Chapter Text
"Wayne residence." Dick murmured distractedly into the receiver of the kitchen landline as he watched Alfred dump a bag of semi-sweet chocolate chunks into an oversized mixing bowl.
"Yes, is this Mr. Grayson?"
"That's me." Alfred shifted his stance, effectively blocking Dick's view of the bowl. Possibly intentionally. "Who's speaking?" Dick covered the receiver with one palm, “I know you’re just picking out the chocolate, Alfred.
For his part Alfred threw a slightly scandalized look his way.
"It's Principle Carlson, from Tim's school."
Dick closed his eyes tightly and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Uh, is this about what happened the other day? Look, I know you're new to the school, and this probably doesn't reflect very well on him, but really, Tim's a great kid. Abnormally good." Distantly, he could hear voices arguing upstairs in distinctly irritated tones that were punctuated with the occasional 'No!' "He just can't stand a bully –he's feels like he's just as bad by not taking action and –"
"I remember the speech you gave, Mr. Grayson," The voice remained patient, lined with a cautious air Dick didn't quite like, "and I understand. All his teachers have backed you up on Tim, and I've decided to let it go. This time."
"Oh." Dick's hand dropped from his face. "That's…good news then." He squinted his eyes open slowly. "So…Is there something else I can help you with?"
Carlson paused. "I wanted to talk about you, Mr. Grayson."
"Me?" Some this thumped on to the floor upstairs, resounding heavily enough he wasn’t surprised when it was accompanied by a sudden crash. Dick narrowed his eyes at the staircase. "I graduated a long time ago, Principle Carlson."
"Not that long ago. Mr. Grayson, do you mind me asking how old you are?"
The foundation of the house shook in a sudden, violent surge companioned by muffled shouts that rang out in two very distinctive high and low tones. "Good God," Alfred murmured with a practiced mix of exasperation and deadpan before taking off to inspect the damage, leaving Dick with a parting warning not to touch the cookie dough while he was gone. Dick gave a pious nod.
"Excuse me?" Dick sounded as Alfred exited the room.
"Twenty-six, twenty-seven?" The man listed.
Dick shifted the phone to his other ear and reached for the bowl of cookie dough Alfred left unattended. "Twenty-four."
He paused again, surprised, "That's very young."
"Oh-kay." Dick dug out a new spoon from the cabinet door at his hip and shoveled it into the dough, mindfully keeping one eye on the kitchen's entryway. "So?"
The voice curved with a new edge, "So you're a very young, single man trying to raise not one, but two boys, and..." He cleared his throat in a jolted rush that sounded a lot like a fight to regain the calm demeanor the conversation started with, "I just imagine that's a lot of pressure."
Alfred's voice rang out from above, a little higher than he was used to, "Alright, alright. Master Timothy, please grab the fire extinguisher from the hall. And let's get you down stairs, Master Damian."
Dick tightened his grip on the phone and scrunched his nose at the scent of smoke making its way towards the downstairs. It smelled a little off. Like…burnt eggs? And something else. Something bitter and bizarrely cloying…
Dick cleared his throat. "We're managing just fine, thank you."
"Let me grab the cat first!"
"Master Damian, please! I'm sure the cat –"
"Mr. Grayson, I'm sorry if I seem to barging in your personal life–"
"You are barging into my personal life."
" –but really, all I'm worried about is the boys."
A smaller explosion went off, shaking the walls and causing small bits of white to flake down from the ceiling. Dick gave a silent swear and leaned over the cookie dough bowl protectively. "My boys, Carlson. Not yours and not your concern."
"As Tim's Principle, I assure you–"
"Look, I won't lie to you. This isn't easy, and it's all a bit terrifying. But honestly, I'm more worried about the homicidal cat my youngest dragged into our house mauling Tim than I am about him going on a violent rampage or something. It's hard without our father, but I'm an adult now and I am more than capable of taking care of my brothers. As long as they are healthy, happy, and not sneaking feral animals into the house, I say I'm winning." Dick stuck a heavy spoonful of cookie dough into his mouth and pulled out the utensil in a harsh punctuation, "Are we done here?"
He sighed. Carlson meant well. Dick was just getting tired of people –the media, his friends, even the League – questioning his ability to take care of teenagers while they stood with smiles and nods of approval when he took on the mantle of Batman without worrying if he was good enough for that job.
"Homicidal cat?" He repeated slowly.
Dick stuck the spoon back into the bowl. "Well, I can't win them all. Good night, Principle Carlson."