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Dick arrived at the Manor at noon, or as the vigilantes of Gotham liked to call it, breakfast time.
Bruce should already be up and Alfred would wake up Damian and Tim soon enough. Dick considered offering to do that instead, but apparently jumping on his sleeping brothers was "not an acceptable good morning call and hadn't been one when Jay was still young either, and really, Dick shouldn't be surprised Jason didn't like him back then." Where was he? Right.
Dick let himself in and made his way to the kitchen. He had been right, Bruce was already awake and reading the paper.
Except, he wasn't.
Bruce had his elbows propped on the table, his hands buried deep in his hair and an apathic expression on his face. He didn't look up when Dick entered the kitchen, just kept staring at the bow laying on the table in front of him.
Dick spared a glance at his father. He would get a hold of himself eventually, no point in trying to talk to him before that. Dick helped himself to a cup of coffee and hopped on the counter facing Bruce. Maybe he was thinking about a difficult case? Dick idly kicked his legs and watched Bruce for any sign of coming out of his stupor. There weren't any. He drained his mug and poured himself a second before anything happened at all; and even then it had nothing to do with Bruce.
Tim stumbled into the kitchen with his eyes closed looking for coffee. Apparently Damian and Cass were the only ones of his siblings that were not yet addicted to the stuff.
"Fall asleep in the cave again?" Dick asked his brother with a smirk.
Tim cracked his eyes open after the first sip of coffee and started mumbling. "I didn't ever fall asleep in the cave. Alfred just didn't allow me to go home, said I was too tired."
Dick had some very cute pictures on his phone that could easily proof Tim wrong, but he wasn't about to destroy the kid’s illusions. And Dick wouldn't put it past Tim to hack his phone and delete the pictures if he knew they existed. If he did that, he'd find the folder full of all of their siblings sleeping in weird, or at least uncommon, places and add those to his personal blackmail files. Dick had taken those pictures purely for cooing purposes, not blackmail.
Tim for his part was finally awake enough to notice Bruce sitting at the table. Still unmoving, still looking at the bow before him in agony. Tim raised an eyebrow and nodded towards the man imitating a statue. "What's up with Bruce?"
Dick shrugged. "I only came in 10 minutes ago, seems like he hasn't moved in a while. Is he working on a particular case?"
Tim shook his head. "Not that I know of." Which Dick understood to mean Bruce only worked the garden variety murder cases Gotham threw around like confetti at the moment. "Maybe he's consulting for someone in the Justice League. Or it's a challenge."
"Why the League?" Dick asked.
"Because Drake doesn't monitor their business as close as he does ours," Damian said as he walked through the door cradling Alfred the cat with one hand and stroking his head with the other like a mini-supervillain-in-training. Dick shouldn't have made Damian watch the old Bond movies. He tended to imitate the wrong side.
Tim shrugged and tilted his head in assent. Dick nodded at Tim and then reached out to ruffle Damian's hair with the hand not holding his coffee. The gesture was made difficult because he was still perched on the counter and Dami still instinctually avoided him on principle, even if Dick was sure he had gotten used to receiving physical attention from his brothers.
Damian turned towards Bruce and leaned back against the counter still petting his cat. "The bow is evidence," He declared as a matter of fact, but was only met with his brothers' questioning stares, so he elaborated. "Tt. Why else would he be analysing it like this?"
Tim sipped his coffee and smirked. "He's not analysing it at all. Not here and now in the kitchen at least."
Damian bared his teeth but had to concede the point. Bruce didn't examine the bow at all, he just kept staring at it with an intensity that had kept him from noticing three of his sons coming into the kitchen and starting a conversation about him. Damian sniffed haughtily. "Why do you think he's staring at the thing then, Drake?"
"Bruce has hit a wall on how to improve the bow." Tim shrugged and took another sip of his coffee. "He's staring at it trying to figure out what it's flaws are."
Damian put down Alfred the cat and crossed his arms over his chest sneering. The cat wandered over towards Bruce, meowing up at the man without any reaction. "Tt. Your opinion is as ill-considered as always, Drake. Why would father try to optimise a bow? We don't use archery."
Tim rolled his eyes at his younger brother. "He doesn't have to do it for himself or for us, brat. He could be doing it for a League project, or maybe even one of WE's projects." He seemed to consider that for a moment. "You know, B actually had a meeting with Lucius a few days ago, they were discussing a new lightweight polycarbonate, that could be used for a bow."
Dick frowned. "Since when does WE manufacture bows?"
"We don't," Tim elaborated his theory, "but the polycarbonate could be marketed towards different manufacturers, like hunting sport equipment."
"Hunting sport?!" Damian asked with an unhealthy dose of indignation and a glare that promised a long and painful death. "They kill animals for amusement and you're supporting them?!"
Tim looked helplessly towards his big brother.
Dick sighed and caught his littlest brothers murderous gaze. "No, Dami. WE doesn't support hunting." He actually had no idea what WE's policy on that was, but he could sort that out when Bruce was actually responsive again. "But we also can't control whether the people buying the end product use the bows for archery and target practise or actual hunting."
"If it makes you feel better, last year one of the bows made out of Wayne materials was used to kill hunters instead of animals," Tim piped up. Dick barely stopped himself from what would have been an epic face palm. Damian's expression turned into one of vindication.
"Okay!" Dick interjected, before anything could go truly awry and a fruit basket would be sent to a convicted murderer. "We're way of track here. Dames, if you research a charity against hunting, I'm sure we can talk Bruce into supporting it. Timmy, don't try to cheer Dami up with murder, Jay already does that enough."
His brothers grumbled but didn't argue. Dick really wished Alfred would be back soon. Actually, he should be back by now. He would have wanted to wake up the kids before he started preparing breakfast in earnest, but since Tim was getting his second cup of coffee and Damian was already done feeding his zoo, Alfred should be back. The idea that something happened to delay him wasn't outlandish, but if it took him much longer Dick should go and see if he could help.
When Dick turned his attention back towards his father another theory formed in his mind. "Maybe B's trying to figure out the bows origins but it's to generic to tell."
"And that's why he stares at it apathicly?" Tim clarified.
Dick shrugged. "We all know he's a little dramatic."
"If father hits a wall in his investigation he finds another lead," Damian countered.
"Good point." Dick nodded ruffling Damian's hair, and this time his brother actually let him. With a pout. "So that means it's not an investigation, it's a challenge."
"Just because you can't resist a challenge, doesn't mean he can't." Tim rolled his eyes at Dick.
"Timmy. None of the people that have ever lived in this house for even the shortest amount of time have ever been able to resist a challenge." Dick shook his head. "I'm pretty sure the chandeliers are cursed," he contemplated further.
Tim blinked up at him. Once, twice, he turned his gaze back on Bruce. "So, a challenge." He was completely ignoring Dick's comment about cursed chandeliers. "Who do you think challenged Batman?"
"Maybe Oliver? He is an expert in the field and I remember B saying they had a meeting last night."
"A meeting?" Tim asked incredulously. "He had a meeting with Olli? Then how come he was hammered when he came home?"
Now it was Dick's turn to stare blankly at his brother. "Hammered?" In all the years he'd lived with Bruce, the man had never truly been drunk, much less anything that could be classified as hammered. Damian's expression mirrored the sentiment even though he hadn't lived with Bruce as long.
Tim returned the flat look and reiterated what he'd witnessed the night before. "B was uncoordinated, stumbled on the way to his room and giggled."
"Giggled?" Damian asked with an impressive sneer.
"Yes. He giggled," Tim insisted. "I heard a commotion in the hallway and when I peered out my door Bruce was righting a lamp, shushed it and giggled as he walked away. I thought it was a nightmare before, but now I think he might actually be hungover."
Dick didn't know how to respond. How could Bruce have been that drunk? He almost never drank; it was too much of a risk. Bruce had always acted drunk as Brucie Wayne, but as soon as they'd gotten home he'd dropped the act. Had Bruce been poisoned last night? No, if he was with Oliver they'd have plenty of security around and either of them would instantly see if the other was compromised. At least Dick thought so? Did that mean the men had actually gotten drunk together? Surely Olli would have cut Bruce off if he'd been sober himself.
Just in that moment the back door to the kitchen opened and Jason strolled in. "Good morning assho- what- why does Bruce look at Queen's bow like Anna Karenina when her husband denied her the divorce?"
"Oliver's bow?" Dick asked as he turned to his brother, ignoring the rest of the statement.
"Yes. Oliver's." Jason rolled his eyes and wandered over to the counter the brothers occupied. He jerked his head in the direction of their father. "Bruce?"
Dick shrugged. "He was like this when we got here."
Jason nodded.
"How do you even know it's Oliver's bow?" Tim asked with a side glance at Jason. He was studying Bruce for any sign of reaction.
"I hang out with Roy?" Jason crossed his arms and shook his head slowly. "They use the same type, custom build, has a little crown etched on the inside?"
"Tt. You can't possibly see that from here." Damian squared off against his much larger brother.
Jason took a step towards Damian, never breaking eye contact, to illustrate their height difference. Just because he knew Damian hated it. A wide grin formed on Jason's face. "No. But it's green."
"Tt."
"That doesn't mean it has to be Queen's, Jay," Dick was quick to interject before his brothers could start a brawl in the kitchen, when he knew for a fact that Alfred would be back any minute. Oh, right. He had planned to go looking for the man...
Jason's grin only widened as he turned and faced Dick. "Bet you that it is."
"Bet you that it isn't."
Jason's grin reached proportions that should only be seen within Arkham. "What do you wanna bet, Goldie?"
"Looser has to take one patrol for the other."
"Boooooring." Jason rolled his eyes. "Winner gets one favour, no questions asked."
"Taking the blame excluded. I'm not getting lectured if you decide to crash the Porsche for fun."
"Deal." Jason grabbed Dick's extended hand. "I'll call you when I need to bury the next body," he stage whispered before he let go of Dick's hand.
Tim cleared his throat. "That's all well and good, but if Bruce doesn't come out of it soon, how are you going to know who wins?"
The kitchen door opened again to admit Alfred holding the cordless landline. His eyes lingered on the boys for just a moment before his gaze found Bruce still hunched over at the table. "Master Bruce?" Alfred called out on his way towards the kitchen table. His eyes landed on the bow and he quirked an eyebrow. The phone joined the bow on the table and was slid across towards the apathetic billionaire. "Mr. Queen called. He says his bow was stolen and he needs your help to get it back."
Bruce groaned, buried his hands deeper in his hair.
Jason let out a victory cry.