Chapter Text
"HOLY GUACAMOLE AND FRIED BAT-NUGGETS!"
Dick could take a punch, he could take a stab wound or even a gunshot. He was used to it, it was a part of his job after all, it wasn't going to stop him. He'd been putting himself in danger since he could remember. He'd been swinging on the trapeze without protection before he could even walk properly. So, he wasn't afraid. He'd gotten injured countless times during his days in the circus, trainings with Bruce, or missions. At this point it was a part of his life, and he would feel weird if it disappeared. So, no, being injured didn't really affect him.
But there was one thing that did.
"Oh, flying turkey in tuxedo!" The hissing echoed through the apartment as he pressed the gauze on his wound to stop it from bleeding. The pain increased and radiated all the way from his side to his shoulder. "Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck."
"Cut it out!" He could hear the muffled screaming coming from the other side of the wall, followed by incensed punching.
"Sorry, Mrs. Stevenson!" Dick yelled back.
He was sitting on the kitchen table, the upper half of his suit taken off, now lying on the floor and staining it with blood. It will leave the smudge. Not the first one, though. Maybe he should finally invest in a carpet to cover it all up.
Dick lifted the gauze up slightly. The gash was still bleeding, but it was much less intense now. He put the lint away and started cleaning the skin around the wound.
Dick hadn't suspected anything to happen tonight. It had looked like a calm night. Quick patrol and then coming back home to have something more than three hours of sleep. And he'd been right. In the beginning. It had seemed like the criminals had taken a night off, and Dick'd already been heading home when he'd noticed a bunch of thieves sneaking out of the jewelry shop. It had been a swift action, nothing he couldn't handle. But when one of the thugs had pulled out a knife, Dick had jumped to the side and lost his balance during the dodge. He'd ended up impaling himself on some sharp piece of metal. The wound wasn't deep enough to start worrying, but it definitely needed suturing.
Dick was struggling to thread a needle when his phone rang on the countertop. He leaned to reach it with a painful groan. Yeah, bad idea. When he finally managed to grab it, he put it on the speaker and placed it on the table.
"Hey, B, what's up?" Dick could hear the shuffling of the papers in the background.
"Hey, chum. Sorry I'm calling at this hour, but I figured you would still be up by now."
Dick finally coped with the thread.
"Yeah, I guess it runs in the family," he chuckled and pushed the needle through the skin. He hissed and could already tell it was loud enough for Bruce to hear it.
"Everything alright?" Bruce asked, concerned.
"Yeah, just a papercut," Dick lied smoothly and carried on stitching. He didn't like lying to Bruce (at least not in the case of injuries), but for a man who willingly kept putting his children into costumes to fight crime at night, he was worrying too much. It took one little hesitation in the voice during the conversation, and his overprotective dad mode was already on. If he knew about Dick trying to patch himself up right now, he would probably speed here in the batmobile to make sure Dick sutured himself properly and then put him on bed rest for the rest of the week. "Better tell me what you're up to. Need my help with that new case?"
Dick knotted the thread. He examined it for a couple of seconds and moved to the next stitch. It wasn't perfect, but it would do.
"No, I can handle this," he murmured, but this case was very obviously bothering him. "I know it's kind of a last-minute call, but Wayne Enterprises is organizing a charity gala tomorrow night, and I wanted all of you to attend. You don't even have to stick it out till the end. I was just hoping you could show up, take a few photos, maybe do an interview, you know the drill. It would be good for the company's image."
If he had to be honest, it was the last thing he wanted to do. Hanging up with some rich pricks wasn't exactly what he dreamed of. But it was important to Bruce. Well, more or less. Dick knew he hated these events as much as the rest of them. But for some unknown reasons they still had to do it, and Dick wasn't going to let him down. "I'll try to be there," Dick assured and cut the thread. "But I do not promise I'll stay till the end. I have some work to do."
"Yeah, you're not the only one," Bruce grunted.
"B, it's your party," Dick pointed out.
"Doesn't mean I have to be there."
"Pretty sure that's exactly what it means."
"Anyway." Dick could hear the smile in Bruce's voice, even if it was a tired one. "I won't bother you anymore. Just show up if you have some time."
"I'll do what I can. See ya tomorrow."
"Yeah, till tomorrow." He fell silent for a couple of seconds, as if he was thinking about something, and finally added. "Now go to sleep, chum."
"You too." Dick hung up and sighed. Exchanging fake pleasantries and trained smiles wasn't precisely how he'd planned to spend the Friday night, but as long as Bruce needed it, Dick was ready to act like a performing seal for the masses.
He finished his stitches, wrapped the wound with a bandage, and trudged to the bedroom. If he went to bed now, he would still have two solid hours of sleep.
It was the first time in months that Dick got out of work so early, and he had to admit it was nice. Kinda weird going back home when it was still bright outside, but it felt good. Being able to leave work at work and have some time just for himself. Well, not exactly, but it was the closest thing to it Dick could let himself have, so he decided to enjoy it. He still had some time before he'll need to head to Gotham, so at least once he'll take a normal-length shower, sit on the couch, and eat dinner during dinnertime, instead of just grabbing something to eat between his shift and patrol. He was already approaching the building when he heard a voice coming from behind him.
"Can you hold the door?" He turned around. A few meters away the girl was coming in his direction. She was carrying a large box in one hand and a suitcase in the other. Dick stepped aside and held the door while the girl passed him with a cheerful 'thanks'. She headed to the elevator.
"The lift's broken," he informed her once in the building.
The girl groaned. "So that's why she insisted on taking the stairs," she mumbled and looked disappointed at the staircase, apparently considering her life choices.
"Need some help?" Dick offered.
"No, I can handle this," she said absentmindedly, still glaring at the stairs, as if they personally offended her.
He shot her a glance, then without thinking much about it, he grabbed the box out of her grip and started to walk upstairs. "Which floor?"
The girl was staring at him for a couple of seconds before she snapped out of it and followed him. "The fifth." She kept her distance, marching a few steps behind him. "You always like that?" She peered at him.
Dick flashed her a smile. "Handsome and charming?"
He couldn't see her but almost felt when she rolled her eyes.
He stopped at the top of the stairs and waited for the girl to lead him to the right apartment. She got to the door, pushed it open, and let Dick go before her.
What hit him first was the fact that the apartment was empty. Well, not empty. It was fully furnished, but it lacked any kind of personal stuff, no photos, no clothes lying around, not even a damn cushion on the couch.
He put the box on the floor, next to the dresser, and turned around to face the girl. She already put the suitcase away and was now scanning him. "Thank you."
"No problem." He smiled.
The girl smiled back, then sighed and looked around the empty flat. "Just twenty more and we're done," she muttered quietly.
"Want me to help you with it?" He offered.
She abruptly turned to him, surprised, as she realized she'd said it out loud. "What? No. You already helped me. I don't wanna use you as some cheap labor," she protested. "Besides, I don't even know you."
Dick stretched his hand towards her. "I'm Dick. I'm your downstairs neighbor." She looked at him irresolutely but shook his hand regardless. "Yes, that's really my name," he elucidated. "But you can call me Richard, if you want."
She studied him for a moment before she smiled. "No, I guess 'Dick' suits you."
"Careful." He placed a hand on his chest in a theatrical manner. "I'm sensitive."
"Sorry," she laughed. "I'm Lila."
"So, Lila," he carried on with his previous offer. "Now that we know each other, do you need help with the rest of your stuff?"
"Yeah, that would be nice."
It turned out you can fit a lot more things in a Volkswagen Fox than Dick ever suspected. Somehow this girl succeeded in inserting the whole freaking apartment in that car, while Dick'd barely been able to fit his most important belongings in his when he'd been moving out. It took them about half an hour to get everything upstairs.
They were climbing up the stairs with the last two boxes in hands, Lila a couple steps before him, when his legs decided to disobey him. Dick wasn't even entirely sure what happened. One moment he was walking, the next he was falling on his face. He was a damn acrobat, for God's sake. How the hell did he trip on regular stairs?
He really didn't want to break whatever Lila put in that box, but most importantly, he really didn't want to break his nose by hitting a floor. Breaking it during a fight or a getaway? Sure. But during climbing freaking stairs? Hell, if he let anyone know about that. So he used his last ounce of reflex and reached to the side to grab the railing. Somehow he managed to regain balance in the last moment, but the sudden pull sent a wave of pain through his side. He hissed through his teeth, then put the box on the floor and leaned on the wall, grabbing his side. Shit. He just hoped he didn't rip his stitches. The last thing he needed right now was to start bleeding out of nowhere.
Lila must have noticed that something happened, 'cause she stopped and was now staring at him warily. "Everything alright?"
Dick forced himself to smile. "Yeah, got a little tired. Keep going, I'll join you in a minute."
Lila sent him a concerned look, but she didn't argue. She kept walking, and when she disappeared from Dick's line of sight, he immediately pulled his shirt up to examine the wound. The stitches were still together, so it was a good sign. Pain, on the other hand, was tearing him from inside. Like a blunt knife cutting slowly through every muscle, every nerve. Dick stayed there for a minute or two, breathing heavily and trying to pull himself together. Finally the pain started to wear off a little. He took the last deep breath, then grabbed the box and headed upstairs before it started to get even more suspicious.
When he reached her apartment, Lila was already pulling things out of the boxes in the kitchen. She turned around the moment he crossed the threshold. "You sure, you're okay?" She asked.
"Yeah, nothing I can't walk off," he assured.
For a minute Dick was worried she might start dwelling on it, but instead she turned on her heel and dived into the fridge. "Want something to drink?" She asked. "I can offer you a soda or a suspicious jar of whoever knows what that was already in the fridge." She took the jar out to inspect the contents.
"I'll stick to the soda," Dick said and sat on the couch.
"Good choice," she agreed, then opened two bottles of orange soda and joined him on the sofa. "So," she started. "What's it like to live here? Are all the neighbors as sweet as this old lady, who yelled at me, 'cause I didn't hold the door for her with my hands all occupied?"
"You mean Mrs. Stevenson?" Dick asked, remembering the situation. "Nah. She's an angel, you won't find another one like her in here. She's like a grandmother to me."
"Aww, she hates you too?"
Dick chuckled. "You'll get used to her."
"Oh, yeah," she assented. "I'm sure we'll become best friends, and we'll throw peanuts at weird-looking strangers in our free time."
"See, you're already on the good way. Just tell her you hate me, and she'll be all yours."
The wave of laughter came across the room, but soon enough the silence fell on them.
"You livin' here alone?" Dick asked at last.
"No, I mean yes, I mean–" She growled, trying to formulate a proper sentence. "I rent this place with my girlfriend, but she's not here yet. She's still bound to her old job. The thing is that if we wanted this flat, we needed to sign all the papers and get the keys by the end of the week, so we decided, I'll move here first, and she'll join me when she's done with work, since Richmond's not too close."
Dick gawked at her. "Don't get me wrong, but why would you like to move from Richmond to Blüdhaven?"
Lila smiled. "Cheap rent." She shrugged. "No, but seriously, we just needed a change, a new place to start all over."
"Yeah, I get it."
"Anyway." She clapped her hands. "I'm gonna order some food. Wanna stay?"
"Hmmm. Tempting," he admitted. "But unfortunately I've got a family dinner tonight, so I'll pass."
"Unfortunately?" She raised an eyebrow. "Let me guess." She curled her lip. "Daddy issues?"
"Awww," Dick cooed. "That's so sweet that you think that's our only problem." He smiled. "Anyway, I still got all the way to Gotham, so I better get going soon."
"Gotham? And you dare to despise my choice of Blüdhaven?"
"Hey, don't insult my beautiful garbage city!"
She raised her hands in a placating gesture. "Sorry. Touched a nerve, I see." She laughed. "But seriously, how often do you get robbed when you're in there? Once? Twice a week?" Dick didn't even have a chance to formulate any snarky comeback before Lila continued. "And most importantly, have you seen Batman?"
Dick chuckled. "A few times."
"Okay, you're coming over one day, and you'll tell me everything," she demanded. "No buts."
When Dick came back to his apartment about twenty minutes later, the only thing he wanted was to lie on his bed and not get up for the rest of the day. Honestly, he couldn't even remember the last time he'd had the entire day off just to sit on his butt, watch some shit show on TV, and do absolutely nothing. Dick wasn't blind, he knew he needed this. To slow down a little and take a break. But now wasn't the right time. They were still working on that human trafficking case in Gotham, and they were stuck in one place, while more and more kids vanished from the streets. No, it just wasn't the right time. He'll ease up after they finish it. He'll rest, maybe take a few days off and ignore everything and everyone.
But now he had a charity gala to attend.
Dick took a quick shower, changed the bandage on his wound, and put a suit on. And okay, he had to admit it, getting into some fancy clothes felt nice once in a while. It stroked his ego. So he decided to focus on it.
He was already leaving, his hand on a doorknob, when he caught a glance of his reflection in the mirror.
Shit!
He forgot his tie.
Dick stormed back to his bedroom. He yanked the closet door and started to throw everything out of it, but with absolutely no result. It's supposed to be here, though. It's not like he wore it a lot and could leave it somewhere else. He glanced at his watch.
Fuck. If he wanted to be on time, he should go now.
Oh, screw this. He'll just borrow a tie from Tim.
He kicked all the thrown-away clothes in one pile, making an illusion of cleaning up, then came out of his room, grabbed his phone and keys, and went to the car.
His way to Gotham was surprisingly short. No traffic, no accidents on the road, no Penguin's butt on his windshield. Yes, it had happened once. Don't ask. And not even a burglar running away from the police, which was a nice change. At least this time he'll be on time.
After nearly a half-hour drive, Dick pulled over on a driveway, as close to the front door as possible. If he didn't have to walk, he had no intention to do so. He got out of the car and strolled inside. They still had about forty minutes till they'll have to leave. He crossed the threshold, his steps echoing in the hallway. The manor was quiet, as if the whole place had been abandoned. Well, nothing surprising, to be honest, after all, it was a big house. Even if most of the time such a calm meant that someone was bleeding out in some alleyway instead of sitting here.
Dick took off his suit jacket and threw it over the staircase railing. He climbed upstairs, and soon enough he heard hushed conversation coming from the nearest lounge. Inside, Tim and Duke were talking with lowered, stirred voices, as if they were planning a heist on a candy shop. Again.
"Hey, guys! What's up?" He chirped, waltzing through the doorway.
It caused both boys to startle. Tim stiffened and quickly turned around but eased when he realized who approached them. Duke, on the other hand, jumped slightly and faced Dick, perturbed.
"I don't know about anything." He raised his hands in a placating gesture.
"What?"
"Yyy... nothing." He scratched the back of his neck. "I better go. Got something to do."
Without further explanation, he marched out of the lounge and rushed to his room. Dick looked at Tim in a silent question, but his brother only shrugged.
"I'd love to hang out, but I need to finish something beforehand." He moved to the door.
"And what about the gala?"
Tim looked at him but continued walking away. "Oh, right. That too." And disappeared behind the corner.
Okay, that was weird. Not that anything that happened in this house was normal, but that was suspicious. Dick turned to Cassandra, who was sitting cross-legged in the recliner at the other end of the room and typing something on her tablet.
"I can understand them, they're a menace, but why aren't you ready?"
"I'm busy," she answered, fully absorbed with her task.
"Cass, we have a gala tonight," he reminded her.
She didn't react until Dick gazed at her.
"Yeah, I know. I'll finish it and get ready."
"Cass–" he sighed but was cut off.
"I'll get ready when I finish it," she repeated, with the voice that brooked no argument.
Dick decided to surrender. It's not like he could make her do anything. And people dared to say he was the one acting like Bruce when he was working.
He stood there for a moment, wondering what to do next, when his stomach decided to break the silence in the room.
"There's leftover ravioli in the fridge, if you want," Cass claimed, still not even sparing him a glance.
"I don't. Besides, I don't even have time for–" The growling again filled the room, this time much louder.
Cassandra looked up from her tablet and raised a brow at him. Dick didn't answer, he simply waltzed out and to the kitchen, not wanting to give her satisfaction.
He didn't even realize how hungry he was until now. He didn't have time to eat anything at home, so he was living on a bowl of cereal and black coffee with energy drinks. And to think, he scolded Tim for it so many times.
Dick found said leftovers tagged with one of his siblings' names, but he didn't pay much attention to it. He heated it in the microwave, then took the plate out and leaned on the kitchen island. God, he missed Alfred's food. He definitely needed to visit for dinner more often. Unfortunately, he didn't have a chance to enjoy it long. He took barely three bites out of his plate when, out of nowhere, a giant bird ran just in front of him and then vanished through the doorway. Oh, yeah, he forgot about the turkey. He always forgot about the damn turkey. What was his name? John? Jake?
"Jerry, come back!" The shouting echoed through the mansion, followed by the rushed sound of steps. "Titus, I did tell you to not disturb Jerry!"
In the next second a Great Dane stormed into the kitchen. He was followed by Damian, who was trying to catch him. The dog ran into Dick, knocking the plate out of his hands and causing all of its contents to land on his shirt, then ran through the same doorway the turkey did a few seconds ago. Damian sped after him, and Dick was almost sure the kid didn't even notice him.
Dick looked down at his clothes. Great, now he was hungry and covered in ravioli. He put the now empty plate on the counter and climbed upstairs.
"Alfreeed! Alfie! Please, help me!" Dick wailed. He knew that being a part of a family of detectives required from him a little more than just yelling around while trying to find someone, but honestly, he couldn't care less. He was considering heading to the west wing of the manor when suddenly Alfred materialized behind him.
"Yes, Master Richard?"
"Oh, here you are," Dick exhaled, relieved. Alfred inspected him. At the sight of a twenty-seven-year-old man sulking and looking like a toddler who just threw up on himself, his eyebrows flew up to his hairline. "Please tell me, you have some spare shirt for me."
"I'll see what I can do." Alfred ensured and walked away.
"Thanks, you're the best!" Dick shouted after him.
Eventually he found himself back in the lounge. Cassandra still in the same position he left her in before.
"When I told you about the ravioli, I assumed you would eat it, not bathe in it," she commented, peeking at him.
"Well, me too, but apparently Titus had a little different plan," he complained while sprawling on the couch. "I thought you were supposed to get dressed."
"I told you." She waved the tablet before him. "I have to finish it."
They were sitting in silence for a moment, Cassandra completely preoccupied with work, when finally Dick decided to get up and went to his room. When he got there, the new shirt was already on his bed. He changed and looked into the mirror, just to realize something. "Damn, I forgot to ask Alfie about a tie."
He didn't want to bother Alfred again. The man had enough work without his whims. So he's going with the original plan. Get a tie from Tim.
And so he took off and headed to his brother's room. The door was wide open, so he came inside. Tim was sitting at his desk, fiddling with some device in his hands. "Hey, Timmy, do you have a spare tie that I can borrow?"
Tim didn't even look at him, busy with his gadget. He also didn't make any progress in getting ready. "Sorry, only got one."
Dick raised an eyebrow. "How can you have only one tie? You've been in this whole formal thing since, like, forever."
"How many ties do you have?"
Dick stopped abruptly 'cause, in fact, he also had only one tie. Well, two if you can count the duck one. But Bruce didn't allow him to wear it to important events. "That's different," he said at last.
"Is that so?" Tim turned in his chair to gawk at him. "You've been living with Bruce for the exact same amount of time I've been alive, so I'd say we're stuck in it together." He took a few more things from his desk and got up. "Now excuse me, but I have something very important to do," he added and strode out of the room.
Dick frowned. What was he up to? Because judging by his smirk, it wasn't anything good. Maybe he was trying to mess with the batmobile again.
Soon enough his train of thoughts was interrupted by the sound of approaching footsteps.
"Dick, do you know how to tie a tie?"
Dick turned around. Duke was standing on the threshold. The tie was hanging on his neck, and he was staring at it bewildered.
"No to belittle myself, but why on earth would you ever think I can do that?"
Duke let go of the tie, giving up, and looked at Dick. "You're the longest in this whole gala stuff," he announced. "Well, you and Tim, but he's currently trying to get himself killed, so I'd rather ask you."
Dick pricked up his ears. "Wait, what was it? What is Tim planning to do?"
Duke immediately regretted his words. "Forget it. I don't wanna be involved. They both will find reasons to blame me if I tell you."
Dick knew he wouldn't get anything out of Duke, so he just shook his head. He'll get it out of Tim later. "Anyway, do you by any chance have a second tie?"
"If you want a tie, go ask Steph. She took all of mine to make some kind of giant lasso last week. She said something about playing rodeo with Killer Croc, but honestly I don't think I wanna know any details." He smirked. "Even this one's Bruce's." He grabbed the end of the tie to show it. "Maybe I'll just ask Bruce to help me."
"He spent his whole life with a butler, do you really think he can tie a tie?"
"Right." Duke nodded and then turned on his heel and walked away. "Alfreeeed!"
Not even a few seconds later the hallway was filled with rumbling and Damian's yelling. Dick stormed out of the room and followed the noise. He found his brother at the top of the stairs. He didn't seem to be injured in any way. He stood with his back to Dick. In front of him in the row were Titus and Jerry, both with their heads hanging in a guilty manner, while Damian was scolding them.
"I am very disappointed in both of you. This kind of behavior will not be tolerated. You are supposed to love each other. You are lucky Pennyworth did not see you."
"What's going on?" Dick asked, approaching them.
"Richard," Damian faced him. "Jerry made a very poor decision to bite Titus' tail, which escalated into a chase around the manor."
"Yeah, I've noticed, when my dinner ended up on my shirt."
Damian wrinkled his nose. "I apologize for that. I was about to give them a lecture about it. It will not happen again."
"I'm sure, but maybe reschedule it for later." He glanced at his watch. "We have nearly half an hour till we need to leave, so we better get you ready."
Damian glared at him displeased and then faced his pets. "You are dismissed now."
Surprisingly, they both looked up, then turned around and walked away without any complaints. Apparently Damian trained them better than he thought.
"Come on, we have to dress you," Dick said and dragged his brother through the halls.
"I do not understand why we need to be there." He pouted. "It is a waste of time. We could have gone on with this human trafficking case instead. Brown and Todd do not have to take part in it."
Dick chuckled. Maybe workaholism was just in their blood. "When you sign out of the family or become legally dead, you can join them."
Damian frowned. "I must admit it's starting to sound tempting."
"Okay, we'll think about faking your death later." Dick shoved Damian into his room. "Now get dressed."
"You are worse than Pennyworth." He stated and turned his back to Dick to move to his closet. "He only left me clothes and said to get ready by eight."
Dick moved towards his brother and folded his arms. "Well, Alfred doesn't have to show up with y'all in public."
Damian mumbled something and reached to open his closet. The moment the door fell open, Dick didn't even register what happened. Before he could react in any way, purple slime shot in their direction, covering them all. Dick wiped his face with a hand and looked at himself. Fuck! It was his second shirt today. And then he realized Damian was standing just before him and took most of the blast. Damn it! He looked down at his brother. He was covered in slime from head to toe. Dick couldn't see his face, but judging by his clenched fists and the way his body was trembling, Dick could easily imagine the expression that was painted on his face.
"Little D?" He asked, trying to calm the kid down.
Damian didn't seem to hear him. He turned abruptly and started walking towards the door. "I will kill him."
Dick put a hand on his shoulder and stopped him in place before he could reach for his sword. "No. No one's killing anybody tonight!"
"But–"
"No." Dick declared. "Shower. Now."
Damian glared at him, considering his options. For a split second he really looked like he was going to listen to Dick, but then he jumped off, grabbed his katana, and ran out of the room.
"Damian, stop!" He sprinted after him. The boy was dangerously near the door when Dick managed to grasp him by the collar, causing him to step back.
"Let me go, Grayson," he growled. "I will have my revenge."
"The only thing you'll have now is a shower," Dick stated, struggling to keep this twirling child in one place. "If you touch him tonight, I'm telling Bruce, and you'll be grounded. No patrol for you."
That caused him to stop. He turned still in Dick's hold and faced him, wincing. "With all the respect I have for you, I never suspected you of being a snitch."
That made Dick freeze. He used the exact same trick Bruce had been using on him all these years ago. Every time he'd disobeyed, B had been threatening him that he would tell everything to Alfred and there would be no ice cream after dinner.
"Oh my god, I sound like my dad," he said unwittingly.
"What?" Damian stared at him confused, and Dick shook his head.
"Never mind," he waved the question away and led his brother to the bathroom. "We need to clean you before Alfred can see you."
Damian shook his head. "But it is not my fault! It is all–"
But he was cut off by Dick pushing him into the bathroom and shutting the door behind him. When he thought about it, he probably should have taken the sword away from Damian, but he didn't have time to tussle with this kid. He turned around and wandered back to the place, he captured the lil devil, opened the door, and leaned on the doorframe with folded arms. "You know, he'll kill you for this?"
Tim didn't move from his place by the desk. He had his back to Dick, but Dick still could see the grin spreading on his brother's face. "He deserved it. He should not have put an itching powder under my mask."
"But did you really have to do it just before the gala?"
"Yes, 'cause he's not allowed to take revenge during public events, so I have more or less twelve hours to figure out his next move and organize a defense. Anyway, why are you so pissed about–" he cut himself off when he turned around in his chair and was met with Dick dripping with purple slime. "In my defense, I had no idea you would get into firing range."
"Somehow it doesn't make me feel better."
"Would it make you feel better if I told you it tastes like grapes?" He tried.
What? Was he serious? What difference would it make if it was– was– And then his hand wandered to his cheek. He wiped some of the slime off and held it to his mouth to lick it. It in fact did taste like grapes. "Actually it would."
Tim smiled victoriously and turned back to his desk. "Good." He made his hands busy with some new device. "If I were you, I would change. We have a gala soon."
"That goes for you too," Dick pointed, 'cause Tim was still in his jeans and hoodie.
"Yeah, but I'm not the one covered in jello."
Dick just sighed and walked out of the room. He was so done with being covered in food today. It was worse than when Jason'd started a food fight during his birthday dinner. He'd been getting spaghetti out of his hair for hours. But back then he'd kinda deserved to be hit with Italian food straight in the face, now he was just standing by, not bothering anyone. And yet it didn't make a lot of difference. He was halfway to the bathroom when he spotted Alfred sweeping turkey feathers from the floor a few meters ahead of him. "Alfred!"
"Yes, Master Richard?"
"There's been an accident," Dick phrased simply, as if it would explain everything.
Alfred turned around and surveyed him. He wasn't surprised, more like questioning Dick's rights to be a legal adult. "I'll take care of it." And walked away.
"Thanks!" Dick shouted after him. "I love you!"
He wasn't sure how long he spent in the bathroom trying to clean himself, but he knew one thing. Getting a jello out of his hair was a nightmare. He could bear it being in his ears or nose, but when he tried washing it out of his hair, he just wanted to cry and ask Alfred to do it for him. Well, maybe it would be easier if he just took a shower, but aside from his head, he was pretty much clean. The shirt had taken most of the damage. And so he'd decided cleaning himself in the sink would be just fine. It wasn't.
"Finally," he said, walking out of the bathroom and trying to dry his hair with a towel.
When he entered his room, the new shirt was already lying on his bed. On top of it was a small note. Dick picked it up and read. 'I'm afraid this is your last shirt, Master Richard, so I suggest you not ruin this one too.'
Well, it's not like he was doing it on purpose. It was just... happening. Not his fault this house was a true hazard for formal clothing. He took off the towel and threw it on the chair, put the new shirt on, and... once again he'd forgotten to ask Alfred about a tie.
Ughh, he'll just loot B's wardrobe.
Lucky enough not to bump into any of his siblings on his way there, he successfully sneaked into Bruce's bedroom. He also didn't hear any screams or threats, so he assumed they'd declared a temporary truce. He knew it wasn't true. But he liked to think this way. At least until he gets ready himself. He slid into the wardrobe and began his search. Which, by the way, should be much easier considering the fact that everything was categorized, but yeah, sure, kick a man while he's down, there was no fucking tie.
"Can I help you?" At the sound of the voice, Dick jumped in his place. He hit the shelf above his head and strode a few steps back, trying to massage an already growing bump.
"Do you have to creep around like that? Goly!"
Bruce was standing in the doorway, buttoning up his shirt. "It's my job," he elucidated. "What are you doing here?" He was calm, his muscles relaxed, but Dick could sense the prominent suspicion in his voice.
"Looking for a tie." Dick spread his arms and made a little swirl to demonstrate the lack of it.
"And where's your tie?" Bruce narrowed his eyes.
"If I knew, I wouldn't be here." Bruce fixed him with a glare. "Oh my god, B, I'm not plotting anything. I just need a tie!" Dick shouldn't be surprised. Having, what, almost ten haywired children who specialized in increasing the chaos and kept pulling pranks on him can make a man a little mistrustful about one of said kids sneaking into his bedroom.
"Right." He plodded into the wardrobe, his eyes never leaving Dick, and opened one of the drawers to pull out a black striped tie. "Here." Dick took and examined it.
"Do you have tied ties to show Alfred you can manage without him?" Dick teased, and then something hit him. "Who tied it for you anyway? It's not how Alfred usually does it." Bruce looked away embarrassed, and Dick barely held back a scream when he recognized a familiar standard four-in-hand knot. "Oh my god. Clark did it for you, didn't he?" Dick could feel a smile spreading on his face. "You brought Superman all the way from Metropolis just to tie your tie," he chuckled. Not like he had any right to mock Bruce, since Wally was his emergency contact in all the exigencies when he was too lazy to go to the store and buy his own candies. But B didn't have to know that.
"Are your siblings ready?" Bruce tried changing the subject with a subtlety only an abashed public figure could pull off.
"Do you want a satisfying answer or the honest one?" Dick put the tie on over his head.
Bruce sighed exhaustedly. "Can you take care of it? Please?"
"They tried to drown me in food today. Twice." Bruce sent him a pleading look, and Dick couldn't believe it actually worked on him. "Okay. Fine. But if they'll do it again, I'm going out in my pink sequin suit. I'm out of clean shirts, and this suit should still be somewhere in here."
Bruce pinched the bridge of his nose. "And how about that? If you help me with this and they do ruin your outfit again, you can stay home tonight, and I'll sneak out some mini quiches for you." Dick perked up his ears. "And if everything goes according to plan, I'll save you two baking trays of those."
Dick beamed. He would help B anyway, but he won't complain if he can gain something from it too. "Deal."
Okay, so the first item on the list was to check if Damian had taken a shower and hadn't tried to kill Tim. Nothing too difficult. He was doing it on a daily basis.
He was walking through the hall when he caught a glimpse of black with the corner of his eye. He halted and peered into the den once again. "Cass, I thought you were the only one I could count on. We're leaving in, like," he checked his watch, "ten, and you haven't even moved from the chair."
She peeked at him, her expression unchanged. "Exactly. I still have ten minutes, so don't overreact." She looked back at her tablet. "Also, if you want me to finish it before we leave, don't distract me."
Dick sighed. Why couldn't he just show up at the gala instead? Why did he always need to be so officious? His life would be so much easier if he just stuck to his duties. But no, he just had to do more.
He passed the bathroom, and the first thing he observed was the open door and the fact that Damian was nowhere near. In that case there were two options. First: Damian had taken a shower, gotten dressed, and was now waiting for the rest of them. Or the second one, which was more likely: he got out of the bathroom, found Tim, and was threatening him with a sword. Naively, he hoped for the first option. And he almost believed it when he walked into Damian's room and saw his brother in suit pants and a shirt. But the illusion washed away when he noticed a katana in his hand and that little irrelevant detail that was his brother attempting to crawl out through the window. "Damian!"
The kid faced him surprised but simply turned around when he perceived who approached him. "Drake is going to regret it."
Dick shook his head. "No. Get out of the window. Now." Damian glanced at him for a while but obeyed. "What did I say about taking revenge tonight?"
"Don't do it," he paraphrased, looking at the floor.
"Then why are you sneaking out through the window with a sword?"
"Drake will get what he deserves," he murmured. "One way or another."
"I'd prefer another. And now can you please finish dressing up so we can leave and get this over with?"
Damian fixed him with a glare, trying to win a silent fight, but soon enough he backed up. "Fine," he whined at last.
"Thanks," Dick beamed. "And don't forget to leave the sword."
Dick departed and went through the next door. Okay, when Dick'd arrived, Duke'd been almost ready, so it would be just checking out on him. But when he got inside, he saw Duke hiding under the bed. Or more accurately, he saw Duke's legs sticking out from beneath the bed. "Duke, what are you doing?"
At the sound of his voice, Duke crawled further under the bed, spun around, and then his head popped out to look at Dick. "I'm looking for my DS. I could swear it was somewhere here."
"Why do you need a DS at the gala?"
"To hide under the table and play Mario Kart," he deadpanned.
"You too? I thought it was Tim's domain."
"Well, after the first two galas, it started to get really boring, so I need something to entertain myself and not fall asleep."
"Duke, we're leaving in eight." Dick sighed. They didn't have time for searching a freaking console.
"I can find it," he stated determinedly and disappeared under the bed.
"No, you don't." Dick rushed after him. He dived under the bed, grabbed his brother's leg, and pulled him out from underneath it, just to drag him out of the room.
"Oh, come on, dude," Duke wailed. "You know how boring these events are."
"I do, but I care about mini quiches more than about your need of entertainment. Sorry, bro." Dick let Duke go in a hallway, at the top of the stairs. "Stay here," he demanded and disappeared before Duke had any chance to disagree.
Next on the list was Tim. Please, let him still be in one piece, he thought. Not that Damian would really kill him, but he would definitely make a hella big deal out of it and kill their chances to leave on time, so Dick preferred not to risk it. When he crossed the threshold, he descried Tim already in his shoes, pants... and a bulletproof vest. He looked at Dick and simply announced. "Precautions."
"What?" Was everything that Dick managed to get out of himself.
"Look, I know what I said," he began, putting a shirt over a vest. "He probably wouldn't try anything till tomorrow, but I prefer not to take any risk."
"And wearing a freaking kevlar to a charity gala is your solution?"
Tim shrugged. "Like I said, precautions."
Why does Bruce always give the hardest quests to him? Was this some kind of revenge? A payoff for Dick's younger self being a menace and for all those broken chandeliers?
"You're not wearing it. Take it off," he demanded.
Tim took a step back. "No. I don't wanna get stabbed in the back when I turn to shake hands with some guests."
"Tim," Dick warned, stepping forward. "Don't make it harder than it already is."
Tim scanned him with caution and probably figured out what Dick was going to do even before he knew that, 'cause he jumped and sprinted towards the door in a split second. He darted away from Dick and made his run for freedom. Dick didn't stay behind for long. He rushed after Tim but didn't even notice when his brother kicked a skateboard in his direction. Before he could even think about stopping or dodging it, he fell forward, sending the board away. He was already preparing himself for a painful meeting with a floor when suddenly he hit the mattress. He landed on Tim's bed. At least one good thing from this whole day would be the fact that he didn't break his nose. What a wonderful life indeed. Dick got up and hurried out of the room. Tim was only a few meters ahead. Dick sped up, and when he almost drew level with Tim, he jumped on his back, and as they both collapsed on the ground, he pinned Tim to the floor.
"Why are you doing this to me?" Tim yelled, wriggling under Dick. "You want me killed?"
"No, but I want mini quiches, so the vest stays at home." Dick started tugging him, but Tim wasn't about to withdraw. They began struggling, tossing each other on the floor. Dick just earned a mildly painful shove in the ribs when, with the corner of his eye, he saw Alfred passing by. The man did nothing more than simply spare them a glance, sigh, and walk away.
"Oh, come on!" Tim shouted as Dick tore the vest off him.
Dick paused and inspected his face for a moment or two. He saw one malicious muscle twitching at the corner of Tim's eye. Barely visible, something anybody who didn't know his siblings the way Dick did wouldn't even notice, but it was enough for him to realize something.
"Are you doing this on purpose?" He asked, getting off his brother, leaving him squashed on the floor.
"Trying to survive the night?" Tim reached out his hand to Dick so he could help him up. Dick clasped his palm and put him back on his feet. "Pretty much."
"Creating chaos to avoid going to the gala," Dick corrected him.
Tim sent him a quick glare, analyzing his options, just to finally shrug at the end. "Pretending I'm sick or have to study stopped working long ago."
"So instead you decided to drown Damian in a grape jello?" Dick raised a brow. At this point he didn't know if his brothers were more and more creative or just ridiculous.
"Yeah, no, it was really the best time for taking revenge." He adjusted his t-shirt and grabbed a vest from the floor. "I have about twelve hours of peace before he makes his next move."
Dick just sighed and dragged Tim back to his room. He was too tired for this.
At last it took over five minutes of convincing everyone to simply get dressed here and now, two attempts of restraining Damian when he'd seen Tim, and dragging Duke from underneath the gablot where he'd found his console. But they managed to make it on time, and Dick was proud that everyone was dressed properly and no one was painted hot pink again and no one was screaming and...
Shit!
He forgot about Cass.
He left her in the lounge, and she was probably still working on her report, dressed in the sweatpants.
Unintentionally he lightly pushed all three of the boys to make them go faster.
"Hey, dude," Duke exclaimed as all of them turned their heads and stared at him puzzled. "Whatcha doin'?"
"Need to check on Cass, but I won't leave you here alone and risk that you'll get lost again."
"Each of us has lived here a sufficient amount of time to be able to arrive at the front door without getting lost," Damian asserted.
Dick smirked. "Not what I meant."
He almost broke his legs trying to walk down the stairs at a fast-walking-but-not-fast-enough-to-call-it-running speed. He shoved his brothers towards the front door and was about to run back upstairs when he realized Cass was already here. She was standing in the shadows in a black gown and somehow was looking better than all of them together, even if it had taken her a tenth of the time they needed to get ready.
Dick's gaze wandered between Cassandra and the staircase. "How?" Was all he managed to say.
Cass only shrugged and looked at him with the I told you so face. Well, Dick didn't plan on dwelling on the subject. The most important thing was that they were all dressed up and still in one piece, so he took it as a win. When Bruce approached them not even a minute later, putting on his suit jacket, he suddenly stopped a few meters before them and was gazing at them in shock.
"You're all ready," he pointed out.
"Yes," Cass agreed.
"And on time." Bruce looked a tiny little bit suspicious.
"Obviously," Dick said.
"And no one's trying to escape."
"Well, the night's still young," Tim retorted.
Bruce cleared his throat. "Right." It was meant as a joke, but knowing his kids, he definitely took it as a promise. "We better keep going. Alfred's already in the car."
It took them twenty minutes to get to the WE headquarters, and honestly Dick wished it would be longer. The limo drive was the best and calmest part of this whole evening. But instead of spending some nice time in the car, Dick had to get out, pretend to listen to Bruce's boring speech, send a lot of fake smiles, and be nice to some rich pricks who couldn't remember which Wayne child they were talking to. Dick waved to a handful of cameras, made a couple of interviews, explaining the charity goals, and after nearly three hours, he was finally able to just sit at the table, eat something, and talk to people who knew what his name was.
"Finally," he mumbled with a mouth full of quiches, completely ignoring any potential stares. He simply didn't care at the moment. He hadn't eaten anything since breakfast and he was starving.
Damian and Cassandra were still somewhere near Bruce, helping him handle the interviews. Duke disappeared somewhere about an hour ago, and Dick had no idea where he could be.
He was so busy with his food, to the point he didn't even realize someone approached him until they were hovering over him. He looked up with his mouth stuffed with food. "Oh, hi, Little D, how's it going?"
Damian seemed barely amused. No wonder. He hated those events with a burning passion and was visibly tired with all the pretending. "It would be more productive if I just stayed at home," he announced, displeased. "Can you give it to Drake?" He asked, shoving a plate in Dick's direction. Dick looked at him confused, but before he had a chance to say anything, Damian continued. "Father said that he knows Drake hasn't been eating properly recently and that he needs to at least eat this, or else he will be grounded and will not be allowed to work."
Well, Tim sometimes got overfixated on work and then forgot about his basic human needs, like eating and sleeping. And lately all of them were busy with that human trafficking case. At this point he preferred finding his usually narcoleptic ass sleeping on the kitchen stool than wondering if his brother reached the point where he starts to hallucinate things out of lack of sleep.
"Oh, sure thing, Little D," Dick beamed and took the plate from Damian to put it in Tim's place next to him. "Wanna sit with us?"
Damian turned his head, making a little tt noise. "I cannot. Cane requires my presence during some interview. Also, I refuse to sit next to this traitor."
"Okay, have fun then. Don't let Cass confuse the journalists too much."
With that, Damian turned around and disappeared within the crowd. Not even a minute later, Tim emerged from the same milling flock of people, fighting to make his way to the table. He took his seat and frowned at the sight of the tagliolini before him. "What's that?"
Dick glanced at him from above his own dish. "Oh, B says you have to eat it, or you're grounded."
"What?" Tim kept sending offended glares between his plate and Dick.
Dick shrugged. "Apparently you're working too much lately."
"Nonsense," he huffed. "I work the perfect amount of time. Besides, I ate that pasta Alfred made for me. I'm not hungry."
Dick glanced at him, a little concerned. "That was last night." They'd been discussing a case over a phone, right after Dick'd stitched himself, and he remembered when Alfred had interrupted them to force Tim to eat something. "You haven't eaten anything since then?"
He was wondering for a minute or two. "I ate a lollipop from B's utility belt in the cave this morning." And then, under the pressure from Dick's glare, he added. "I don't need to eat every five minutes."
"But it would be nice if you ate every day." Dick declared. "Now eat your damn food."
Tim seemed like he wanted to argue but evidently must have decided not to fight him. Instead, he sent Dick an aggrieved scowl and then began eating, visibly unsatisfied.
"Have you seen Duke?" Dick asked after a moment. "He disappeared after Bruce's speech."
"Have you checked under the table?" Tim questioned, now fully concentrated on his food.
"Under the–" Dick dived beneath the table and lifted the edge of the tablecloth. "Oh, hi, Duke."
The boy was sitting on the floor with his knees beneath his chin and was playing Mario Kart on his console. "Hi, man."
Dick let the tablecloth fall loosely and straightened in his seat to look at Tim, but before he could say anything, Tim cut him off. "Let him be. He's having the most fun out of us all."
During the next half hour they didn't get up from the table, hoping they could avoid as many public interactions as possible. Sometimes people approached them, trying to initiate some small talk, but they were politely sending them away. In the meantime Duke put his DS aside and got out from beneath the table.
Dick peeked at Tim. For some time he was shifting in his seat and wincing, but now he was bracing his stomach and looked like he was about to pass out any minute.
"Hey, Timmy, you good?" That was a stupid question. There was definitely something wrong with him, but Dick didn't want to push him.
"Yeah, I just need to–" Before Tim was even able to get the rest of that sentence out of himself, he got up and rushed through the room, pushing through the crowd. People kept sending him offended glares, but no one commented as he ran down the hall.
Dick gazed after him flabbergasted, watching as he vanished behind the corner. He sent Duke a silent question, but he just shrugged. "Don't look at me, dude. Maybe he's overworking again."
Without further delay Dick hurtled after him with Duke a few steps behind. After the never-ending flood of 'excuse me,' 'can I get through?' And finally, very fed up, 'please get your fancy-dressed ass out of the way,' they got to the bathroom. It was completely empty, the only sign of someone being in there the sound of choking and coughing coming from one of the stalls.
"Tim?" Dick asked, creeping closer to the door. "Everything alright?"
"What does it sound like?" Despite his clearly suffocating state, he was able to put all the spite in that one sentence.
"Yeah, right, my bad."
The sound of throwing up filled the room, and both boys winced, not sure what to do.
"Shit," Tim finally managed to say. "What was in that food?"
"I don't know," Dick admitted. He didn't take a second look at the dish, too busy with his own food. "Damian brought it and said–"
"Damian...?" Was all Tim got to say before he gagged again.
And then the realization hit him like a crowbar (Jason would drop dead laughing or kill him in an instant for that comparison. No in-between). Damian'd brought the food. Damian, who'd wanted to take revenge on Tim. He'd been so fucking stupid.
Dick felt Duke putting a hand on his shoulder. "You fucked up, man."
Dick made a stifling sound and hid his face in his hands. "I know."
In the next moment the bathroom door flung open and someone strolled inside. Dick glanced up and spotted Cass surveying them. "You've got some kind of war council in here?" Before any of them could even have a chance to answer, the room was filled with the sound of vomiting and Tim trying to cough up his lungs. "Is he dying in there?"
Almost, Dick thought, trying to block the choking din echoing through the bathroom. "Damian–"
"Got it," she cut him off, then turned around and left the room.
After that Duke patted him on the shoulder. "I'll bring him some water," he declared and scooted off right after Cassandra, leaving Dick alone with their asphyxiating brother.
After a few seconds a cough quieted, and the noise of flushing water resounded through the room. Dick leaned towards the door. "You think you're done?" He asked.
"I don't know," Tim muttered, his voice weak.
"Feeling any better?"
"No."
There was a moment of silence before Dick decided on his next question. "Do you want to be alone right now?"
"No."
"Okay, then, I'm gonna come in, okay?"
He waited a moment, but when he didn't hear any resistance, he took it as a yes and opened the door. Tim was sitting on the floor, his back pressed to the stall's wall, his legs as close to his chest as possible. His forehead was resting on his knees, and ostensibly there was no strength left in his trembling limbs. Dick knelt before him and began stroking his arm in a soothing gesture. They stay like that for a couple of minutes. Dick silently consoling, while Tim's breath was slowly stabilizing.
"I'll kill him," was the first thing Tim said. He lifted his head, which allowed Dick to spot his red, sweaty face and eyes that were still teary from choking only a moment ago.
"Or you can be a bigger man, call it even, and stop this prank war already," Dick suggested. He totally understood their way of solving disagreements, he and Jason had been the same, but sometimes it started really getting out of hand, and Dick was worried that one day they'll cross the point of no return and none of them would be able to fix it.
"Or," Tim made a counterproposition. "I can end him so badly, he'll regret ever being born."
Dick looked at him, but he didn't see any commitment in his eyes. He was missing that determination and rage, or even a spleen. The only emotions he could really read from his face were disillusionment and dejection. Dick cracked a sad smile and brushed the sweaty hair out of Tim's eyes. "And how long do you want to keep this thing going? I bet none of you even remember who started this whole thing."
Tim didn't answer, but the look on his face told Dick that he was right.
Soon enough Duke came back with a bottle of water, which Tim drank in almost one gulp. It made him slightly more vivid, but he still seemed like a younger male version of the Corpse Bride. So they decided to let him sit on the cold tiles until he'd be capable of walking straight again.
Shortly after that Cassandra returned, dragging Damian with her. Her little investigation revealed that Damian had put shrimp in Tim's tagliolini. Not much, but enough to make him feel sick for the next hour or two. Cass forced Damian to apologize, which none of the boys looked comfortable with. After that, Tim and he were keeping a bigger distance than usual the whole evening. They were shooting glances in each other's direction the entire time, and if Dick was perceiving correctly, they weren't hateful anymore. Or as hateful as before. It was well hidden, but Dick couldn't miss it. It was deeply buried for anyone to see, not even themselves, like a shameful secret they preferred to repress. But it was there without a doubt. In both of them. Regret.
When Tim finally started feeling that he wouldn't throw up again, they managed to get him out of the bathroom. They decided to hide in Bruce's office. Away from glares and unpleasant questions. Tim sat on the divan, now feeling visibly better, but still weak as if he could collapse on the ground from a mere touch. They all claimed to stay with him to make sure he's okay, but besides that, they just wanted to avoid coming back between those pretentious snobs. To no one's surprise, Tim refused to eat anything else that night. He stuck to the water and the mint tea Cass prepared for him in a break room.
It didn't take more than twenty minutes and a half of the cup of tea before Bruce stormed through the door and got to Tim, asking how he's feeling. Damian stayed silently a few steps away for the whole time. From his posture Dick figured out he had to feel like an intruder but at the same time felt obliged to stay and ensure everything would be fine.
Despite Tim's constant assurances that he's alright and they don't need to worry, Bruce decided they're leaving early and going home, and within forty minutes they were back at the Wayne Manor's driveway.
"You staying the night?" Bruce asked when they get out of the limo.
"Nah." Dick shook his head. "I'll take my car and head home. Still got some work to do."
"You were drinking," Bruce stated with a tone that sounded casual but in reality meant, you're not going anywhere, kid.
"I drank one glass of champagne. I can still drive." It wasn't even about him believing in his drunken skills or desperately wanting to get home. After this amount of alcohol, he could still legally drive. Besides, it was a few hours ago, all the alcohol was probably out of his system anyway.
"You're not staying?" Cass stopped halfway through the door, and others immediately followed her example.
"I have to go back." He wasn't technically lying. The night was still young, and he had a drug cartel case to crack. "Besides, y'all should finally get some rest. Especially Tim after what happened today."
"I don't need to rest, I'm fine," he protested. And yeah, Dick had to admit, Tim was now walking all on his own and didn't look like he was about to pass out any minute, so for his standards it really was fine. "Moreover, we were supposed to have a movie night after the gala. I found some old Batman movies." He grinned. "One of the bad ones."
"Come on, man. Don't make us beg you," Duke whined.
Dick glanced at Bruce, seeking help, but the second the man smirked at him, Dick knew he wasn't on his side. "The patrols are covered tonight," he said. "You should have some fun after this terrible evening." And turned to the rest of them. "All of you."
Traitor, Dick thought.
But maybe he was right. After all, taking one night off won't hurt anyone, right? He hadn't planned on patrolling tonight anyway. He'd just wanted to work on the case at home.
He sighed. "Alright." He looked at them and smiled. "Let's make fun of B's horrible movies."