Chapter Text
“The best way to keep a prisoner from escaping is to make sure he never knows he's in prison.” ~ Fyodor Dostoyevsky
Nightmares and Daydreams
“Get back here.”
Dick’s steps falter, but he doesn’t slow his pace as he makes his way to the shower. The Nightwing suit is sticking to his back, and he can feel dirt falling out of his hair. The rest of his data set input can wait until he’s not actively leaking mud. Besides, Red Robin and Spoiler are also in the room, maybe Batman isn’t even talking to him.
Although, if Bruce is using that tone with someone else, maybe Dick shouldn’t just walk away...
He is almost to the door when something hard clamps down on his arm and whirls him around.
“Ow, what the f-”
“Dick.” Batman’s cowl is now inches from his face. Dick is too tired to flinch, and holds himself still.
“B, let go,” says Dick, swallowing his anger and pride at being manhandled like a child. Bruce’s hand is still wrapped around Dick’s arm and Dick tries to pull free but the grip only tightens, restraining him. He feels a wild urge to defend himself, for simply trying to shower. “We’ve been working for hours. I’m just going to shower, grab something to eat, then I’ll be right back.”
“Grab me a hot chocolate!” Steph calls from across the cave.
“No. That data is time sensitive. Tim needs the results to complete his search. That has priority right now,” Bruce growls, and from up close the sweat is strong and Dick really wishes Bruce would get changed too.
Dick wants to be peaceful, really. Only, it has been almost three hours since they returned from a tense showdown at one of the hotels linked to the latest human trafficking cartel case. Bruce has involved the entire family in this one. The case has been going on for months now and should have been wrapped up today, but this night revealed a more insidious fifth root of the operation that will drag the case out for weeks by Dick’s estimate. No one is happy tonight, least of all Bruce.
So, Dick gets it, he really does. Bruce wants him to finish entering the data to run the algorithm on location prediction, which will help Tim track from there. It’s important to be as fast as possible - with human trafficking, time is always too short.
But: it’s 5:03 am. Dick has already completed three sets and only has one more to enter. The program takes hours to run and won’t be ready for the last set anyway until 8:00 am. And it’s Monday morning; Dick wants to be back in Bludhaven to teach a class at noon.
And Dick is dirty, hungry and tired, and now he really needs to pee.
Another part of Dick that he would never voice aloud whines that the Red Hood went home right after the mission with zero hassle from Batman. But Dick knows that if Bruce had tried to force Jason to stay they wouldn’t have seen the Red Hood again for weeks. Besides, Jason can smell angry Bruce from miles away and knows exactly how to make himself scarce. Dick doesn’t begrudge him this talent, recalling his violent reception after his resurrection. And Damian isn’t here, is probably going to be upset to miss all of this case work, even boring computer input. Dick knows that Damian has a test tomorrow and loudly complained before heading to bed at a reasonable time. It’s likely for the best that they aren’t here. Alfred has entered the cave every hour on the hour since they returned; each visit he stares disapprovingly and then pointedly talks about the time, but Bruce has firmly refused to allow anyone to leave yet.
Sometimes, Dick wishes he was out of the country with Cass. This is definitely one of those times.
“It’s five am, Bruce, I-,” Dick turns and glances across the cave, where Stephanie is helping Tim comb through the case files related to the four different organizations they had already apprehended, searching for hints related to the fifth. Tim’s eyes are glued to the screen, though whether he is actually processing information is a mystery. Tim, Dick is fairly certain, has not slept in days. Bruce has been pressuring him on both the Wayne Enterprises and Red Robin fronts.
Stephanie is watching Dick and Bruce with interest, and she gives a small wave when their eyes meet and mimes drinking hot chocolate. Dick almost snorts.
Bruce grabs Dick’s jaw and forces him back to meet his eyes. His irritation is clear. Dick starts speaking before he can get rebuked.
“Come on, there’s no point in me punching numbers in now, the last set won’t be finished for hours,” Dick can’t remember how to talk to Bruce when Bruce is angry and he’s not, but he knows he needs to make Bruce not angry. He tries bargaining, softening his voice. “I'll be fifteen minutes tops. Then I can help you monitor alerts, divide and conquer. I’ll take the annoying media ones even to protect your sensibilities,” He offers a tired, commiserating smile.
Bruce remains unchanged. He pulls Dick closer to him. “You need to take this seriously.” Dick’s heart pangs because seriously? Seriously? Dick has spent more time in Gotham than Bludhaven lately for this case, dropping everything. Dick starts to protest but Bruce continues. He sounds frustrated; it must be at Dick. “You have a responsibility to this case, after that sloppy entry tonight. If you had called for back-up sooner we wouldn’t need to start from scratch with running the search. But now we’re behind, and playing catch up.”
How unfair. There were a thousand reasons they had failed to close the case tonight. Bad intel from Red Robin, Jason’s poor interrogation methods, Bruce’s own rush to finish the case. Dick could have recognized the threat sooner but blaming it solely on him was just rich. He feels the old anger stirring, familiar from every time Bruce has questioned his competency. “But we had bad intel. And you -”
“It doesn’t matter anymore, Dick. All that matters is getting that information as fast as possible. Because of our actions tonight, hundreds of victims continue to be at risk. I’m not asking you to be perfect Dick, I’m just asking you to be better.” And Dick… can’t argue with the stakes, as his shoulders sag. His heart is heavy for the trafficked souls that slipped out of their grasp. And Bruce isn’t wrong, he made a bad call in the field.
He opens his mouth to say the words that taste so familiar now it’s like he has swallowed them before. The words he has gotten used to, an easy diffusion to most painful situations. “I’m sorry, B.”
He allows Bruce to drag him back to the computer. His whole arm is numb by now; he doesn’t even feel it when Bruce finally lets go and steps away from him, settling back at his own computer. In fact, maybe his whole body is numb now, except for his gut, which is churning. He automatically starts to enter data again, just with his right hand, his left arm not responding well.
There is a squeak of a chair from across the room and Stephanie says, “Well, I’m not crucial right now, I think Tim could do this research in his sleep. He might even be asleep right now.” A muffled squawking sound, strikingly similar to a sharply-poked maybe-asleep Tim. “I’m going to grab that hot chocolate! Anybody else want one? Tim? Dick?”
Dick can hear Tim mumble an assent. Dick turns to meet Steph’s eye. She is standing at the bottom of the stairs now, waiting for his reply. She is too far away to read into her expression but there is something searching in her gaze, like she is testing him. Dick is pretty sure he smiles. The thought of eating anything now makes him nauseous. “Actually I’m not that hungry after all, thanks Steph.”
Steph frowns like he failed her mystery test but her wave is breezy enough as she bounds up the stairs with more energy than reasonable at 5:00 am. College students.
Dick turns back to the computer. The cave is silent save for three separate keyboards clicking. His arm throbs in time to the strokes. Just another hour. He’s almost done.
--------------
Dick wakes up to sunlight streaming in through his window. He is in his old bedroom in the manor. He had finally crawled to bed at 8:00 am and set his alarm for 10:00 am. He feels better rested than two hours of sleep warrant, though.
Suspicious, Dick reaches for his phone on the side table and curses when he sees the time.
It’s 3:05 pm.
He bolts upright and frantically starts to get dressed, feeling suddenly terrible. He wants to be dependable, hears Bruce’s voice saying you need to be better. He bites back the irrational panic, scrolling through contacts on his phone until he finds his gymnastic manager’s name. He hits the call button.
The phone rings once, then Carol’s voice. “Hello? Dick?”
“Hey,” he says, slightly breathless as he struggles to pull on sweatpants. “I’m so sorry I missed the noon lesson. I can head out now and I’ll be there for the 4:30 class. I must have slept through my alarm and -”
Carol’s laugh cuts him off. “Woah slow down! Dick, hey, it’s okay. Your dad called this morning and said you wouldn’t be able to make it today, maybe not for a few days.” Bruce what? “Listen, I’ve got to go, but I hope you feel better soon, okay? Let me know when you’re up to classes again. Can’t have our best gymnast sick for long!” Her voice is soft and teasing before she ends the call, but Dick can tell she is telling the truth. Bruce really called her.
Bewildered, Dick stares at his phone, then checks his alarms. All disabled. He was sure he had set them this morning. And he was sure he had told Bruce he was heading back to Bludhaven this morning.
Dick is pretty sure he knows exactly what is happening. The human trafficking case is far from over, and Bruce wants him to stick around to lighten the load. He feels some anger mixed with dread rising up now that the panic is gone. If Bruce thinks he can casually excuse Dick from his own job, his life in Bludhaven, well; he would need to be set straight. Dick is already packed to leave the manor. Dick and Bruce just need to have a chat before he heads home.
Dick slips on a worn t-shirt as he stumbles through the bathroom. It’s fluorescent orange, advertises a local food stand, and is designed to piss off his family members with darker clothing tastes.
Which is all of them really, but he’s targeting Bruce right now. He’s no Jason Todd, but he can irritate Bruce when he wants to.
He checks his phone. 3:15 pm. Alfred will be out collecting Damian from school. Tim should be asleep, but realistically is either at Wayne Enterprises or Titans Tower. Bruce is either in his study or the cave.
He is about to leave when he glances in the bathroom mirror and freezes, noticing dark finger rings around his arm, darker than he remembered this morning. They stand out grotesquely against his tanned skin. Dick stares for a moment and slowly lifts one hand to trace the bruise with his finger. He doesn’t feel anything, just a bit of emptiness to hollow out his simmering anger. He notes distantly that Bruce must have been really angry last night; this doesn't usually happen anymore. It probably won’t help the conversation to flaunt Bruce’s… issues in his face, and Dick doesn’t like the reminder himself. He bemoans this development as he’ll have to hide his t-shirt choice, but the lime green sweater he pulls on over top is almost as good. He leaves his room.
The manor is quiet except for his footfalls as he searches for other life forms. The kitchen is empty. Dick hasn’t eaten today, but he needs to confront Bruce now, before he loses his nerve, so he moves on. Empty library, empty office. Dicks sighs internally, knowing that the Batman will be where Dick expects him to be when Alfred isn’t around to chase him out, and heads to the cave.
Bruce doesn’t look up from the computer even though Dick pointedly makes his tread heavy. At least it really is Bruce, who has forgone the cowl and armor for suit slacks. Perhaps he was doing Wayne Enterprises business earlier. Dick wonders if he has slept at all. There is a half empty coffee mug next to a stack of files.
“Hey B,” Dick greets, going for casual, but even he can hear the steel undercurrent.
Bruce must pick up on it as well because he actually looks up. His eyes tighten when met with the neon green brilliance of Dick’s sweater, and Dick takes time to be petty-proud. “Dick. I trust you slept well.”
Dick narrows his eyes, jaw clenching. “Oh, yeah. About that.” He slams his fist down on the desk next to Bruce, scattering the files. “What the fuck , Bruce!” It comes out louder than he’d meant it to, and he fights to control his volume as he continues, “Why the hell did you turn off my alarm? Why did you tell Carol I was sick? I told you I was going back to Bludhaven!”
Bruce frowns at the files falling to the floor. He sighs as he bends to pick them up, like he doesn’t have time for this. Like talking to Dick is a nuisance, like he doesn’t think they should even be having this conversation. Dick stands there uselessly for a moment, watching Bruce pick up his mess. “Calm down, Dick. You’re overreacting. Right now, you are needed here more than in Bludhaven. The gymnastics school doesn’t need you to go on. And you need to sleep if you’re going to be of any use to me, to the mission.”
Dick had been hoping Bruce would feel a little guilty about his actions, but apparently not. He is also a little hurt at the insinuation that he is wasting his time at the gymnastics centre. He ignores his tiny sense of self-preservation that sounds a lot like Barbara saying he needs to diffuse. Maybe he is out of practice since Bruce died and then didn’t die, because he wants to have this fight.
He grinds his jaw and forces out, “You. Do not. Make decisions for me. I have my own cases in Bludhaven I’ve been letting sit for weeks to help you here and you could try being thankful instead of controlling -,” Dick cuts himself off. “Anyway, I need to get back. I just came to say goodbye. This mission isn’t going to be over anytime soon, so I’ll see you next weekend.” He starts to move away but Bruce catches his wrist and Dick feels a déjà vu from last night that he can’t shake. Two days in a row is abnormal, usually he knows better than to provoke Bruce so frequently, but today? This fight feels inevitable.
“Dick, stop. Don’t exaggerate, your Bludhaven cases can wait, there’s nothing urgent.” Dick opens his mouth to argue but Bruce squeezes hard and it takes Dick’s breath away for a second. Bruce’s eyes dare Dick to interrupt as he growls, “Let me finish. I know what you’re doing. You’re upset that I interfered with your civilian commitments and you want to hold me accountable by leaving anyway. I understand. But you need to understand what’s important - we are on a timer. People’s lives are at stake while you waste time teaching toddlers how to tumble. You can’t leave now.”
“Fuck you,” Dick hisses, rage still intact, but his thoughts are swirling now. He knows this case is important, he knows, but surely Bludhaven needs him too? Surely Bruce can see that Dick needs his independence like he needs to breathe. “I’m going to Bludhaven, and I’ll come back when I want to.”
It happens fast. One second Dick is matching Bruce’s glare and the next he’s staring at the computer monitor, his cheek stinging, his neck sore as the rest of his body tries to follow. Bruce’s vice grip holds him in place, along with the words, “Richard John Grayson, stop acting like a child.”
Bruce sighs again, and this time Dick feels it break through his own anger to stab his heart. “I am disappointed that you need it explained to you like this. That you came to me looking for a fight, when it’s already done. Think of your siblings, they can’t shoulder this alone. You are needed in Gotham for this mission for the foreseeable future. And that is final.” He shakes Dick before releasing him and Dick steps back, rubbing his left wrist. It’s the same arm, he notes distantly.
“A week,” he says, but he’s not sure if it’s really him that says it. “I’ll stay a week.”
Bruce shakes his head. “That might not be long enough. Two weeks at least.”
“A week for now,” Dick doesn’t know why he is insisting on this pretty poor compromise, but he is struggling to find control. He’s floating. If not these words, he’ll wind up apologizing and he is trying hard not to give in. “We’ll reassess.”
Bruce is watching him carefully. “Alright. I’ll reassess in a week.”
Dick can’t talk about this anymore. So he nods, stiffly. He wants to bury their fight in normal conversation. It’s easiest when they both move past these episodes as quickly as possible. Get it together, Grayson.
He looks at the computer for inspiration, notes that Tim must have finished consolidating after Dick went to bed. Who knows how long that took. Poor Tim - Dick feels a sudden certainty that it should have been him doing the extra mission work, thinks bitterly that it’s not like he had anywhere to be today after all.
He asks neutrally, “Where’s Tim?”
Bruce is silent for a moment, like he is mentally boarding the next train of their conversation. He does that a lot with Dick. “He’s sleeping. Wayne Enterprises can wait for a day. I need him mission ready tonight.”
Dick hums, neither approval nor disapproval. “And have you slept?” He prods, glancing at the coffee mug.
Bruce looks like he wants to roll his eyes but restrains himself. “Don’t parent me, Dick.”
Dick, finally, manages to find a grin. “Alright, alright, I’ll leave that to Alfred, but I don’t want to deal with your crankiness if he starts using underhanded methods!” Hopefully Alfred uses some methods soon. A tired Bruce is, obviously, volatile.
“I’ll try to restrain myself,” Bruce says dryly. “Damian should be home soon, why don’t you go inform him that you’re staying?”
Dick knows a dismissal when he hears it, but he is too much of a coward not to feel anything but grateful for the escape. He salutes lazily and walks himself out. “Aye, aye captain! See you at dinner.”
Bruce goes back to typing before Dick has reached the staircase. Dick allows himself until he reaches the top stair to compose himself. He can’t help feeling frustrated. He and Bruce had been good for months, even during this stressful case. Why now could he suddenly not keep it together? It has been harder these last months since Bruce returned, harder than it was before. But at least Bruce is fighting for him to stay this time. Bruce wants him. Still, perhaps Dick is losing his touch. Or maybe, a small, traitorous voice whispers in his mind as he steps through the door, Bruce is losing his.
----------------
Dick takes a long and scaldingly hot shower, spending the entire time psyching himself up for another week in the manor. This is a good thing, he reasons. Tim is around so he can work on their relationship, which has improved painstakingly slowly since he initially apologized for taking Robin but is still more distant than Dick would like (and maybe Bruce is right, if he has been neglecting Tim, maybe he should spend more time in Gotham). And Damian will be thrilled. By the time Dick has finished turning himself into a tomato, he can hear voices in the manor. He checks his face in the mirror. He is entirely red, no distinguishing marks. Good. Bruce didn’t hit that hard and Dick had turned with the motion; the swelling is minimal. He might not even bruise. His wrist is a different story, but his lime green sweater is back in place.
He enters the kitchen to a pleasingly domestic scene. Damian is sipping tea at the counter while regaling Alfred with the shenanigans of his plebeian classmates. It’s a scene Dick knows well, from that year where Bruce was gone and almost everything was terrible, but this was one of the few bright memories in a sea of dark and grey. The only difference is the priceless heirloom countertop that has served countless Wayne generations in place of the sleek ultramodern newness of the penthouse.
Dick slips up behind Damian and waits for him to set the tea cup down before scooping him up and whirling him around. He feels Damian tense, then relax when he realizes who it is.
Ah, the delightful shrieks of a child. Ow, the fists of a tiny assassin.
“Hello Master Richard,” Alfred greets him over the screaming, affection clear in his voice. “So nice to see you are still with us.” There is a question in his statement.
“Hiiiiiii Alfred,” Dick sings while still spinning his captive. “I couldn’t bring myself to leave!”
“Put me down, Richard!” Damian hollers, beating at his back halfheartedly. Dick counts to five, slowly, before setting Damian back at the counter. He takes the stool next to him.
He grins, leaning on one elbow to get closer. All negative feelings from an hour ago recede as he basks in the presence of his favourite kid in the world. “Damian. How was school?”
“It was not worth my time. Why are you here?” Damian questions hesitantly, avoiding eye contact. “You said you were leaving today.”
Dick is ready for this, after his shower pep talk. “I’m going to stick around a little longer, maybe a week,” he says casually, “This is a pretty big case. And I wanted to spend some more time here when I have you to myself before Thanksgiving!”
“I trust you’ll need my help on the case then,” Damian says self-importantly. “You will be here all week?” Damian glances up, looking hopeful, but he frowns when he sees Dick’s face. “Why are you so red? It was not sunny today.”
“Damian, you need to be very careful with the showers here,” Dick says seriously, leaning in further to bestow wisdom. “The hot is very hot.”
Alfred meets his eyes and nods sagely at this profound statement, eyes twinkling, and Dick laughs at the camaraderie.
Damian honestly rolls his eyes. “Richard.” Then softer, “You need to take care of yourself.”
Dick decides it is time Damian finished his story to Alfred. “What’s this about a weasel?”
Damian huffs. “It was a rat. And it was very misunderstood, but that imbecile James …..” And he is off again, recounting the woes of elementary school. Dick listens intently, Alfred quietly preparing another pot of tea nearby.
Dick feels a pang of loss, remembering a year ago when it was just the three of them and such a scene was normal. He misses this. He feels bad missing such a difficult time, when Tim hated him, Jason was off the rails, and Bruce was dead, but there were some very good moments with these two people in front of him. He sits back, accepting a cup of tea and trying to soak up the moment with his family as much as he can.
The moment morphs when a human slug slides into the kitchen and oozes onto the stool furthest from their tea party. Tim blinks groggily from his blanket cocoon, rapidly assessing where the coffee is located.
“Damian,” Dick stage whispers around his teacup, mollusc comparison in mind, “What species is that?” There is a little bit of trust in making this joke, trust that it will not be turned into something it is not, made cutting and cruel. It is something he never would have offered even several months before. But Damian has been doing so well, exchanging what Dick knows to be playful banter with Steph on patrol and, on one memorable occasion, delivering a veiled compliment that had Dick doing a double-take.
“The common pest,” Damian replies, which is... not as bad as it could have been. “It is an invasive species.” Ouch. Dick shoots Damian a reproachful look, which Damian pretends to miss while carefully twisting his teacup’s handle.
But Tim doesn’t seem to notice or care about the insult. He does make a noise of indignation, only it is directed towards the teacup Alfred smoothly places before him. “Alfred,” he whines, “You’re killing me here.”
Alfred adds a plate with two toast slices next to the tea and raises a brow. “Once you have consumed this meager sustenance, you may have coffee. I have just begun a brew.”
Tim looks like he is struggling to choose between accepting defeat or retreating to the illicit instant coffee stash in his closet. Dick glides over and steals one of his toast slices before he can decide. Dick mumbles around a mouthful, “We’ll share, thanks Alfred.”
Tim seems to accept this and begins eating in silence. Dick continues to make small talk with Alfred as Damian pulls out some homework at the other end of the counter. Damian normally studies in his room, but if he wants to be near then Dick is happy not to say anything. It turns out that Alfred has taken up fruit carving as his newest and very respectable hobby. Dick oohs and aahs over an apple turned into delicious delicate leaves.
Tim doesn’t speak until he has finished an entire cup of coffee. Then he turns to Dick. “You’re still here,” he observes.
Dick turns to Tim with a smile already in place and waits. Alfred graciously pauses his demonstration of fruit carving technique, incidentally sparing an innocent tangerine.
Tim then raises an eyebrow, a still facade but mind obviously calculating. All he ends up saying is, “Cool.”
Cool. Dick chooses to be optimistic about this response. He stretches out, swinging his leg up onto the neighbouring bar stool. “I’m sticking around for a week to lend a hand on the case.”
Tim nods, fingering the blanket around his shoulders absently. “I’m not surprised; Bruce has me pulling back from Teen Titans. This one means a lot to him.” And oh, Dick feels for Tim, being pulled away from his friends, a team he is responsible for leading. When Dick was leading the Titans, that would have rankled.
Tim must see some thread of pity Dick feels in his face because he adds, “It’s not a big deal. Everyone is happy for some quieter downtime over the next weeks before Thanksgiving.”
“It’s okay to be disappointed when you can’t see your friends,” Dick says earnestly, and Tim acknowledges the sincerity with a nod and a small, commiserating smile. Two brothers, stuck right where Bruce wants them, as always. But, it wasn’t so long ago that Tim was escaping whatever room Dick walked into. And - ignoring the part of him that dreads (knows) that they will never be the same, will never have what they used to - Dick is pretty certain that they are getting to a good place. This week may be a blessing after all.
“I know that, but thanks.” There is some fumbling within his blanket and then a laptop manifests on the counter.
Dick dramatically gasps and points at the device, “Concealed carry!”
“It has now been revealed, relax.” Tim then ignores him and starts opening files. Dick doesn’t recognize them from the case; they look Wayne Enterprise related. Dick transfers his focus and studies Tim. He is pretty sure the darkness beneath his eyes isn’t natural, just chronic. The blanket burrito makes him look so young, and Dick desperately wishes he could order him back to bed, or to his friends, somewhere he can relax. But Dick hasn't been able to tell Tim what to do for a long time now.
So Dick grins instead. “Well, I’m looking forward to a week of hanging out with my adorable little brothers!”
Then, while Tim is distracted and immobilized by his blanket, he swoops in for a hug that lasts only a microsecond, because if Tim were to stiffen or pull away at his touch it would hurt, and in this Dick is a coward. He warps over to a bar stool next to Damian before Tim can react. From safely across the island, all Tim can do is shoot him a dirty look, but Dick is already interrogating Damian about his marine biology project.
Oh, yes. His brothers need more of his attention. An extra week home will be good.
--------------------------
Dinner is a successfully pleasant affair. Alfred has managed to wrangle Bruce out of the cave to sit down with them. Dick keeps the conversation light. He watches Bruce and Tim interact, but if Tim holds any resentment for being kept from the Titans it doesn’t affect his treatment of Bruce. Dick takes this as his cue to forgive and forget as well, if his little brother isn’t bothered at all.
Like the universe balancing the difficult trials of last night, patrol is blessedly smooth as well. They pair off to scout hotels implicated in the human trafficking ring and Dick gets paired with Damian, to their mutual delight. And afterwards, Jason even comes back to the cave briefly and mentions something about saying hi to Alfred before he disappears to the shower to get changed.
Tim and Dick and Stephanie make intense eye contact and gesture furiously - Steph mouthing alternate reality repeatedly - before they all just play it very cool. It is not unheard of for Jason to pop by but it’s not common, especially not out of costume. The Red Hood may work with the Bats occasionally, but Jason isn’t showing up for Wayne family movie nights. He will stop by for Alfred, and he will take Dick’s calls; it is uncertain if he is planning on coming for Thanksgiving this year in a couple weeks.
It was a good night. Bruce agrees that they can break for refreshments before getting back to business. Steph gleefully calls out, “Last one to the kitchen forfeits fruity marshmallows!” before shoving Damian (who squawks) as she races after Jason for the showers.
Dick helps Damian up only to bodily throw him forward, propelling him past the now sprinting Tim. Then he chases after them, more slowly. He knows Alfred won’t subject him to marshmallow-less hot chocolate, even if he settles for the non-fruity kind.
“What the hell? What’s with the crowd?” Jason calls from the shower, unnerved at the sudden ruckus in the change room.
“Race to the kitchen, no fruity marshmallows for the loser,” Tim summarizes while throwing off his mask.
“No marshmallows for you, Drake,” Damian pronounces with relish, already in his shower.
“No fruity marshmallows?” Jason muses. “Lame stakes. Those taste like trash, everyone knows regular is superior.”
“Fruity is delicious!” Dick protests from outside. He is waiting his turn and wondering for the first time why they only have four change rooms. Or a better question: why they still had four change rooms back when it had just been himself and Bruce.
“Goldie, your opinion is forfeit - you think Lucky Charms is flavourful when its flavour is literally just sugar.” There is a general hum of agreement with Jason from beyond the doors, which, really? Younger siblings are traitors, every single one of them.
“Sugar is a real flavour! If you don’t care about fruity marshmallows, let me have your shower,” he reasons, eager to get out of last place. He doesn’t really expect anything, but Jason’s door opens almost instantaneously, like he was just waiting for the signal.
“Well, since you asked so nicely,” Jason drawls, stepping out in the same clothes he was wearing before but his hair is wet and he is holding his helmet. “And since I was done anyways.”
“Give up, Dick! You can’t catch up!” Stephanie calls from somewhere to his left.
“Never!” He is already half out of his costume as he heads past Jason, pulling his arms out of the sleeves when Jason makes an odd noise. Dick glances up and tracks Jason’s gaze to his left arm.
“What happened?” Jason pitches his voice low, meant for Dick only.
Dick spends a second examining himself, letting his brow furrow as though he can’t recall what happened, like it didn’t matter. There is dark bruising around his wrist and a ring higher up as well. He lets out a little laugh, barely a breath. He speaks very deliberately. “Oh, got that in the chaos of last night. My entry was careless.”
His words are close enough to the truth that Dick tells himself he doesn’t even feel that bad. More specifics aren’t an option, have never been. He doesn’t need to drive a wedge into Jason and Bruce’s fragile bridge, which Dick has poured so much into helping build between them.
Jason doesn’t look convinced, still staring hard. “Really. Why are you still here tonight anyway? Not heading home? I thought you were running back to Bludhaven this week.”
Dick can’t help but shift to hide the bruise from sight. He nods with a regretful look on his face and tells more obscured truths. “Really. It was bad luck, and we can't all pull off armored leather, you know. And I’m sticking around to help out with the case. It’s gone on long enough, and it’s important to wrap it up.”
“But - what about your classes? You lo- I thought they were important to you, and face it: this case isn’t wrapping up soon.” And Dick catches his breath at how gentle Jason’s voice is suddenly, at the overwhelming warmth that roars up within him that Jason Todd cares enough to remember that Dick teaches gymnastics classes.
“Priorities, Jay. Lives are at risk.” He matches Jason’s gentleness. He tries a grin, cocking his head to indicate the doorway Jason is blocking. “Speaking of priorities, If I don’t get in that shower right now I might as well forget about marshmallows, Jay. Don’t do that to me.”
Jason glances one more time towards Dicks arm, but eventually he snorts and shakes his head. “You’ve got some shit luck, Dickie-bird.” But he moves to let Dick pass.
Despite Dick’s best efforts, by the time he slides into the kitchen in sock feet and crashes into the counter, all of his siblings are accounted for. Jason is standing next to Alfred, likely for his own emotional protection from the scary domesticity of the moment. Dick is pleased to note that he too clutches a mug.
Tim is on the closest bar stool, calmly taking a sip of hot chocolate and barely checking on his oldest brother flat on his butt below him.
“Oh no, are you okay,” Tim asks, monotone. And Dick knows he makes a lot of terrible jokes but come on, Tim is obviously the comedian of this family.
“Hey loser,” Steph greets, no sympathy at all as she tosses back her drink in one large gulp. Probably for the theater rather than thirst, because that hot chocolate must burn. “No marshmallows for you!” Her hair is still dripping from her hurried shower.
On the stool furthest from Tim, Damian is watching him intently with a frown. “Get up, Grayson.”
“Just leave me here,” Dick lies down dramatically. “Without fruity marshmallows, there is no point rising to meet the day.”
“It is clearly night,” Damian protests.
“Why is Dick on the floor?” Everyone looks up to see Bruce walk in, freshly showered. He walks casually over to where Alfred has lined up the hot chocolate mugs and selects a beverage.
Dick can’t believe this is happening. Has he done something incredibly good, to deserve his entire family drinking hot chocolate together? If last night was a nightmare, Dick is now waking up in a fairy tale.
“It’s where he belongs, where no fruity marshmallows can reach him,” Jason mutters darkly, but he is speaking out loud in a room that also contains Bruce, and Tim laughs, so Dick doesn’t care. He scrambles to his feet.
“Hey now, that was a hasty call, the real loser is now among us!” He rushes past Bruce to grab a mug of hot chocolate and intercepts the fruity marshmallow bowl. “Last one to the kitchen forfeits fruity marshmallows, B. Sorry for your loss.” He says feelingly, and gives him a sympathetic half hug. Bruce allows it, watching him bemusedly. Dick internally congratulates himself on the positive physical contact.
He ignores his siblings' protests that vary from “Grayson, stop” to “that’s disgusting” and “Are you an animal?!” as he tips the entire bowl of remaining fruity marshmallows directly down his throat.
He grins once he is certain he won’t choke and makes a show of smacking his lips. "Delicious.”
Steph applauds. Jason rolls his eyes. Tim’s cough sounds suspiciously like “diabetes”.
“You could have choked,” Damian accuses, “You are a land creature. You need to breathe.”
Dick comes to sit next to him, pulled magnetically by the force of his own affection. “Land creature huh? How’s that harbour restoration project coming?”
Damian perks up. “It is proceeding according to schedule.” Dick has seen this schedule; it is three double sided pages of meticulous bullet points, Damian’s indomitable will for the next three weeks given physical form. “And the sections pertaining to ancient and near-modern breeds were trivial, as expected. I am already well into analysis of current harbour life.”
Here there is a minute pause, and Dick wonders if it screams insecurity to everyone else the way it does to him. “In commemoration of recent cleanup attempts, the Gotham Aquarium has put up a temporary exhibit on local marine life. Nothing I have not found elsewhere, of course.” It is said with a purposefully insouciant air, the tone perfect for making observations one is indifferent to, and Dick melts. Because.
Damian wants to go to the aquarium. Going to the aquarium is suddenly Very Important to Dick. As important as keeping his family together.
“Man, I haven’t seen a live fish in ages,” Steph notes. The eye contact she makes with Dick is significant. “Unless you count this one squid at a sushi bar that I swear begged me for help.”
And just like that, he knows exactly what needs to happen. God bless Stephanie Brown.
“I haven’t been to an aquarium in a decade, but definitely best civilian field trip by far,” Dick muses, plowing straight through Damian’s incensed correction of a squid is not a fish, it is a cephalopod, you ignorant- with a prudence born of long exposure, “I wonder if they’ve added any new fish lately.” He straightens up and looks around, capturing everyone’s attention simply by adjusting his body posture. “You know, I’ve been thinking really hard about Thanksgiving. I think this one’s going to be special for obvious reasons, namely since we’re all here. But what if we did something together, just as civilians?” He wants to say family but the connotations may read as pushy to Jason and exclusive to Steph. “I propose: Thanksgiving with the fish - let’s go to the aquarium. Just for a morning, or an afternoon.” He glances at Damian who looks ready to object out of obligation. “For science,” he amends.
“I can’t think of anything I’d rather do this Thanksgiving than check out the live action version of Finding Nemo with you people,” Steph agrees readily. Seriously, God bless Stephanie Brown.
“I suppose it could be minorly beneficial for my research,” Damian says, carefully neutral.
“Wait, for real?” Tim frowns and looks to Bruce. Bruce is scrolling through his phone, hopefully idly but probably vigilante research. “Are we sure we’re not going to be - busy?”
“Tim, I know you’re important, but you can spend half a day admiring fish,” Steph gives him a little poke in his side and he jumps. Still ticklish then.
“Tim’s right, we can’t schedule a block of time, there’s no telling what emergency could happen, and this case may still be ongoing -,” Bruce begins, but Alfred the Hero cuts him off.
“Actually, Master Bruce, an afternoon at the aquarium sounds like the perfect way to celebrate Thanksgiving. It shall get you all out from underfoot for enough time for me to prepare a fitting meal. I will put it in the calendar and make the necessary notifications to inform the appropriate colleagues of your appointment,” Alfred meets Dick’s eyes and nods, two soldiers in the never-ending fight to force this family to bond. Bruce, Dick’s most difficult opponent, has just been defeated before he could enter the battle.
“You should come too, Alfred,” Jason says suddenly, “To the aquarium. We could have the Thanksgiving meal the Friday night, aquarium on Saturday.” Dick files away this new information that Jason is confirmed attending Thanksgiving and interested in coming to the aquarium.
They traditionally celebrate Thanksgiving dinner on the Saturday, but it can be shuffled for the sake of a miraculous family gathering.
“Excellent point, Jay; Alfie, you are a part of this too,” Dick agrees, and again, the family is silent but implied. “Besides, Cass flies in the morning before, we can definitely move the meal to Friday.”
With a few minor protests from Alfred, who is consoled when it is agreed that he shall make a fantastic brunch spread prior to the Thanksgiving meal on Friday and will pack homemade food to eat at the aquarium on Saturday, it is decided.
Steph leads the conversation down a pathway discussing how she personally relates to Nemo, and Damian cuts in with information about how realistic Nemo is.
“You know we definitely need to watch Finding Nemo to prepare,” Dick insists, and thus they plan a movie night after the Friday Thanksgiving meal.
“Cass is going to love this,” Steph says, texting furiously, and Tim hums in agreement. “I’ll let her know.”
Dick’s phone chimes with a notification from the Batman-associates group chat, Steph advertising their aquarium plans. There is a quick response from Barbara, saying she won’t be able to make it this Thanksgiving (Dick already knew that; she has family plans), but that she strongly votes YES and they had better follow through with satisfying photographic evidence. Cass must be sleeping.
Dick is elated. Making family plans to hang out is almost as good as actually hanging out, and right now he is doing both. He throws an arm around Damian and tugs him closer as the conversation moves on to Tim’s history with pet goldfish, and whether Spongebob has any basis in reality. And suddenly they have plans to watch Spongebob together.
Fifteen minutes later, Damian heads to bed, Steph and Jason head out, and Tim and Dick follow Bruce back to the cave.
-----------------------------
Cass responds in the morning with enthusiastic emojis. Dick is excited for her return, knowing that Steph will likely stick around the manor the entire weekend if Cass is here. It will be good to see more of both of them. Dick spends some time during the day ironing out details for their aquarium plans with Alfred until he is certain this is going to be the most perfect nautical-themed Thanksgiving ever.
It is late afternoon, just as Dick is finishing warming up in the cave’s gym when his phone rings on the floor beside him. He leans out of his split to flip it over. It’s Donna Troy. He presses the speaker phone immediately and pauses the blasting pop music.
“Hey there, you’ve reached your biggest fan,” he answers with a smile. “What could I possibly do for you?”
Donna laughs, and the room feels brighter. “Oh, what a coincidence! I’m your biggest fan! Is it ever good to hear your voice. Would love to see your beautiful face, too,” she teases.
“I think I can arrange that,” Dick replies, rolling onto his stomach and resting his elbows on either side of the phone as he turns on the video. He is careful to keep his wrist out of view. Donna’s face appears. It has been a while, but talking with Donna is as natural as breathing. “How are you?”
There is a thoughtful pause, some motion off screen, and when her answer comes her voice is rich and warm. “Good. Really good.” There is some banging; it sounds like a pan. “Tell me you’re free next Monday?”
“I’m always free for you,” He says automatically, no matter how untrue they both know it is. Donna Troy. Dick’s heart aches with how long it has been since they last hung out.
“Right, silly me, I must have imagined you skipping out on Halloween, and on board game night, and -”
“Okay, okay,” Dick cuts in quickly, not prepared to listen to his many failings as a friend. “For real, though. What’s Monday?”
“Monday night. We’re doing a Thanksgiving-Wally’s-birthday-old-Titans-get-together, Star City, Wally’s place,” Dick is used to the run-on event names; in their line of business they need to combine a lot of special occasions because it’s hard to find time to celebrate the mundane things. “You, me, Wally, Roy, and Garth, maybe even Victor and Rachel depending. Kory’s off world.” A decent turnout, considering. Dick has complicated feelings about Kory’s absence but it’s nothing new.
“That’s not fair, Wally’s birthday was ages ago, I literally already gave him a present,” Dick protests for the sake of being stingy.
“You’re rich, you’ll be fine,” Donna dismisses.
“Well, I’d love to come, I just need to run it by B first,” he says, already planning. He is at the manor for the next week, maybe longer, but surely he can take a night off to go to Star City. He’s still prioritizing the mission.
There is silence on the line. Then, “Why do you need to ask Batman?”
And, oh. That is hard to explain for reasons Dick is not comfortable exploring. He settles for the cold, hard mission facts: “I’m in Gotham for the week helping with a big case, been going on for months. B is kind of relying on me here, I can’t just dip out on him.”
“But why do you need his permission to come to a party? You can’t focus on months-long cases with no breaks,” Donna insists, and Dick abruptly remembers how weird all of his friends are about his relationship with Batman. He is suddenly restless, picking up the phone to walk in tight circles.
Dick is careful about his response. It is a little awkward that, when pressed, he finds it hard to articulate why he needs Bruce’s approval to go to a party he has every right to attend. It was difficult enough back when he was sixteen and still, legally, in Bruce’s care, but he is an adult now. He has been making his own decisions for years. Dick knows there is no actual reason he needs to put his life on pause for this mission, it’s not like it’s a mass Arkham breakout or super villain chaos. But Bruce has asked him to stay, and he has spent more than a decade stumbling after that kind of acceptance in Bruce’s life, in his family. So.
“I want to come,” Dick says quietly, spinning himself in a circle. “But I can’t just disappear for a day. Not if they need me.”
Donna doesn’t say anything for a moment, but she doesn’t have to. Not when they have played through this scene as often as they have. Dick is almost grateful in that moment that he can’t see her face; she is still off screen, and Dick can hear the faint bubbling hiss that comes with pan frying.
He is about to break the silence again himself, with something more apologetic and promising, when Donna speaks. “You know I love you, Boy Wonder,” she says, and Dick’s own mirrored reply is immediate and no less true for having been completely instinctual.
And Donna, what did Dick do to deserve her, moves on. They talk for a while about her new apartment, and Dick gets the virtual tour, including the unveiling of the pancakes that had been cooking just out of view. He fills her in on Damian’s most recent forays into marine biology and what he has begun referring to in his head as Operation F.I.S.H. (short for Family Imperative Sea-world Hangout). When they end the call, Dick doesn’t move for a minute, letting the echo of Donna’s laughter soothe something in him he didn’t know was hurting.
If there is a little anxiety in the pit of his stomach at the thought of bringing up Monday to Bruce, no one has to know. He goes back to stretching. He doesn’t turn the music back on.