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"Richa—"
Before Charles could say another word, he was spun to the air within strong grips.
"Charles!" Charles felt suffocated. Not because his body was literally lifted and spun like he weighed nothing. No. This familiar scene—one he dreamt a thousand times after Richard died. Richard. Richard. Dick. His family, his lover, his—
Richard had died.
Then why is he here?
Charles wanted to scream. Yet, he didn't. He often received credit for his ability to maintain his controlled expression, so he smiled. To the man which he once loved and still does.
To the man which he once watched the death of.
He was spun a few times before Richa— before Dick put him down. The radiant smile never left the man's face, but it dim when he noticed Charles's lack of response.
By now, Dick would've received a soft smile, a series of melodic laughter, or a pinch to his cheek out of unreal annoyance. None of those he expected came.
Instead, Charles was silent, which worried Dick.
Yet, before Dick could ever so move, a soft chuckle stopped his lips from asking. Another one, and Dick had looked up to be greeted to the sight of Charles, holding his mouth and stomach as he remained slightly hunched down, soft curls moving alongside his trembling shoulders and covering his eyes.
It's been a few months since Dick saw Charles. With his packed schedule in Bludhaven and Charles being occupied with his own work and family life, they only managed to call each other once in a while, barely every month. They haven't even talked at all for the previous two months.
"Charlie, don't you miss me?"
"Pfft, yes.... Yes, Richard."
Charles softly slapped his own face a few times before looking up to Dick, smiling.
"I missed you a thousand, Richard." His soft words earned a bright grin from Dick. He was pulled back into the man's tight embrace, the tone of Dick's voice bursting with joy.
"I missed you a billion more!"
"Huhu, are you trying to compete with Bruce?"
"No way!" Dick scrunched his nose, though the laughter that came from Charles afterwards made his lines disappear. His grin never truly left his face as he bumped his forehead to Charles's, now mirroring the other's soft smile. How long has it been since he looked at those beautiful mixes of golden brown and green? He could dive and sink into those colors without a regret in this world—
"Dick, what the fuck?"
Dick quickly turned in surprise to find Tim, the dark of his disgusted expression matching his dark under eyes.
"You barely arrived an hour ago and you're already committing indecency?" Beside Tim, Damian looked at him with a betrayed expression. Wait, what's happening? "Alfred would be disappointed."
"What? Wait—Even though I didn't do anything?"
"You've committed a grave sin in this house, Richard."
"Dami?! Why are you even playing along with Tim?!"
"Nonsense, this is nothing like that." Damian turned away, but Tim's face remained indescribably disgusted, which, for whatever reason, disappeared and brightened when he saw Charles peeking out from behind Dick.
"Oh. Hey, Charles."
"Hi, Tim." Charles chuckled, waving to both of the Waynes. "Hi, Dami. Have you guys eaten lunch yet?"
"No. We were waiting for you, since you were the one who prepared it with Alfred." Tim smiled at Charles, unlike the expression he gave Dick just seconds ago, while Damian grunted in the following.
"Huh, did I—" "Charles, you made lunch?!"
Before Charles could give any other response, Dick had already dashed to the dining room. They could hear a loud thump and a scream soon after. Dick's scream. Then, another thump, followed by someone else's scream. Huh, he must've bumped into Jason.
"Dick... he's exactly like an overexcited golden retriever...." Tim sighed, massaging his forehead from the sad truth of the oncoming house wreck now that Dick is home. "Oh, right. Charles, can you help me with a case after—"
Somehow, Tim was already left alone by the front door.
"Wait—?! Charles?? Demon brat?? Why am I alone?!"
When water drips into the overflowing sink, diluting his face into a disgusting being beyond recognizable—times like this, Charles is almost convinced that he's losing his mind.
Apparently, having a disordered mental state is worse than being able to see dead souls. Ignorance would've worked out fine to dead souls, but you can't ignore something that doesn't exist in your mental wellbeing.
"Maybe I've truly gone insane...." Charles chuckled, watching the water drip from the tip of his nose and falls into the overflowing sink. Ah, he shouldn't do this. Alfred might get mad—
"Pennyworth wouldn't be pleased to see the basin overflowing." A voice chimed from the door of the bathroom, 'Oh, did I leave the door open?' He must've been too out of it to even properly close the door. Well, is that not concerning?
"Hi again, Dami." Damian only squinted as Charles turned off the water tap, pulling out a few sheets of tissues to dry his face. He smiled, 'Infuriatingly so,' Damian thought, and cheerfully conversed like he didn't just stare his soul endlessly into the washbasin a few second ago.
"So, where's Tim? Did you leave him alone again? I was wondering how you came to follow Tim just now, but I guess it was to meet Dick—"
"You're behaving strangely."
They were already walking to the dining room, but Charles had to pause when Damian stopped his steps way before him.
"Dami? I—" "No."
Damian took a few steps forward, pulling Charles's wrist roughly to make their gazes even. 'Damian's turning fourteen this year,' if Charles remembered correctly, but he's already starting to show signs of growing up well under Alfred's food and care, being a few centimetres taller than what Charles remembered this time around and all.
"Androse, you are not behaving like yourself. In fact, you are not behaving like yourself from only an hour ago."
Perhaps Charles is a bit unlucky in this matter, to have lived with a manor full of detectives.
"...What do you want, Dami?"
It irritates Damian how calm Charles always handles problematic situations.
"I want you to not dare to lie to me. Who are you, Androse?"
Right, has Charles thought over this? He was suddenly snapped to the sight of a no-longer-dead Richard, a situation he could vividly remember in his memories from years back, and now a diverse of Damian realizing his odd behavior only minutes in. Is it truly misfortune for him to live in this manor?
"Who am I?" Charles has actually thought this out. He didn't spend his time willingly sinking his face into the sink for no reason. He's a meticulous man, in a way. He wouldn't leave a room without a contingency plan or two.
Improvisation is also a plan, by the way.
"I'm Charles Lyle Androse, Dami." Charles paused, dragging a hum with full awareness of Damian's twitching eyebrow. "Oh, I'm also a counseling patient who consciously skipped his own appointment."
That made Damian pause. "Wha—"
"Thanks for the reminder, Dami." Charles left a pat on the boy's head before pushing him forward to the dining room. "I really should start visiting my schedules properly. It's starting to get into my head. Remind me to talk this out with Bruce too, yeah?"
"Wait, Androse—"
"Brat! Charles! Where did you guys go? I got left alone!"