Chapter Text
Domestic chores, despite Alfred’s presence, were something that Bruce made an effort to participate in, when he had time. Without Alfred there, when he was away doing something cryptic (Dick, reluctantly, chose to respect his privacy) the domestic duties had fully fallen on the older man.
Naturally, he needed help. Everyone was in the manor, due to these corona times, and yet Dick found himself to be the only one who heard Bruce.
“Can someone set the table?” Bruce called. Tim glanced up from the couch, yawning and stretching slowly. Jason turned the page of his book. Damian and Cass continued to paint the beatle they’d spotted on the windowsill.
Almost instantly, Dick shot up, and near enough sprinted into the next room. Duke sent him a hesitant look, mouth half open, as he opened the door.
He wasn’t far enough from the room to miss Jason's huff, though he had hoped he would be. With a rattle, he snapped open the cutlery drawer and began collecting enough for everyone, eyes sliding over to Bruce.
The man looked slightly stressed, an indent in his forehead as he stirred the pot. Dick smiled and poked the man's forehead, who frowned at the gesture.
“You’ll get wrinkles like that, B,” he said lightly. Bruce grumbled, turning off the hob.
“I already have wrinkles,” he muttered. Dick’s expression softened as he placed the cutlery by each chair. He’d never had his family so close at hand and easy before. Their conversations weren’t deep and emotional and strained, but just, easy. It was just the thing he’d needed for so long.
Still, something in the back of his brain demanded that he scan each of his siblings as they entered the room, just as he had done with Bruce. He was surprised to see each of them return the scrutiny. Only Duke offered discretion as he did it, as if ashamed. He’d have to check on him later, Dick noted.
Damian and Tim exchanged a glance, and Damian let out a quiet ‘tt.’ Dick, pulling out a chair for Cass, who smiled at him and brushed her hand against his, braced himself for a squabble.
“Thankyou, Grayson,” Damian said in a hard voice, eyes looking up in a challenge. Dick blinked, unsure about where this was going. He kept his expression friendly and open, just in case. “Some people,” the youngest continued, eyeing Tim “may not appreciate your gestures, but I do.”
Tim bristled, mouth set in a determined frown.
“That’s not what I meant and you know it!”
Dick offered an unsure smile.
“Thanks Dami,” he said gently, then turning to Tim, “I’m not sure what this is about, but I’m sure this is just a misunderstanding,” he continued, taking his own seat. Jason sighed as he sat down, his mind clearly elsewhere. At Dick’s confusion, Duke mimed reading a book.
Ah.
“Bad book?” Dick asked, as Damian demanded to carry the plates. Jason shot him a sly smile as they sunk into their familiar routine. Jason would binge the classics by author, and these past few weeks he’d been fixated on Jane Austen. Duke nodded emphatically when Jason described her style of writing, making even the most abhorrent characters interesting.
“The issue is that Willoughby’s a cheating whore!” he exclaimed, leaning back in his seat. Dick and Cass exchanged a smile as they tilted their heads towards him.
Fondly, the eldest remembered the way Jason used to talk about books when they were younger. Before Jason’s death. Without restraint, with so much enthusiasm he could hardly believe this was the same boy who tried to act tough in the halls of Gotham academy.
It had taken a long time to return to this point, to the mix of insults of elegant compliments that Dick had so missed. He’d nearly cried when Jason had called him in the middle of the night, wind whipping on the other side of the phone, to rant about the dickhead Pierre.
After dinner Damian had abruptly risen before Dick had even considered it, and began to swiftly collect the plates, placing them on top of each other with a loud clack.
“Oh, I can do that Dami,” Dick interjected. Damian sent him a determined glance as another plate landed on the pile.
“You do not need to worry yourself, Grayson,” the youngest said, before scuttling off to the sink. Dick blinked, but slowly began to collect the cutlery, choosing to ignore the new game of fuck marry kill that had started up over the table.
“I’d fuck Rory the racing car,” Tim declared loudly, as a knife and fork clinked together in Dick’s hands. Bruce shot the eldest a blank, distressed look. Duke snorted and tilted his head away from Tim, a huge grin on his face.
“Why?” he asked, incredulous. Tim shrugged.
“Sexy.”
Cass mimed lightening and Dick immediately had to turn his face away from Bruce, trying desperately to hold back the laughter.
“We’re not opening up this debate again,” Jason said, running his hands down his face. “Lightning Mcqueen is not sexy!”
Cass turned her face up to Dicks, face imploring him to involve himself.
“What Cass says goes,” he said with a shrug.
“Why?” Tim asked, crossing his arms.
“Cos I say so, and I’m the oldest,” Dick continued, swaggering his way over to the sink, enjoying the groans of his siblings behind him. Damian was standing on his tip toes as he filled the sink with water, his forehead shiny with sweat and scrunched with frustration. Dick quickly swivelled back to the table, and with a finger on his lips, moved the chair over to the sink.
“I do not need that Grayson,” the youngest huffed, his cheeks colouring. “I am not a child.”
‘But you are’ was his immediate thought, stifled only by Damians own wishes. Instead he let his arms relax over the top of the chair as he spoke.
“Of course, but you’re still growing Dami,” he said, pushing the chair forward a little. “There’s no shame in that, well, as long as you don’t get taller than me there isn’t,” he added cheekily, pleased when the boy’s face smoothed over.
Hopping onto the chair, Damian turned the taps off, and turned his head to see the others leaving the room.
“Still playing that game I assume?” he asked stiffly. He had found it distasteful from the start, and Dick was kind of glad. Damian was still a child to some extent, at least.
“They never get tired of it,” Dick said with a smile, plunging his hands into the water. “I’ll wash, you dry?” he asked. Damian frowned.
“Todd said your skin reacts badly to the soap,” he said blankly. Dick’s smile became strained. Ever since Jason had returned there’d been a kind of taut balance between them, and though Dick had expected that strain to be placed on the past, it turned out that Jason was more focused on the here and now, and specifically Dick’s behaviour.
“It’s not too bad,” he responded with a shrug, “It makes me always remember my skin routine.”
It was quiet for a few minutes, just the sound of water sloshing and towels rubbing against glass. Birds were chirping outside, reminding the family that the sky was descending into an orange evening, which would soon be dominated by black.
“I admire the extent of your self preservation,” Damian said abruptly, so abruptly that Dick needed a second to process what he had said, and relate it back to self care. “Todd disagrees with me, as does Drake.”
He didn’t offer his opinion or evaluation of their criticism, and for that Dick was grateful. Dick had always found it strange when his brothers tried to hover over him.
“I’m glad you appreciate it Dami,” he said, bopping the boy's nose with a soapy finger. He leaned away, mouth set in a grimace. “Maybe we could do skin care together.”
“My skin is not so delicate,” he answered simply, though his eyes were a little too focused on the dish he was drying for Dick to really believe in his frosty tone.
Once the dishes were done, he set off to find Duke, who’s unsure glances put the eldest on edge. However, he couldn’t help but skid to a stop in the hallway as Bruce called Dick’s name. Rushing into the bathroom, he spotted Bruce holding up a grey hoodie that was dripping heavily on the floor.
“I need a hanger,” he said blankly. Dick exhaled, trying to keep down laughter.
“What you need is to put it on a dry spin, B,” Dick clarified, pointing to the floor.
“Oh.”
“I can do it if you want,” he offered, reaching his hands out for the cloth.
“Don’t,” Tim said, making Dick jump. When had he gotten there? “He’ll never learn if you keep doing it for him.” His eyes met Dicks and suddenly the eldest understood that whatever Tim was trying to communicate here, had something to do with Damian’s observation earlier.
“Good point,” he said with a hum, but hovering in the doorway nonetheless.
“Weren’t you doing something before anyway?” Tim asked tiredly, tapping violently on his phone. Must be a new game, Dick figured, leaning over to watch the neon rabbit icon jump through a tube. A pleasing beep sound left the speakers, and he concluded that Tim must’ve won.
“Oh!” Dick said with a realisation. Duke. Right. He finally found him in his room, folding clothes over on his bed, organised into neat little piles. Dick raised his eyebrows. “Redecorating?” he asked, knocking on the already open door.
Duke’s serious expression vanished when he spotted the older man, and let his face relax into a smile. Shrugging he held up a shirt to the light.
“It’s good to keep on top of things, right?”
Dick leaned on the doorframe and nodded.
“Yeah, I need to pay someone to do my room or something,” he said with a sigh. Duke raised an eyebrow, lowering the shirt a little.
“Oh? Pay someone?” he responded, tilting his head forward. Dick waved him off with a chuckle.
“Not worth it Duke, don’t even think about it,” he said lightly. “You’ve no idea what’s in there - heck, I’ve no idea what’s in there.”
Duke began to fold the shirt, eyes on the creases.
“Y’know, I would be mildly concerned about that, but I guess it’s your childhood room so it’s not that bad?”
Dick hummed, and felt the distance between them. To Duke, their positions must be totally different. Yes, he’d been uprooted, but only once in the death of his parents. Duke, however, had been bounced around foster homes non stop, and undoubtedly felt the after effects of such treatment. He wondered if that in particular was what got him down at dinner, or maybe it was why he was in such a rush to organise his living space, to claim it as his own.
“It’s freaky when you try and do that whole psychoanalysis thing, y’know,” Duke said, smoothing down another shirt. Dick blinked. “It’s kinda obvious,” Duke said lightly, “Bruce does it too, doesn’t he?” Slowly, Dick nodded.
Awkwardly, he laughed.
“Sorry,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck, “it’s kinda a habit. I just wanna make sure that you’re all okay.” Duke shot him a small smile.
“I know, but we can do the same for you, y’know?” Dick, flustered, waved him off.
“It’s different,” he insisted. “Remember, I’m the-”
“Oldest,” Duke finished, rolling his eyes. “Yeah, yeah, I know, you won’t shut up about it.”
The sun had long since set when Jason slammed Sense and Sensibility down on the coffee table, making Dick clutch his cinnamon tea tighter.
“Wow, okay,” Dick chuckled, seeing the serious expression on Jason’s face, “bad ending?”
“Go talk to Cass,” Jason grumbled. “Before I physically lose it with you.”
Dick felt his stomach plummet, his face pale as he heard those words. This was the thing he had anticipated. Nothing good lasts forever - a basic saying, one of the first English idioms he’d learned, but it was true. Quickly, he made his way over to the kitchen, where Cass was sitting with packets of taokaenoi surrounding her, courtesy of Steph. Silently, she offered Dick one.
The shakiness of incoming pain had him too on edge to eat, he concluded, politely refusing.
Cass didn’t draw out his anxiety, instead immediately signing;
‘Jason is mad at you.’ Dick sighed.
‘I noticed,‘ he signed back, face set in a frown. “What’s it this time?”
‘Chores’ she signed simply. Dick blinked.
“Haven’t heard that one in years,” he said. A sudden worry washed over him. Had he been accidentally leaving too much to his siblings? Guilt balled up in his throat, as he wondered how he could look Bruce in the eye. “Wha-” his voice came out a little too tight and croaky, so he coughed. “What specifically about the chores?”
‘Lots. Too quick.” Dick grimaced. He’d been right.
“I’m sorry Cass,” he said. “I’ll do more, don’t worry, just tell me what I need to do.” It was the most sincere thing he could offer, so he was surprised when she shook her head quickly.
“You, too much.”
The thought entered his mind for half a second that she may have meant that he was doing too much. He dismissed it, put it down to a misunderstanding before the memory of Damian’s determined face floated up before his eyes.
Oh.
Everything made sense now.
“Listen, I’m only doing my fair share when I have free time, yeah? There’s no need for you or anyone else to worry.” Cass shook her head again, lips going tight in frustration. She hesitated in her hands, lifting them up only to place them back on her lap again.
‘I don’t know how to communicate it,’ she signed, looking pained by this failure. Dick reached forward, placing a hand on her shoulder.
“Cass, you’ve come so far in such a short amount of time. I understand frustration is a part of progress, but please don’t look down on yourself for it.”
Cass’ expression turned soft, and she once again offered him a packet. This time, he took it.
He and Cass had fallen asleep on the couch, but he wasn’t surprised that she had woken up before him at the slight pitter patter in the hallway. She rose, alert and awake instantly, and eyeing the door. When Jason cracked it open, making himself immediately visible, she relaxed, and waved. When his eyes moved over to Dick, her smile fell and she shook her head.
With that, she left the room.
Dick swallowed. Did they have to be so ominous about everything?
“Listen, Jason-”
“No,” the younger man said, making his way over to the couch, hovering awkwardly over the arm. “You listen.” Dick slowly nodded, not bothering to keep his expression open. Jason would only be offended by such reassurance. “Will you just-” the younger man sighed before finally taking a seat on the couch. “Just chill, for like, two minutes?”
“Huh?”
Jason seemed pained as he flicked Dick’s forehead.
“I wasn’t there for all of it, but I get that you and Bruce have had your issues. I know vague details, but since I’m not a no good snoop like the rest of this family,” he said, sending a targeted gaze at a corner that Dick was definitely going to check out later, “I’ll respect your privacy. But can you not zip up every time Bruce so much as breathes around you? I get you have to be perfect all the time but-”
“It isn’t about that,” Dick said, forcing himself to keep his posture open.
“It isn’t? Not scared that daddy will throw you out when you make a mistake? Come on, even Duke can recognise it, and he knows practically nothing of your situation.”
Of course he would recognise it. He knows it. Dick had watched him the first time he’d made a superpower joke around Bruce, only to swallow and pale, turning quiet and strangely helpful for the rest of the week.
“He’s not my dad,” Dick said, with difficulty.
“He’s literally your adoptive father,” Jason said, eyes drooped and annoyed. Dick shook his head.
“I was never adopted.”
Jason opened his mouth to dismiss Dicks response, only to pause, mouth still open. Sitting up straight, he closed his mouth, and then opened it again.
“Explain.”