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"You didn't think I would say yes, did you?" Jason asked incredulously. Dick sagged where he sat on the couch in Jason’s safehouse.
"No," he admitted. "You were my last resort."
"Oh, the blood son didn't jump at the chance?"
"Damian is not dropping out of college for this." Dick said hotly, half getting out of his seat.
"So you didn't even ask. Why do you care? You dropped out."
"That's different."
Jason rolled his eyes. "Well, what about Replacement?"
"He’s too busy being CEO.” Dick reminded him. Jason snorted, clearly not impressed by the job Tim had been handling since before he could legally drink.
“You’re just giving him an easy out because him and Bernard are planning their wedding and you want to be flower girl.”
“Caught me. I’ve got the perfect little dress picked out.” Dick rolled his eyes and sighed. “Look, Steph is busy at work, Cass has responsibilities in Hong Kong-”
“Oh come off it, Dickhead. No one wants to move home and be the Bat Babysitter. You could do it, you just don’t want to. And hey! I get it, I don’t want to. That’s why I’m not going to.” Jason took a long drink of his water bottle, wiped his mouth, and shot his beleaguered sibling a grin. “It’s that easy.”
“Jason, he’s not eating regular meals, I found him at the bottom of a flight of stairs and he refused to tell me how long he’d been laying there. He can’t do this alone any more.” Dick’s voice was strained, and Jason almost wished he cared more. But it was Bruce, and he probably was doing a weird meditation at the bottom of the stairs. Jason would have noticed if things were that bad.
“So find a preteen with black hair. Simple.” Jason snarked, and then narrowed his eyes. “I’m kidding. Geriatric Batman doesn’t need more child soldiers.”
Dick rolled his eyes. “Jason, he’s not geriatric, things are just catching up with him. But no, he doesn’t need a Robin - honestly, he should get out of the game altogether at this point. He needs someone to just… keep an eye on him.”
“Barbie could watch some cameras?”
“She’s kind of busy, Jason.”
“Point…. I don’t know Dick, what do other rich people do when their workaholic parents can’t be trusted to take care of themselves?”
Dick sighed and rubbed his hands over his face. “I don’t know. Hire someone? But…” He trailed off and Jason saw the terrible light of a Bad Idea in Dick Grayson’s eyes. “You know what? You’re smarter than you look, Little Wing.” He stood up and made for the window as Jason frowned.
“So you’re going to hire someone? Dick-!” It was too late, Dick was lost to the Gotham night. Jason sighed. “This is going to go wrong somehow.” He predicted out loud.
-
“...So, my Dad’s not like, old-old, he’s only 55, but he’s had a lot of sports injuries over his life, and I’m worried about him. Plus, my grandfather passed a few years ago, and he was making sure my Dad was eating regular meals up until the day he died. Without him, he’s half surviving on granola bars. It’s just not good for him. And if he falls again, I don’t know if I trust him to actually call for help or get a check up from a real doctor. So, really, all you’d need to do is be there in the evenings, make sure he eats a real dinner, and make sure he’s alright before you leave for the night. You can do homework, listen to music, whatever. He might be grouchy and try to run you off, so I need you to be stubborn and thick-skinned. Do you think you can do that?”
Finally, the flood of words from the middle aged man came to a stop. He offered a cheerful smile, and took a drink of his latte. It had maybe been a solid ten minutes of chatter on his end.
Terry slouched forwards over the black coffee he’d ordered for himself. This was the weirdest job interview he’d ever had. And sure, he hadn’t had many job interviews, but he was pretty sure this was still bizarre.
“I guess.”
“Perfect! Now, if he tries to bribe you, I’m going to need you to stay strong for me.”
“Bribes?” Terry questioned, a little incredulously. “Look, I’m not a saint.”
“I promise you, if he tries to bribe you, I’ll know, and I’ll tack that amount onto your paycheck, promise. No sainthood needed, promise.” The man laughed, and Terry wondered how old he was if his father was 55. His laugh lines said he was no spring chicken, as did the slight amount of salt peppered in his dark hair. There’d been no names offered yet, but this guy was clearly good for his money. His clothes were a decent quality, even if Terry’s eyes watered the first time he’d looked at the extremely loud shirt.
“...I’ll hold you to that.” This was such a sketchy sounding gig, but it was better than going back to Big Time on the streets. His Mom needed help, but would lose her entire shit if she knew he was getting in trouble with the GCPD again. “So, I’m just cooking a meal a day for your old man, making sure he’s upright, and hanging out at his house after school until 10?” He checked.
“Yep! Same hours on the weekends, and just let me know if you need a day off. I’ll let you know if he’ll be with family or on a business trip and you’ve got a free night with as much notice as I can. Sometimes it’ll be short notice though. We’ve got a big family of oddballs and things can happen without a lot of warning.”
“...Alright. And when do you want me to start?”
“Are you free tonight?” Another bright grin was directed his way, and Terry pulled out his phone.
“Yeah, let me just tell my mom that I’m going to….? Is this the point where I can get an address and maybe even a name for your dad?” Terry had the family groupchat open and his thumbs posed to type in the relevant information.
“Oh, Wayne Manor. You can call him Bruce, but Mr. Wayne is probably going to feel less weird.”
“...I’m sorry, what ?”
—
“This is the most outrageous, unethical, disrespectful and downright asinine hostage situation I have ever been in. And that’s saying something. I’ve been stripped to my boxers multiple times on live television. Harley Quinn once kidnapped me for a shopping spree and makeover extravaganza. I’ve been forced to listen to Oliver Queen’s opinions and pretend they were worthwhile. ”
Terry sighed and deleted several keysmashes as he replied to his adversary. “I don’t know who Oliver Queen is. Do you mind, Mr. Wayne? I’m trying to finish this essay tonight so I can go out with Dana later.”
“Is my unjust imprisonment inconveniencing your adolescent romance? I’m dreadfully sorry. Here, take a couple of hundred dollars and go have a night on the town.”
Terry scoffed. “In this economy? That’ll buy us batburgers and jokerized fries. Have you spent any time with real people in the past 60 years?” He looked up at the middle-aged man that was clearly grinding his teeth and shoving his handful of bills back in his wallet. Terry’s smirk was probably getting on the man’s nerves, but Terry wasn’t here to make friends.
“I’m fifty five years old, Terry.”
“You have like, five kids, and the oldest one is forty.” Terry remembered that the weirdly cheerful guy who’d hired him had promised that if Bruce Wayne tried to bribe him, he’d know and would add that amount to his paycheck. Rich people were wild.
“That doesn’t change the fact that I’m not sixty years old.”
“Eh.” Terry closed his laptop, because it seemed like he wasn’t going to be getting much work done. “You want me to go get your dinner now, old man?”
“...If you’re working for me, shouldn’t you be more polite?”
Terry snorted. “I’m working for your dick of a son, not you. I’m just here to make sure you eat a decent dinner and don’t fall and hurt yourself.” He pushed himself off the probably antique mahogany dining table that he’d been working on.
Bruce Wayne stood at the head of the table, scowling in a way that did not match the gleaming smiles Terry had spied on the clickbait that no Gothamite’s social media was immune from. Terry remembered his Mom talking about what an airheaded flirt he was, but these days news stories about him were all about his weight, his gaffes and the antics of the various friends and family in his life. With luck, Terry would only have to interact with Dick Grayson.
“If you don’t tell me what you want to eat, I’ll just grab a random meal from your freezer and heat it up for you.” Terry threatened blandly, and Bruce Wayne’s ice-blue eyes flashed to him.
“I can heat up my own meals, Terry. Despite what Dick seems to think, I’m not an invalid.”
“He said to remind you about what happened to your air fryer like… twenty years ago.” Terry said with another smirk as Bruce spluttered.
Blah blah sixteen years ago, blah blah I’m an old man. Terry tuned it out and went to the kitchen to peruse the premade meals loaded in the fridge, with neat writing labelling each one. Some of them included colourful notes like ‘ the old man’s not even going to eat this ’ or ‘ fucking dick making me cook for that old bastard .’ So this was probably another Wayne making some kind of effort for their father.
Terry would be more touched if it wasn’t so baffling. They could afford to hire a personal chef, and a nurse. Why hire a random teenager?
As he loaded a lasagna into the oven, he made a face as the obvious explanation presented itself in his mind. Bruce Wayne did have a … history of taking in quite a few black-haired, blue-eyed young boys. But if that’s what Dick Grayson was sourcing for him, why pick someone like Terry? He was already sixteen, he had a juvenile record for theft and a reputation for getting into fights… not exactly easy meat if Bruce Wayne was the predator that some of the less savoury Gotham rags had been suggesting he was for more than twice Terry’s lifespan.
Especially if he was a fall risk. All Terry would have to do is trip him. Then he’d rob the place blind before leaving like a bat out of hell.
And if Bruce Wayne was innocent of all of those accusations… then why was Terry their choice? There were a million more qualified options in Gotham alone, with actually relevant skills. Terry could kick a gang member in the nuts and lockpick a door, and was that a skillset that the Wayne family could appreciate? Not likely. And yet they hired him.
Rich people. You were lucky when they didn’t pick a theme and put a mask on. Especially in Gotham.
“Okay, I started some… lasagna. Shit.” Terry’s voice died off when he returned to the room he’d left Wayne in and saw neither hide nor hair of the older man.
Now, he wasn’t required to keep his eyes directly on the man the whole evening, just make sure that he was home, that he wasn’t hurt, that shit. Bruce Wayne was more than welcome to sulk in any of the twenty-thousand unoccupied rooms in his mansion.
But he had just been kicking up a fuss about being ‘imprisoned’ and Terry wasn’t sure if he was supposed to like… keep him in the house. “Mr. Wayne?” He called.
No answer.
“Uh…” Terry sighed and pulled out his phone.
To: Weird Dick: So, if he does a runner, do I still get paid?
Important questions need to be asked right away.
In the meantime, Terry investigated the nearby rooms, a timer started on his phone to alert him when the food was done. He doubted billionaires were willing to stomach burnt food. Each room he checked was empty, not even the suggestion of nepotism in the air to suggest that Bruce Wayne had been there.
“Hello…?” Sheesh, for a fall risk he could apparently move fast.
Terry stalked the halls of Wayne Manor, feeling a little ridiculous. The man wanted to be left alone, and he had homework to do. Hell, he could be chatting with Dana or Max right now. But instead he was trying to find Gotham’s Silver Prince so he could be forcefed lasagna.
Other kids just got part-time jobs at Batburger, or working for the local gangs, but no, Terry let Dick Grayson con him into this.
“Chum…. Insulting… resting my back… No, I didn’t fall down… already had those bruises- Excuse me!?” The faint words drifted from…the ceiling? Terry paused and stared upwards as fragments of sentences kept coming through.
As silently as if he was trying to avoid a hostage situation in downtown Gotham, Terry slunk upstairs to the room above where he’d just been and found - an empty room.
What the fuck?
“Don’t need… he’s a baby… enough…fries…” Well, now the words were coming from the floor.
Had Bruce Wayne gotten under the floorboards?
No, that was ridiculous. But where was he? He listened harder. “I am… man. Ridiculous.” That actually was coming from the floor… near the window?
Terry didn’t quite want to believe he was considering this, but he opened the window and peered outside, immediately making eye contact with the billionaire holding a cell phone to his ear with one hand and clinging to the wall with the other.
“What the fuck?” Terry breathed, reaching out and grabbing the front of his shirt, using all of his muscles to drag the unresisting man back into his absurdly expensive house. Both fell back onto the plush carpeting, the window swinging wildly in the wake of their movement.
“I was on the phone.” Was all Bruce Wayne said, huffing as he stood up, brushed himself off and then stalked out of the room.
Terry stared after him incredulously and then rushed to catch up, not keen to lose his charge again so quickly.
From Weird Dick: Sorry about that. I did say he was a fall risk. How’s an extra $500 in bonus this week sound? Bruce says you can get your fries jokerized for that much money.