completely destroyed without any chance of them already reproducing them. And legal’s on this, right?”
“Oh yeah, legal has been blowing up my phone for the past five days. And I appreciate it– it’s why they’re getting paid top dollars– but it’s still…”
“A lot?”
“Coming in the same week when I need to have our quarterly report prepared and ready to present to the board,” Bruce offered up instead, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath.
“Which is all you– nobody else can help out with that at the company?”
“It has to be, I’m the one presenting it Monday,” Bruce groaned.
“Tell you what,” Dick said, leaning forward, elbows on the desk, “I’ll help you with this for the rest of the night– whatever you need me for, be it crunching numbers for the report or digging through these files, and tomorrow, you have to swear to take half of the day fully off. Be it sleeping in, or taking the evening off, just something so that you’re not running yourself ragged before the big meeting.”
Bruce shook his head, hand going up to stroke the ever so slight stubble that had been growing since what Dick assumed was yesterday morning.
“That’s too risky– I have too much work to get done.”
“Then let me help you enough now that you can afford to decompress. You’ve always said it’s best to go into something important like this well-rested and confident, no? And if it does go horribly wrong, which it won't, Lucius can help you out. And it’s one quarter– you can make it up in the next if it’s that horrendous.”
Bruce considered it, eyes not betraying his thoughts, and then he nodded.
“Fine, deal. But I’m warning you, you’re in for a long night,” Bruce said, reaching for one stack nearly about to topple off of his desk.
“Whatever it is, I’ve got you,” Dick said with a nod.
“Well, in that case,” Bruce said, taking the large stack and settling it between Dick’s hands, “This is all of the communication between the four that we were able to pull based on their IPs and company phone IDs. Nothing incriminating is here just yet, but we’re assuming they might be using some sort of code…”
A sudden rapt on the door brings Dick and Bruce out of their trance. Dick, having long since retreated to working cross-legged on the ground, surrounded by a halo of papers, notes, memos, and blueprints, looked over at Bruce, still at his desk.
Without waiting, the door opened, revealing Alfred and an aroma that could only smell as mouth-wateringly savory.
“It appears since you two have condemned yourselves to the confines of the office, that you won’t be joining us for dinner, is that correct?”
Dick realized they hadn’t had their typical Friday night family dinner with everyone, given how scattered everyone had been, and the same would be happening for tonight.
“Sorry Alfred, I’ve enlisted Dick to help out with the efforts here, so hopefully we can make it to dinner tomorrow night,” Bruce offered, genuinely apologetic.
“Hmph, well, as I presumed that to be the case, I’ve brought you both your dinners. And since neither one of you bothered with lunch, because heaven forbid we hold a normal eating routine in this household, you’ve been given extras, so I won’t hear both of you complaining about how little you two ate tomorrow, is that clear?”
“Yes Alfred,” Dick and Bruce said in sync, as if children being scolded. Well, guess they still were, Dick realized as he got up and took the plates from Alfred.
“Thank you, Alfred, we really appreciate it,” Dick said, and Alfred smiled.
“It is no problem at all my boy, just don’t go making a habit of it like Master Bruce here has,” Alfred said, pointedly looking at Bruce with the last of the statement, making him shrink back in his seat behind the desk.
Dick nodded, a plate in either hand, as Alfred left.
“Oh god, my back,” he heard Bruce said as he walked over, “Smells delicious though.”
“Careful, or else we’ll have you start taking the company pilates class just to keep your old man back in shape,” Dick teased, giving Bruce one of the plates.
“Now that would be embarrassing– I’m pretty sure Kathleen, in HR, would kick my butt spectacularly,” Bruce said, sitting down on the couch that the other had neglected to use.
Dick took a seat next to him, looking down at the steaming asparagus and mushrooms mixed into what he assumed was wild rice, and served with beef. Truly Alfred must have been busy in the kitchen, which just served as another pang to his heart.
“Maybe we’ll threaten it as punishment next time we’re out on patrol– you know, like how we sometimes bet on who broke out of Arkham this time, or is trying to hold the Commissioner hostage?”
“And if I lose I’m being sentenced to pilates?” Bruce asked, digging into the rice mix.
“If you lose, we take a video of you getting your butt kicked by Kathleen in HR, and we send it to the Justice League,” Dick said with a devious grin.
Bruce mock-gasped, “You wouldn’t dare!”
“You want to try me?”
“Oh absolutely not, I know you would somehow hold me accountable to it if I did,” Bruce said with a genuine laugh.
Dick relaxed a bit, and dug into his dinner. Damn, it was delicious as always. Truly, the main reason he came back on these weekends. Alfred’s cooking would be what he would order if he was on death row for his final meal, no questions asked.
They slowly ate in comfortable silence, the both wanting to drag it on for a bit before returning back into the fray of the fight against the tomes of documents.
Dick waited between bites to broach the subject of last night– a nagging voice in his mind was telling him he couldn’t let it drop, but he didn’t want to ruin the moment either, especially when he just got Bruce to unwind ever so slightly.
But on the other hand, everyone still wasn’t speaking to each other for the most part, and he kept thinking about Bruce’s comments from last night. With too much free time on his hands at the museum, while Damian was working on his craft, he couldn’t help but replay it over and over again in his mind:
“Go back, this mission is done.”
“You’ve all done enough damage for tonight.”
“Nightwing, this won’t happen again, do you understand me?”
The chilliness of the voice was enough to send a shiver down Dick’s spine, just remembering the stone hard voice that left no room for disagreement, and no room to interpret it as anything other than anger, and disappointment.
“Need me to turn down the AC?” Bruce asked, clocking the slight shiver.
“No, no, it’s fine,” Dick said, chomping down on another forkful of wild rice and mushroom.
“You’re tense,” Bruce said nonchalantly, more of a comment than a question.
“Just thinking about last night’s mission is all,” Dick said, trying out the waters. At that, he noticed Bruce slightly hesitate in cutting into the meat, but said nothing. “I know it’s my responsibility to keep everyone together as a team, even if spread out, and I wasn’t able to do that last night. Especially given how high-strung everyone was from the week, it was extra important to make sure things went smoothly, and it didn’t, and for that I am sorry, Bruce.”
Dick felt his heart pick up in his chest– while normally apologizing wasn’t something that made him clam up, this was different. It had been a difficult week, yes, but that included him, which nobody seemed to consider a possibility, and now stepping into the manor was like stepping around the aftermath of a few small explosions, careful of the debris and shrapnel from the fallout of the arguments and tension.
But that didn’t excuse the fact that he knew Bruce was upset, and if apologizing was how he would get back into his good graces, along with helping with work, then he wasn’t sure what was.
But here he was, and Bruce was staying silent, chewing his beef as if he hadn’t heard Dick’s apology. Dick waited, but he knew he had heard– his eyes had flickered over a couple of times, and he was being slow, deliberate, biding his time to say something. But Dick could feel that time ticking by like the alarm strapped to yet another bomb about to go off.
“You know,” Bruce started, slowly after swallowing his piece, “I know that some things are out of your control, but I also know that out of everyone, you’re the one I trust most to handle these types of things. You’ve been doing this the longest, you’re the one out of the Robins that has been a mentor the longest, and you’ve been my partner for the longest. You understand how these things work, so I don’t need to hash it out to you. That being said,” Bruce took a breath, “Tim was with you last when he disappeared, and you didn’t follow up. You know how Jason would be on edge when you both saw Tim like that– with someone from the family being kidnapped like that. You’ve worked extensively with Damian, you know that there’s still work to be done with communication, shall we say. But I don’t worry about you Dick, not like I do with the others. So yes, I am disappointed that during this, it didn’t turn out great, and proved to be a greater failure than success for our ranks. While we accomplished the mission, yes, there were a thousand different ways this could have ended better– without injuries, without fighting, without a kidnapping, without so many difficulties.”
Bruce finished his statement, all without even bothering to look at Dick, and then resumed eating. As if he didn’t indeed drop a verbal bomb on Dick like he had worried about.
Dick just set his fork and knife down, the rest of the plate suddenly very unappetizing to him.
“I wasn’t the head of this mission,” he said carefully, though he could feel his own patience wearing thin at a breakneck pace, “You were. You should have told me that you wanted me to resolve all these issues before going on if you were looking to be so effective, but instead we were just given the orders and left within a few minutes.”
At this Bruce stopped shoveling the rice and asparagus onto his fork and glared at Dick, finally looking him in the eye. They didn’t speak, instead locked into a staring contest that Dick could feel himself unable to break away from.
“I want you to train Tim tonight, I think he’s had enough bedrest,” was all Bruce said, being the first to break their eye contact and resume his eating, “Yes he was under mind control, but his reflexes should have kicked in to stave you off better than they did. If you remember the sequences from yesterday, since he won’t, given how he doesn’t remember last night, then I want you to drill him on those moves you used against him.”
Dick was silent, staring at Bruce eating, not even bothering to look at his plate anymore.
Bruce caught on after a few moments, and looked at Dick, confused, mouth half-full and asked, “What?”
“What? You’re asking me what?” Dick scoffed, feeling a pit opening up in his stomach, the early kindling flames of anger licking up through him, the slow boiling of his blood heating him up.
“I trust you to train Tim tonight, Dick. You’ve been more than helpful in your work, and you can finish off and go help Tim. I promised him earlier this week to train him tonight, but that was before this whole catastrophe,” Bruce said, motioning to the room around them, “And I’m far too spread thin right now.”
As if Dick hadn’t been spread too thin for the past how many years? Between Nightwing, being home in Gotham, the Justice League, the Titans, and his regular day job? And when did he ever get a break from it all? When did someone ever offer him a f*cking break or a shoulder to cry on?
At least Batman had his equals, had his (granted, few) friends who’d understand his position. But Dick? Dick had his glowing, flawless image and a dead apartment to go to at night.
“What was the fight between Tim and Jason about?” Dick outright asked, not concealing the irritation in his voice as he pivoted the conversation, just as Bruce had.
“I don’t f*cking know Dick, I wasn’t even aware that they had a fight,” Bruce huffed, angrily stabbing the tender meat with his knife to cut into it.
“You’re the one who’s been at this god forsaken house for the week!” Dick exclaimed, bitterness seeping in his tongue, and Bruce swearing at him being his last f*ck given for the week.
“Have I, Dick? Because if you looked around, you would clearly see I haven’t! I’ve been at the office all day, and where have you been? Galavanting around town based on what Alfred said to me when I came back?”
“f*ck you,” Dick spat out, more in defensiveness than in actual spite towards the man, though at the moment the line was pretty blurred, “I was out with Damian since he rarely leaves, especially since school’s out for the summer and so why would anybody bother to take him out of here for fun apparently, and we had a delightful morning! We even managed to achieve a conversation not revolving around training, or fighting, or being vigilantes, or work. It’s wonderful, you should give it a try sometimes.”
Dick knew he was far beyond simply plushing Bruce’s buttons, but he knew the man too well. The problem was he knew exactly which ones to push after so many years of practice, that sometimes he did it without consciously meaning to. He didn’t mean to hurt Bruce, just get him to understand.
Just get someone to f*cking understand.
Bruce’s nostrils flared, his eyes enraged, brows furrowed, jaw clenched (the same way Jason’s was when pissed off, Dick absentmindedly noted), his shoulders pressed back and up, as if made of marble. He looked like the human version of a cat’s tail all puffed up, ready to strike.
“You know,” Bruce started, slowly, “I think you take gold for the most stubborn person on the face of this planet sometimes. I swear you’re worse than the rest of them are, combined and multiplied.”
Dick didn’t need to ask for who ‘them’ was referring to. Despite not being biological kids of his, with the exception of Damian of course, they all seemed to yet still inherit the man’s grand levels of obstinance.
“Oh, and I wonder who I could have gotten that from,” Dick said, unable to stop the sarcastic remark as it tumbled out of his mouth before he could think about it.
“I trained you better than this Dick, don’t you think you owe me some f*cking humility here? Can’t you see the kind of pressure I’m under, more than anyone else here?!” Bruce spat out, nearly shouting by the end of it.
Dick wanted to scream. He wanted to take the decorative pillow by his side and throw it in Bruce’s face. He wanted to march over to his desk and dramatically scatter all his papers across the floor like a snowstorm. He wanted to cry. He wanted to yell at the top of his lungs. He wanted to finally be able to look Bruce in the eye and say that he couldn’t keep being Parent #2. Yes, he could be the one that they sometimes made the unexpected trip to Blüdhaven to, and yes, he could take them out on excursions just to see their face light up, and do all that and more, but he couldn’t be the constant and sole source of comfort and resilience and conflict resolution without anything in turn.
He couldn’t keep playing Batman to the ones who needed it most– not the Robins, but Jason and Tim and Damian.
“Some direction,” Dick started, hands together as his blunt nails dug into his skin and formed coal red crescent indents, “On my role around here would be nice. Since apparently I’m not adequately trained for it. What is it? Counselor? Father figure 2? Babysitter? The substitute Batman for when the real one can’t be out there? Huh? Is it all of the above–”
“Dick, you have no right,” Bruce started, clenching his fists by his side, “Any right, to be saying those things to me right now. What, you think anyone ever, ever, threw a manual my way on how to do this sh*t!” By the end, Bruce was roaring, and Dick didn’t care that half of the manor could probably hear them.
“Right,” Dick said with a dry laugh, “I forgot. I’m you, I’ve always just supposed to be you. So there’s no manual for me, like there was no manual for you.”
“You’re not me, and nobody else said you had to,” Bruce harshly stated.
“Just because nobody ever said it, doesn’t mean it’s not implied. Or else what’s your logic for telling me how to deal with last night– was I supposed to f*cking guess? Become clairvoyant and read your laundry list on all the things I was supposed to have figured out?”
“Jesus Dick, enough about last night! You screwed up, you made some mistakes. I was tired, and we still got it figured out. What do you want, a pat on the back for f*cking it up? For not paying attention?”
“That’s right– I screwed up! I’m the one who made mistakes! I’m the one who you pinned everything on, when there were four of us out there! And if any other time I took the lead, if I called the shots, I would have gotten a slap on the wrist for disobeying your orders and you know it! If you need a scapegoat right now to take out all your frustration about work, fine, then let it be me. Let it all f*cking fall on me. But don’t think it’s not affecting the others, and where do you think they turn to, huh? Why do you think Tim came to me the other night? Where the f*ck are you when they need anything!”
At the end of his shouting, Dick was shouting now, he realized, he was panting. Bruce opened his mouth, then shut it. He opened it, and let it out a long exhale through his nose, and his jaw shifted, and Dick knew a response would be coming, and one that would just keep digging them further into this fighting match.
Well, he was the one who brought up the topic in the first place. He might as well be the one to end it.
“I,” Dick started, keeping his voice even and at a normal conversational volume, and yet nearly choking on the single syllable, “thank you for your hospitality. I’ve put a sticky note label on all my stacks on the ground– you should be able to pick up where I left off with ease.”
The flames begging to burst from his chest had cooled into wisps of smoke, a former fire turned to ash as the cold night crept into his bones.
Bruce just sat and watched as Dick set his plate beside him, careful not to spill anything, and got up to grab his new tote bag before he forgot his wallet and ID in it. As he harshly took it, he noticed a small postcard sticking out, and whipped it out, loudly smacking it down dramatically against Bruce’s mahogany table with a harsh clacking sound.
Dick pivoted on his heels and swiftly stormed out of the room, forcing himself to not look at Bruce who sat motionless on the couch.
At least he had barely unpacked his duffel bag from his room. When he got back, he threw what little he had tossed out of it back in, and aggressively zipped it up, nearly snagging the damn thing.
He tried to remind himself– breathe in for nine, out for six. But it was all bullsh*t, he thought to himself as he swung the bag over his shoulder.
He dug out his phone from his back pocket, quickly flicking up to his recent messages before sending out a quick note to Tim.
‘Hey, duty calls, and Blud needs some help rn. Sorry for the quick goodbye– I need to go ASAP’
He copy and pasted it for Tim, Jason, and Damian all individually, and sent it. If they didn’t hear the cacophony that the fight deteriorated into (which was possible, given how far away the rooms were from his office), then at least they knew he would be leaving.
As Dick left his room, still looking down at his phone as he closed the door behind him, he heard a voice from the end of the voice talk.
Dick lifted his head and saw that it was Damian, peeking out of his bedroom, looking like he was awaiting an answer.
“Sorry Dames, I didn’t quite hear you,” Dick said sheepishly, walking over to the boy.
“I swear you seem to age exponentially Grayson– you’ll be needing a hearing aid and a walker next time I see you,” Damian said, “I was just asking if you needed backup tonight. In Blüdhaven.”
“Nah, I should be good to handle things myself– it’s a nuisance for me, really. But I had a good time today, really, so I’m glad I at least got to spend some time with you this weekend.”
“You seem tense,” Dick noted, to which he shrugged back.
“Well, that’s what happens when you get called away from home to drive back on short notice.”
“Won’t the problem be incapacitated by the time you get there if you’re driving?”
“I was tipped off,” Dick lied, “A massive trade is going down to three or so hours– just enough time for me to get there and be ready.”
“Then you better be going,” Damian said, and Dick could swear he could hear the boy’s sadness masked beneath his annoyance over his sudden departure, “But give me just one moment before you tear up the roads.”
Dick stood in place and watched as Damian slipped back into his room, and walked over to his desk. He noticed the postcard propped up on his bookshelf by his desk, and Damian came back over with a paper in his hands.
“For you, as a thank you for today,” Damian said, and handed the paper over. It was the watercolor he had been working on, the replica of the painting from the postcard that he managed to finish up, with fine details and a beautiful assortment of colors and lines delicately scattered across the thick page.
It was gorgeous.
“Damian,” Dick started, scrambling for the right words, “This means a lot to me. Thank you.”
Careful not to tousle the watercolor painting, Dick bent down and scooped up Damian into a tight hug, until he could feel the other squirming in his grasp.
“Like I said, it’s a thank you,” Damian said, though his eyes were looking at anywhere but Dick.
“I love it. I’ll have to frame it when I get back– find a nice place for it in the apartment.”
“But not after you dispose of the criminals– I won’t have you missing out on this bust because you’re lost in a… what was it we went to in the winter? Michael’s?”
“Yeah, trust me, I’ll save this for afterwards,” Dick said with a small laugh, and gave Damian another small quick hug, not nearly as tight as the first one had been.
“You’re getting too affectionate,” Damian said, but made no attempt to escape it.
“Actually I’m not affectionate enough–”
“Go do a drug or weapons bust or whatever it is that’s calling you back,” Damian said with an eye roll, and Dick couldn’t help but smile as he left the other boy, halfway down the hall towards the stairs when he heard Damian’s door close behind him.
Dick got half ran down the stairs when he spotted Alfred dusting one of the statues at the base, eyes flicking up to see him with his duffel bag and tote bag.
“Leaving so soon, Master Dick?” Alfred asked, voice and tone neutral.
God, he probably heard their screaming match, didn’t he?
“Sorry Alfred, duty calls back over,” he started, but Alfred raised a singular eyebrow and that was enough to stop anybody in their tracks.
“I may be old, Master Dick, but I am neither blind nor deaf.”
“I’m sorry Alfred, I didn’t mean to insinuate that you were,” he said, “Then you know why, but I’d rather the others not know. I’m just taking my leave. I think it’d be for the best, for now.”
“What are you so scared of? That an ounce of vulnerability or emotion besides peppiness and preparedness reveal your deep secret that beneath your veneer, you’re mortal, just like the rest of us here? My, truly to think you’re an indestructible god unable to let up appearances reminds me of somebody else here,” Alfred chided, jutting his chin up to the general direction of Bruce’s office.
Dick fell silent at the slight scolding, but snapped out of it as Alfred placed a hand on his shoulders.
“My boy, you were not my first child I had to look after, and certainly, clearly, you weren’t the last. I’ll talk to him tonight about his behavior towards you– just because his work actually requires that he works, doesn’t mean he can take it out on you and you have to work away with your tail between your legs. This is your home too after all.”
“I appreciate it Alfred,” Dick said earnestly, placing his hand on top of Alfred’s, “But you don’t have to do that for me. Really, I understand that emotions were high for the both of us, and we’re both a bit too pent up right now to be fully functional.”
At that, Alfred laughed. “Master Dick, since when has this household ever been even remotely functional? And if you think it is the man currently brooding in his office and who runs out in the city in an animal costume, the one who keeps things ‘functional’ around you, you surely have poorer perception than I thought.”
“I know, Alfred,” Dick said with a sigh, “But really, I don’t want to put anything more on you than you already have going on. Besides, I’m just here for the weekends– you live here, and have been, for far longer than I’ve been alive for. I’m not going to ask you to be a mediator between us now, and then run off.”
“I do everything I do because I want to, not because I have to. Not even the Joker or Lex Luthor could intimidate me into so much as making them a cuppa if I did not so wish to. The same goes with Master Bruce– I raised him too, and he will listen to me. He’d be a fool not to, and he knows. Trust me, that much he knows.”
“Thank you, Alfred,” Dick said, dropping his hand back to his side.
Alfred scrutinized him, but his poker face was something not even a sculptor could chip away at to reveal what laid beneath it. Dick stood frozen, unsure if he was about to receive a lecture, or something else.
Instead, Alfred simply nodded, and dropped his arm from Dick’s shoulder, and stepped aside.
Dick nodded back, and briskly walked away, heading to the garage where his car sat parked.
As soon as he got in it, he threw his stuff into the backseat, turned on the ignition, and didn’t wait to load up any music or turn on the radio before he started driving away.
With a loud roar from the engine, Dick was tearing down the gravel road, just him and his thoughts of complete silence.
f*ck, what had he done.
sh*t, sh*t, sh*t, sh*t, sh*t, sh*t, sh*t, sh*t.
“sh*t!” Dick shouted, slamming his hands against the steering wheel, and slowing down his speed as the gates automatically opened for him, and he got into the main road, now far too late for any other cars to be out at this hour.
The clock read 10:07 when Dick looked down, and he sighed. He wouldn’t be home until almost midnight.
And he still had chores to do. And so much more work to do. And tomorrow would be a Sunday with nothing planned, but surely somebody would come knocking but inevitably everybody knows when he’s home, and he’ll be dragged out in his one day of solitary comfort, and he’ll be asked to go out patrolling with whoever it is, and he’ll get kicked and punched again, and he’ll keep checking his phone back at the apartment for notifications from everyone but he knows it’ll just be radio silence, unless it’s Tim complaining about Bruce going extra hard during training, the frustration fueling his sharp attacks and punches, or maybe it’ll be Jason to complain about how Tim is breathing in his direction or how Damian is being a menace, or maybe it’ll be Damian taking Bruce’s side once Bruce tells them all he’s decided to kick Dick out of the will and out of the house, and Dick won’t be invited back, and there’ll be an empty seat at the weekly Friday night family dinner, and they’ll miss out on him requesting cheesy 80s movies during their movie nights, if they’ll even keep up movie nights at this rate, but at least if they cut him off then he’ll have peace, but it’ll sting and hurt and being cut off like that will just be like taking a knife repeatedly to his heart and making him eat it, but isn’t this what he wanted anyways, and who was he if not the person everyone always relied on with consistency and ease, and if the other vigilantes and heroes figured out there was bad blood between them they would never be able to look at Nightwing the same, and with such disdain in their hours that he had yelled at Bruce and caused him such harm, but damn it, when did Bruce ever own up to his own mistakes, and when did he ever apologize for something when it actually meant something, and now the man that raised him was going to hate him forever and ever and there was nothing else he could do–
Dick took a deep breath, looking around him. He was pulled over to the side of the road, somewhere in his absent-minded state, on the precipice of a panic attack, he had safely pulled himself over, and put his four way flashers on.
His hands were trembling.
He tasted saltiness on his tongue as he licked his lips.
He reached up and touched his face, fat tears beading his fingers when he looked down at them.
He could barely see straight.
Oh god, he was sniffling and crying, and had never felt so, so alone.
sh*t. f*ck. Damn this. Damn it all, actually.
Dick tried to take a few deep breaths, but couldn’t catch his breath, his breathing sounding rickety like a haunted house when he did, racking his chest as he deeply coughed.
“No, no, no, no, no, no,” he whispered, unsure of what to do.
How many times did he help a civilian crying, or one of his brothers, and yet here he was, as helpless as a lamb out of its pasture at night, uncertain of where to go or what to do.
He couldn’t go back to Blüdhaven, back to his depressingly empty apartment with laundry to do and dishes to clean. He couldn’t go back to Wayne Manor, where the air was so thick with tension he wouldn’t be able to cut it with a bread knife if he put all his elbow grease into it.
Dick sat like that, slumped in his car seat, nobody else around to notice the car just off the road, its driver wiping the snot from his nose with his sweatshirt.
He slowly calmed down, the tears stopping, and then they started reappearing after a minute, when the thoughts of it wouldn’t dissipate from his mind.
He closed his eyes, unsure of how to clear away its tangled webs of thoughts and emotions.
But he knew someone who was good with this kind of stuff, someone who maybe had been in shoes once or twice before. Well, most likely not, but maybe close enough.
Dick reached into his back seat, fumbling, but finally grabbing his phone, and pulling up his contacts list, bleary eyed, and beyond tired. Yeah, he was in absolutely no state to drive in his condition right now.
He found who he was looking for, and pressed the call button, before he could think twice about his decisions right now.
“Hey, Uncle Clark, I, I really need your help right now, um–”
With a sudden strong whoosh, a gust of air so strong he heard his car creak, he looked over and saw Clark, not in his Superman attire, but dressed down in his typical civilian clothes, looking absolutely distraught.
When was the last time he had called him for help? Was it really so concerning over the phone?
Clark opened the driver’s door, which was unlocked, Dick realized, and just before the older man could ask any questions, Dick all but lept out of his seat, hugging the man so tightly he was sure he was cutting off his ability to breathe.
“What happened?” Clark asked so softly, gently, placing a tentative hand around Dick’s back, returning the hug.
Dick tried to answer, but the sobbing came back tenfold, and all he could was find himself a mess, the poster child of being a wreck, clinging onto his Uncle Clark as if he was his last lifeline.
Clark fully hugged Dick back after surveying the scene, seeing no scratches on the car or any evidence of a car accident occurring.
“Shh, shh Dick, everything’s going to be alright. You’re going to be alright,” he soothed, unsure of what had caused such a wave of emotional panic to overcome him.
“Oh my god, I f*cked everything up, and now they’re all going to hate me if they don’t already–”
“Dick, Dick, I promise you’re okay. Where were you going, son? Back to the Manor?”
“No,” Dick’s voice strained, “Home, anywhere but here.”
“You’re in absolutely no condition to drive,” Clark stated, and took a step back, but kept Dick in his outstretched arms. He looked over Dick’s face, and his face sank in turn.
“Let me take you back to my place for the night. I’d really feel more comfortable with you there than you trying to drive this late in your condition.”
Dick just nodded, feeling numb, his body on the verge of just shutting off, of his knees buckling from beneath him.
“Do you want me to tell Bruce–”
“No, please no, anything but,” Dick pleaded, and Clark nodded, not elaborating on it.
“Okay, okay. Is there anyone I should tell, let them know you’re with me for the night?”
Dick just shook his head, and Clark looked past him at the now abandoned car.
“There’s a small road off to the side around here, one that’s not used anymore. We’ll park your car there, keep it hidden and out of sight from the road. I’m driving though,” Clark said.
“Keys are still in the ignition, my stuff’s in the backseat,” Dick said with a nod, as they started making their way over.
Clark’s hand was between his shoulder blades, guiding him to the passenger side and opening the door for him, letting him get in before closing the door and getting into the driver’s side. He started the car and after a minute or two of silence– it could have been ten seconds or ten hours to Dick, time didn’t seem to exist and everything swam in and out of his mind.
“We’re here, are these two your bags?” Clark asked, grabbing the duffel bag and tote bag from the backseat.
Dick grabbed the phone from the console, where he had absentmindedly put it after calling Clark, and nodded.
“Alright, I’ve got your keys then. Let’s get you warm and safe, huh? You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to, but I’d be more than happy to sit with you and listen,” Clark said.
They got out, and Clark took Dick into his arms, just like he had when Dick was a kid, coming over to visit and fly him around for fun, and soon they were gone.
And that’s all that Dick could ever want right then and there.
